Sick cat

It is so green out there. The leaves seemed to arrive all at once, overnight. A lot of oak trees around here, and they all leafed out without a clue they were going to. Lime green, white sky.

I am reading a web site on renal failure in cats, waiting for the Vet to call so we can arrange to admit Sherlock. We thought we wouldn't do extraordinary measures, but this site suggests maybe a cat can be brought back to something like himself with IV and medications. In the night I woke up at 3:00, strapped on my boot and shoe, and went looking for Sherlock. He was on Otto's bed, the guest room bed mostly used by our grandson, Otto. He was on top of the comforter, tail not twitching, so deeply asleep. I looked to see he was breathing, and left him alone. He is up and around this morning, but not interested in eating. It feels like he knows what's in store. For him, the cage in the cat room at Beechwold Vet will be like the cage in the shelter where I met him thirteen years ago. . . . Back to the web site. Tom found it. He is the man to have with you in this kind of crisis. Yesterday at the vet's we found Sherlock had lost about three pounds. It was gradual, then late last week, all of a sudden.

I'm going to post this and then maybe add to it later.
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It occurs to me that we are going through the same process with Sherlock that I went through with my own kidney failure. I lived for quite some time with the idea that I would not undertake dialysis when my kidneys finally quit, but would just die peacefully. Then I found - on a retreat, actually - that I would do quite a lot just to stay alive, would undertake treatments that I found profoundly threatening. To live is the basic drive. You learn that quality of life does not depend on being able to do the things you used to do.

So, with Sherlock I thought we would let him die a natural death, and not subject him to these treatments he will find threatening. But when it comes down to it, feelings arise that are more important than those ideas.