My mom just took Amalthea to the vet. She won’t be coming back.
She is 20 or 21, and she’s had health problems for the past several years. We’ve battled bladder infections and failing kidneys. She barely weighs five pounds, despite all of the fluff. We’ve cooked hamburger and chicken for her (I’ve done it at 2 in the morning a couple of times because she was on the table, crying for food), opened five different cans of cat food hoping to find one she’ll eat. She hasn’t eaten much of anything for the last week, and she’s started peeing in the hallway again (we’ve been through THAT many times before, too). We decided that it’s time, but it’s the hardest damn decision. She’s alert, when she’s awake (about two hours a day). She’s affectionate. She’s comfortable when she’s asleep, thanks to the heated pad that Mom found for her just before Christmas. She can’t hear much, but the baby cats (now four years old) treat her with respect and affection.
It’s difficult to find the point where the negative outweighs the positive. I feel guilty giving up, even though the vet says we’ve gone beyond what most people do. But she’s twenty, and she’s not having a good life, and, well, we made the decision. Right or wrong.
Good bye, Miss Priss.