This Easter Sunday was difficult. One of the family's two ten-year-old cats, Sofia, has been pulling her hair out and, occasionally, not using the litter box for her business. Querida, my 20-year-old daugher, had researched Sofia's symptoms and worried that she had, at best, a skin disorder, or, at worst, a neurological problem.
When the day quieted down, Q bathed the cat. During the easiest bath ever, she found hard lumps under the irritated skin. One of the things she learned on the internet was that missing fur could also be a symptom of feline cancer. Querida held a family meeting, discussing quality-of-life issues with her siblings. Sofia hangs out in the girls' room the most. Why wouldn't this be Querida's call? My husband made arrangements over the phone; Sofia had 24 to 48 hours left with us.
I couldn't sleep that night. It's easy to make a decision about how much money to dump into a car. When it comes to a family pet, it's obvious to say we don't have the money for the care she needs but so much more difficult to think of her death. About midnight, I finally cried as quietly as I could, waking my bewildered husband anyway. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him I was crying about Sofia.
I got up to blow my nose. I'd never sleep this way. I wrote Tim a note: Put off the plans. Don't let Sofia go tomorrow. Just wait.
When the day quieted down, Q bathed the cat. During the easiest bath ever, she found hard lumps under the irritated skin. One of the things she learned on the internet was that missing fur could also be a symptom of feline cancer. Querida held a family meeting, discussing quality-of-life issues with her siblings. Sofia hangs out in the girls' room the most. Why wouldn't this be Querida's call? My husband made arrangements over the phone; Sofia had 24 to 48 hours left with us.
I couldn't sleep that night. It's easy to make a decision about how much money to dump into a car. When it comes to a family pet, it's obvious to say we don't have the money for the care she needs but so much more difficult to think of her death. About midnight, I finally cried as quietly as I could, waking my bewildered husband anyway. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him I was crying about Sofia.
I got up to blow my nose. I'd never sleep this way. I wrote Tim a note: Put off the plans. Don't let Sofia go tomorrow. Just wait.
Awww...our cats are about 8 1/2 years old, and we have the same worries if they get really sick. But we'd miss them so. I'm so sorry. Poor Sofia.
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