I'm on a posting spree it seems.
I'm worried about Jerry. Geriatric Jerry. I love the little guy, and lately he's gotten more and more little. He and his brother, Smokey, are 16 years old, 17 in May. He's only eating raw egg and treats. I've forced him to drink a lot more tonight because he seems dehydrated. And in spite of the forced drinks, he's been very close to me all evening.
He's usually with the Dude, cuddling under the blanket. Tonight he's been by my side, snuggled close and occasionally I reach over and pet his skinny back. I can barely remember life without him. He and Smokey came into my life when I was 10.
Pets, fuck. You know, they fill you with joy and they elicit unconditional love. And they have the power to make you feel as awful and worried as they do make you happy.
I want to solve their health problems. I don't want to prolong their lives if it means they suffer either pain or indignity. I'm hoping a simple change of cat food could get Jerry eating again, or maybe some short term meds. The worst news would be that he's suffering from something expensive and fatal because I can't afford extensive treatment, and I'm unwilling to subject a 17 year old cat to anything invasive or very unpleasant.
My greatest hope for my cats is that old age takes them, with minimal pain, and that when they pass I know I did what I could and my best was good enough for the life expectancy they were meant to have.
But God, if it doesn't ache and worry to have to face this reality now. They're old. My precious kitties are very old. And they're so attached to one another that I'm sure to lose one means to soon lose the other. I'm not ready to deal with this yet. But I'll never be ready. They're living relics of my childhood, a life I lost in my teens, and they're my family.