I am entirely too tired to jump through the hoops required to make a filtered post appear on my blog and my web site at the same time, so this is another depressing post about my cat’s health I’m going to leave public (for now).

Behind the cut in case you don’t want to get depressed and can’t deal with me when I am. I’m just getting some thoughts out of my mind so I can get some sleep. There’s a high probability that today is going to suck far worse than most days that suck.

I was so proud of myself today. I was so strong and level-headed and handling the whole Fuzza situation well. No crying, just rational thought about what to do in any event that should come. Felt settled about making some decisions and glad that the vet will be open in the morning so I can get her input. Though I was so tired from not really sleeping all week, it wasn’t an especially bad day. There was laughter and happy moments with Fuzza and Lin, and I guess I sort of just pretended that everything was going to be OK eventually. All that being brave and strong and putting on a happy face worked just fine until I laid down on the couch to try and get a few hours of sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, I just started crying and couldn’t stop.

I had to hand feed Fuzza today, and even with all the attention, I don’t think he ate more than a few tablespoons of anything all total. He isn’t going to his food bowl at all anymore, and I think he just ate what he did because he knew I wanted him to so badly, and not because he really wanted to eat anything. I tried every edible thing in the house too. He really wanted none of it at all. He’s lost even more weight this weekend. He just almost not there anymore.

But I cheerily fed him by hand, and cleaned up after his mess when I didn’t notice he needed to go to the box, and I sat around petting him and talking to him all day … almost as though nothing at all was wrong. And now it’s all crashing in on me that everything is wrong, and I think we have to make that decision I didn’t want to make. He can’t go on much longer the way things are now, and I can’t bear to watch his starve to death. I might be wrong, but I can’t imagine the vet is going to have any suggestions for treatments or good news for me. That means the discussion will turn to what to do to end his suffering, because I do now believe that he is suffering. How could he not be? It was only a few weeks ago that I was so sick I couldn’t eat at all, and I remember all too well how awful that was for me … to feel myself wasting away, wanting to eat but not being able to or really wanting to. He still acts hungry, but then when the food is in front of him, he just turns his head away. He has to be starving, and that means he is suffering. I can’t stand it.

There’s still a small spark in me that thinks the vet is going to say “let’s do this” and it’s going to be something easy that won’t make him miserable and will make him all better, but in my heart, I know that isn’t going to happen. There isn’t going to be a quick fix, and there probably isn’t a fix at all, at least not one that won’t make him hurt more and feel worse. I still stand by my decision that if the treatment is as bad as the illness and in the end won’t really do much more good than extend his life by a brief time, we just aren’t going to put him through that. I’d rather Lin and I just spend another day or two with him, loving him and holding him and carrying him around, and then let him go peacefully. Hurts like hell to say that, but somehow I found the strength to let my dad go peacefully when the time was right, so I just have to do this for Fuzza as well … no matter how hard it is to do.

Lin is going to take it hard. He’s sort of been living in a fantasy that all we have to do is get him to eat and all will be well, and he hasn’t been noticing or listening to me tell him that Fuzza just isn’t eating. He isn’t going to accept the possibility that we may have to actively decide to end the cat’s life. He’ll want to try everything, do everything and keep dragging it out, which isn’t going to be good for any of us … least of all the cat. I don’t know how I am going to get him to see this, but he’s going to have to see it soon. Maybe I can get the vet to call him and explain.

And that little spark lights up and says “No, all we have to do is take him to see Kim, and everything will be OK.” I hope and wish that were so, but my faith has diminished. My cat isn’t sick. My cat is dying.

Just typing that last sentence instantly made me stop crying. I know it’s true that one way or another, Fuzza is not going to be with us much longer. I don’t just feel it now, I know it. There isn’t going to be a miracle and there aren’t going to be any invasive or traumatic treatments either. That leaves two options: he gets better on his own and starts eating again, which I think would actually be a miracle, or he passes on. I hate when things become inevitable.

I have to go try and get some sleep. I don’t know how I am going to do that, but it has to happen. It’s not going to do anyone in this household any good at all if I fall over from exhaustion or get sick again. I think maybe I can sleep now. I just had to say some things and get them out. I don’t feel any better really, but I think I can shut my brain down enough now to close my eyes.

Life just sucks.