I think I have shed more tears in the past 24-odd hours than I have in the entire first decade of the twenty-first century.
Sunny, our cat, is dying. Complications from early in his life, coupled with well-meaning neighbors, have ultimately cut his life a few years shorter. His kidney’s are shutting down. It’s progressed far enough that his red-blood cell counts are low. His body isn’t filtering out toxins well enough and they are building up in him.
How much time he has is anyone’s guess. He’s a fighter, so I expect he’ll stick it out. That prognosis from earlier in his life basically stated that if his food couldn’t be controlled, meaning the junk cat food most people feed their animals, than due to the damage his kidney’s suffered he wouldn’t live more than a few years.
Well he has certainly defied those odds. He’s twelve years old today, possibly thirteen (assuming the one document I have suggesting his age is accurate). Not quite as old as I’d hope he’d be, unfortunately. Nevertheless, I can take comfort in the knowledge that he’s not in any pain. He’s tired. He’s weak. He’s still full of love and affection.
So we’ll keep him comfortable. We’ll keep him safe. We’ll love him right up until the end.