Small victories
Today victory comes in small packages. Felix just ate three spoonfuls of baby food. That is my victory of the moment. Last night, he stretched out to his full length, his hind end hanging out of the kitty carrier, which is where he prefers to sleep these days. That was also a victory. The evening before, we let him go outside, and he took us for a walk around the outside of our house and the nearby neighborhood. He pointed out all the best places for sniffing and investigating, and he was a somewhat-subdued version of his old self. That was a huge victory.
Felix has always been an incredibly healthy, strong, happy cat until he suddenly wasn't. I really thought that he would be the type to live a very, very long life... or maybe it was just that since I couldn't imagine my life without him, this was the only way that I could think of him. When he was diagnosed with kidney failure more than a year ago, it was a huge shock, and we weren't sure how long he would make it. That we had another year with him, a year in which he was mostly healthy and happy and very much himself, has been an incredible blessing that we have treasured every single day.
And then a couple of months ago, he started losing weight. At first, we were able to shift his diet around, and give him the junky-but-tasty Friskies instead of the expensive-but-yucky special kidney diet food. This helped for a while, and he gained a bit more weight. But then he just started slipping again and nothing we did brought those ounces, and then those pounds, back. He's somewhere around 8 lbs now. A good healthy weight for him is at least 12. Back in his bowling ball days, we didn't weight him, but he was probably around 15. I'm due to give birth in about a week and a half, and whether or not Felix makes it that long is very much in doubt.
He has been one of my best friends for 16 years. He has always been my guardian, rather than the other way around. He got me through the most painful breakup of my life, and he has always been there for me whenever I was hurt or angry or just needed a friend. He would teleport onto my lap, or next to me on my bed, and cuddle up to me and purr for as long as I needed him. He would turn his head and look at me, really look at me, and let me know that everything was going to be okay.
Felix is a special cat. I know this is something that everyone feels about their cats, but it is really true in his case. He has always had the unique ability to win over people who don't like cats. Instead of crawling off to hide when people came over, he would greet them at the door with a sweet trill, sniff their feet, and then play lap slut, jumping from person to person when we sat down. He has never been aloof or snooty, and he shows a whole range of very human emotions. He has always been very much a person. If more cats were like Felix, more people would be cat people.
He is also scary smart and perceptive, and very much aware of what was going on. For the past few weeks, he has been extra cuddly and loving, giving me huge hugs, and just wanting to be held in my arms (even though he's always been more of a lap cat than a holding cat). (Of course, the large baby bump gives him a very convenient shelf.)
I think that he's known for a while that his time is limited, and he has been saying goodbye to us. He's been very patient with all of his frequent trips to the vet in the past couple of weeks, and he's let us keep him going for a little bit longer, but I have a strong sense this time that he's almost done, and he's not going unwillingly, however much he would like to stay with us.
For the past week, I've alternated between crying, being numb, and savoring the last good moments with him. I'm grateful that we've had him home with us in the evenings, instead of at the vet, and that he's been happy enough to still purr occasionally and show us glimmers of his old self. He's been at the vet during the last three days to get some IV fluids that have hopefully decreased his kidney levels to make him more comfortable. The IV fluids are what saved him a year ago, and even though I haven't had much hope that they would save him a second time, I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't tried.
Even though this week has been incredibly hard, I'm so glad that I have had it. With Fermat, everything went so quick that we never got a chance to say goodbye until after the surgery when his heart was beating, and the vet was breathing for him, but he was really already gone. We weren't ready, and Fermat wasn't ready. I'm still not ready this time, but I'm starting the process of accepting it.
Felix has always been an incredibly healthy, strong, happy cat until he suddenly wasn't. I really thought that he would be the type to live a very, very long life... or maybe it was just that since I couldn't imagine my life without him, this was the only way that I could think of him. When he was diagnosed with kidney failure more than a year ago, it was a huge shock, and we weren't sure how long he would make it. That we had another year with him, a year in which he was mostly healthy and happy and very much himself, has been an incredible blessing that we have treasured every single day.
And then a couple of months ago, he started losing weight. At first, we were able to shift his diet around, and give him the junky-but-tasty Friskies instead of the expensive-but-yucky special kidney diet food. This helped for a while, and he gained a bit more weight. But then he just started slipping again and nothing we did brought those ounces, and then those pounds, back. He's somewhere around 8 lbs now. A good healthy weight for him is at least 12. Back in his bowling ball days, we didn't weight him, but he was probably around 15. I'm due to give birth in about a week and a half, and whether or not Felix makes it that long is very much in doubt.
He has been one of my best friends for 16 years. He has always been my guardian, rather than the other way around. He got me through the most painful breakup of my life, and he has always been there for me whenever I was hurt or angry or just needed a friend. He would teleport onto my lap, or next to me on my bed, and cuddle up to me and purr for as long as I needed him. He would turn his head and look at me, really look at me, and let me know that everything was going to be okay.
Felix is a special cat. I know this is something that everyone feels about their cats, but it is really true in his case. He has always had the unique ability to win over people who don't like cats. Instead of crawling off to hide when people came over, he would greet them at the door with a sweet trill, sniff their feet, and then play lap slut, jumping from person to person when we sat down. He has never been aloof or snooty, and he shows a whole range of very human emotions. He has always been very much a person. If more cats were like Felix, more people would be cat people.
He is also scary smart and perceptive, and very much aware of what was going on. For the past few weeks, he has been extra cuddly and loving, giving me huge hugs, and just wanting to be held in my arms (even though he's always been more of a lap cat than a holding cat). (Of course, the large baby bump gives him a very convenient shelf.)
I think that he's known for a while that his time is limited, and he has been saying goodbye to us. He's been very patient with all of his frequent trips to the vet in the past couple of weeks, and he's let us keep him going for a little bit longer, but I have a strong sense this time that he's almost done, and he's not going unwillingly, however much he would like to stay with us.
For the past week, I've alternated between crying, being numb, and savoring the last good moments with him. I'm grateful that we've had him home with us in the evenings, instead of at the vet, and that he's been happy enough to still purr occasionally and show us glimmers of his old self. He's been at the vet during the last three days to get some IV fluids that have hopefully decreased his kidney levels to make him more comfortable. The IV fluids are what saved him a year ago, and even though I haven't had much hope that they would save him a second time, I couldn't have lived with myself if I hadn't tried.
Even though this week has been incredibly hard, I'm so glad that I have had it. With Fermat, everything went so quick that we never got a chance to say goodbye until after the surgery when his heart was beating, and the vet was breathing for him, but he was really already gone. We weren't ready, and Fermat wasn't ready. I'm still not ready this time, but I'm starting the process of accepting it.