The Cat Is Suddenly Very Quiet.

The hollering and bitching about everything has suddenly stopped today, and he's not asking for food or eating much, and, more significantly, when I cleaned his litter box this morning there was a lot less pee. He doesn't appear to be in any distress and responds if I talk to him, even wanders to the kitchen for a bite of food or drink of water, but he's not consuming as much of either and is sleeping nearly all the time. He's still alert if I wake him, but there's definitely a change. If he's like this in the morning I'll call the vet.

And here's where I have to get all real and practical. This cat is AT LEAST 17, and quite possibly 20. We adopted him as a young adult. We were told at the time that he was around a year (estimate by the rescue people) and the same vet's office still caring for him put his age down as around 3. That was in 1996. He is a very old cat indeed, by either calculation.

I made a mistake in 2010, with Boris - I guilted myself into spending a ton of money on a dying cat, out of sentiment and misguided hope. I put him through ultimately fruitless treatment. He was a mere child of 14 at the time, how could I give up? We bought him a few more weeks and bought me a clear conscience, but the time to call a halt to treatment came anyway.

I wasn't quite so crazy this time - Higgins has not been fed "special food" he hates. He likes Fancy Feast, and I fussed over finding the flavors he liked best and stood over him encouraging him to eat. A 7 or 10 year old cat with kidney disease certainly should be treated with diet. A cat between 17 and Infinity with kidneys that were showing signs of going bad should eat whatever the hell he wants.

So, we will see where we are in the morning. And can I be coldly practical here, and wonder what the hell I should do with him tonight? Because right now he's sleeping on the back of my couch. The couch that is only one year old. Yeah. I think I'll make him a cozy bed in the guest bathroom with water and food, at least for tonight. If he's up and hollering for breakfast in the morning, he'll get over it. If he isn't - I really can't deal with the thought of a ruined couch.

God, I've spent too much time around death in the last decade - I think like a hospice nurse. P.S.: After I wrote this, he roused from his deep nap on the back of the couch and asked to be fed. He didn't scream like a smoke alarm, but asked. He ate part of a can of food and washed his face. Mixed signals - we got them.