He was purring as loud and clear as ever. Just touching him started him off again. Surely any cat that could make that much noise, as easily as that, was fine.
Maybe the lack of interest in food, his regular food, the expensive donated food and the exotic human treats, was only a passing fad. A cat equivalent of intermittent fasting. He was just de-toxifying his body, and he’d be back to his regular ways in the shake of the proverbial lambs tale.
“Hang in there little buddy” – you whisper in the night, as you drop water in his mouth. We’ll make it. Keep purring and it’ll all be good. I’ll be working tomorrow but when I’m back my lap is all yours, all evening, for as long as you need it. I’m there for you.
Friday comes without a sudden standup and declaration that “I’m back, I’m hungry, I demand food” in his best croaky meow. No, it’s still just the lap lying and purring. We make the pilgrimage together and cat cage on lap we sit in the vet’s waiting room.
Kidney problems. A lifetime of tablets that may prolong life, or immediate death.
Oh, the sweet young vet talks for some length about these options, as we cuddle as best we can on the cold metal countertop, but all the words aside, the options are the same.
And the options were considered for two more days, as the painkillers administered as a palliative slowly started wearing off. And the time out of lap became less and less, and the formidable purr of old, because quieter.
“I need to kill you” – you try to whisper in the night, but your throat catches and contracts halfway, heralding the arrival of the hot tears into fur.
Written to a prompt (write a about a difficult decision) in fifteen minutes. A couple of paragraphs were removed as they went down irrelevant (to the story) rabbit holes.
The contents may or may not be completely true.
I welcome comments (below). However you may want to consider them simply a message to me, as they will not be published.
Ursula Hoult 