jeneralist: (typing)
[personal profile] jeneralist
That's "quantum" in the "how many" sense....

Yesterday, I had two cats. There was Sandalwood -- an eight-year-old brown lap cat who, as soon as you sit down and clap your hands against your thighs, will come running into the room and jump on you, purring happily. And there was Shadow -- seventeen and a half years old, five and a half pounds weight. For most of the past year, she's been in a decline.

Shadow has three teeth left. She eats canned cat food, run thru a blender with a bit of water to a puree consistency. If its not thinner than applesauce, she won't eat it.
This past week has been rough for Shadow. She wet the bed -- while she, Phil and I were sleeping in it. She stopped eating. She lost her purr. I took her to the vet on Thursday to see if there might be something treatable going on: did she have a urine infection? What about a thyroid problem? The results, good under other circumstances, were not encouraging in these: the vet couldn't find anything wrong that we could treat. Her kidneys are getting worse, and that can be taking away her appetite.

We told many of our friends that we expected to take Shadow to the vet for the Goodbye Shot fairly soon. When she's awake, she walks in circles and cries loudly; it's tough to get her to sleep; she's not eating: if she's hurting and not enjoying life, it's time. Many friends came over the house today to say farewell. So many that I needed to go to the grocery store and pick up a few things.

When I got back home and parked in the driveway, I heard a meow coming from the weeds and shrubs between our house and our neighbor's. I took a few steps into the thicket, and the sound stopped. I imitated the sound, not sure if it was a cat or a squirrel; a fusillade of meows came back in response. "Meowmeowmeow!" (Translation: find me, mommy, find me, I'm here!) And out from under the fallen fence came a grey tabby fluffball, maybe 4 weeks old.

I thought the universe generally waited until the elder cat departed before setting you up again. Shows how much I know.

At this point, the kitten ("Umbra," until it lets us know better) is in solitary confinement in the basement, near the furnace. There's a hot water bottle, lots of towels, a ticking clock, food, formula, water -- and a rubber duckie offered by my nephew/godson. Sandalwood prowls the ground floor, feeling slighted and hoping for a lap. And Shadow is the madwoman screaming in the attic.

Next week, how many cats?
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