Not Dead Yet

           To Love Again

Oh what unhappy twist of fate
Has brought you homeless to my gate?
The gate where once another stood
To beg for shelter, warmth and food.

For from that day I ceased to be
The mistress of my destiny,
While she, with purr and velvet paw
Became within my house the law.

She scratched the furniture and shed
And claimed the middle of my bed,
She ruled in arrogance and pride
And broke my heart the day she died.

So if you really think, O Cat,
I'd willingly relive all that,
Because you come forlorn and thin
Well don't just stand there - come on in!
                           - Author Unknown

We had our home visit vet (oh, happy day, when we discovered there are animal doctors who will come to your house!) come Friday to look at Panzi, who was terrifyingly thin, hardly eating, barely drinking, and seventeen years old.  He agreed that she is nearing the end, which could come in a few days or last as long as a month.

Well, Panzi had a different opinion.  Apparently his handling her, looking down her throat and listening to her heart, stimulated her.  Because the moment he put her down, she stalked to her water dish and took a very long drink, then went to her food dish and gobbled several ounces of wet food.  She had become so thin and fragile-looking, sleeping most of the time, that we kindly left her alone – when what she needed was someone to pick her up and rub her down.  So, somewhat gingerly, we’ve been doing that, and she continues to eat and drink like someone rescued from famine.

Still, she’s seventeen and so while we’re rejoicing in her bouncing back, we’re aware it might be temporary.  She has a hyperthroid condition and is taking pills for it.  She doesn’t like me dropping a pill into her pried-open mouth, so we bought Pill Pockets.  She quickly learned to gnaw away the pocket and ignore the pill inside.  So now I pry her mouth open, drop in the pill and hold her mouth shut until she swallows, then give her the empty pocket as a treat.  She actually turns up around bedtime, accepting the pill procedure in order to get the treat.

Here she is after I took her to a groomer who cut her thick, heavy, matted coat away (except for her head and tail), revealing the bony creature beneath.  (She apparently retired from grooming herself a few months ago, and my brushing couldn’t keep up.)

I am approaching full panic mode trying to finish Knit Your Own Murder on time.  Think good thoughts at me.  Thanks.