Cat Hospice

We've had Callie 21 days now and she went from sitting in a chair in the back bedroom, hissing at all the other cats, to walking down the hall hissing, to a week of sitting on the sofa in the living room, to being back in the chair in the back bedroom, practically comatose.

She hasn't eaten anything that I've noticed in several days, isn't drinking water, and the the few times she goes to the bathroom, it's very runny. She sleeps all day and night and barely moves. She's getting unsteady on her feet when she does try to move. I think I have another dying cat here.

And I'm angry. I'm angry that its owner, whoever it was, didn't see fit to let this cat live out its final days in the comfort of familiar surroundings. I'm angry that this poor cat went through its life deaf and declawed. I am sad that I never knew her when she was young and full of exuberance, that my only memory of her will be a very sad, listless cat. I'm sad that I can't think of anything she'd like to do. She doesn't want to be held. She doesn't want to look out a window. How is time passing for her? All she does is stare at the pink corduroy fabric of the bucket chair she's in. I can't take a dying cat to Disneyland. They don't care.

Maybe the owner was doing Callie a favor by deciding to put her down, and we rescuers just made Callie's situation worse.

I created one of those Apple iPhoto books with photos of Merly's life and even though I had seen it several times on the computer before sending it off to be printed, when the printed copy arrived, it was too much to bear. It was too soon to watch her whole life go by in just 20 pages of photos, from curious, thin young cat to scraggly looking cat who always looked confused and startled at the end. My husband put it down quickly, and I know I won't be able to page through it for...I don't know how long.

Callie has gone back to sleep without eating or drinking today. Holding her head up was too much work.