Hobbes update
Hobbes is still hanging on, but he's pretty miserable. He won't eat or drink water, and the only thing keeping him hydrated is the subcutaneous fluids. He doesn't move around much, and he won't use the litterbox we put out here for him. Not that he's had any sort of bowel movement or anything-he's peed twice in since friday, and both times it's smelled wrong-like rotten fish. And now his abdomen is swelling. He looks awful.
Hobbes has been with me for ten years. The idea of not having him with me is very hard for me to come to terms with. With Zero, it was very quick, and he didn't appear to suffer. Hobbes is wasting away, slowly losing the ability to walk or even sit up. I thought he'd be with me for another ten years, being a grouchy weirdo like he's always been. I can't imagine what it will be like to not hear him wailing his Requiem of Solitude, as Eric calls it, and rubbing himself all over the wall when we're trying to sleep. Or having him jump up onto my shoulders when I least expect it. Or watch him stick his paw into my glass of milk to steal some, and stealing bits of scrambled egg by grabbing my fork. I don't know what I will do without him.
I don't think at this point that anything can be done for him. We're pretty damned sure that it's some sort of fast spreading lymphoma. I am not willing to put my cat though chemo, either. The idea of making him suffer through radiation therapy-I can't do that to The Kook. I think that I have to admit out loud that it is His Time To Go, and that I may have to help him do that.
Someone please tell me that I'm making the right choice.
Hobbes has been with me for ten years. The idea of not having him with me is very hard for me to come to terms with. With Zero, it was very quick, and he didn't appear to suffer. Hobbes is wasting away, slowly losing the ability to walk or even sit up. I thought he'd be with me for another ten years, being a grouchy weirdo like he's always been. I can't imagine what it will be like to not hear him wailing his Requiem of Solitude, as Eric calls it, and rubbing himself all over the wall when we're trying to sleep. Or having him jump up onto my shoulders when I least expect it. Or watch him stick his paw into my glass of milk to steal some, and stealing bits of scrambled egg by grabbing my fork. I don't know what I will do without him.
I don't think at this point that anything can be done for him. We're pretty damned sure that it's some sort of fast spreading lymphoma. I am not willing to put my cat though chemo, either. The idea of making him suffer through radiation therapy-I can't do that to The Kook. I think that I have to admit out loud that it is His Time To Go, and that I may have to help him do that.
Someone please tell me that I'm making the right choice.