Maybe it’s silly to get so upset over the death of a cat. But this one was around for eighteen years, which is very close to half my life. He had a good last day today.
…with a cameo by our geriatric cat.
Well, our boy turns 18 in a little less than a month. Born in a small town in Georgia, he has weathered every one of our family moves (to Atlanta, to D.C., to KC) with admirable aplomb. It’s tough when you’re a youngster and your parents make all the decisions, especially when those decisions mean leaving behind everything you’ve known and relocating to new places. I know because that’s what my childhood was like. Other 18-year-olds are heading off to college right about now, but not him. He’s a cat. We went to the vet today, and it turns out he’s lost about a sixth of his body weight. He’s also drinking and peeing all the time, but we don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s not in any pain, and his behavior is otherwise the same. He purrs when you pet him. On Wednesday we should learn the results of the blood test. Fingers crossed. According to a poster at the vet, 18 cat years is equivalent to 88 human years.
While we were at MLA, our 17-year-old cat was looked after by CJ’s Pet Sitting, and I can’t recommend CJ strongly enough. She obviously loves cats, is very affordable, and leaves a detailed report for every visit that she makes. If you’re a Kansas City resident in need of such services, contact her at cjpetsitting [at] hotmail [dot] com or 816-305-3694.