Tonight, I let Mom "speak" with me, commune with my inner self. I don't know how humans explain it, but it's how we cats talk with each other. Mom can do it, and Dad can, too, but not often, just under the right circumstances. Everything has to be calm.
I'm aching. All my joints are hurting. Mom says it's something called arthritis. It hurts to move, hurts to lie down. My vision is a bit blurry, too, and Dad had to clean my eye twice today because of mucous. That's from a "kitty cold", mostly.
I'm hungry a lot. I get my wet food twice a day, but I used to "graze" instead, eating small bites throughout the day. It's tough to get used to eating only twice, so I'm hungry during the middle of the day and let my parents know it. When it's food time, I run down the hallway to Tabby & Carbon's room (aka the spare room), starting up my yowl as soon as I hit the doorway, and stand on my plate so that Mom has to move me to put my food on it. Then, I eat my fill and curl up on the chair in that room, yowling once to let everyone know I'm done for the moment. Then, Mom lets everyone else in to get a treat of what I've left on the plate.
I seldom snuggle with my parents anymore, but did this evening with Mom, to let her know what's going on with me. I was shaky as I stood on her, looking her in the eyes. Then, with effort, I lay down, wanting my chin scritched while she went over my body to "see" how I was doing. I'm still not putting on any weight, and my fur's still matting. She brushes me with the slicker brush, and that gets a major part of the mats, but not everything and I hate being brushed. My bones are rubbing my skin in some places, like my shoulders and my heels. Massages aren't really helping.
My favorite places are the bathtub and the kitty tent. I've given up sleeping in my recliner, preferring to curl up in one of my two chosen places instead. Dad has to lift me out of the bathtub when he comes home from work, or else I'd stay in there until he turned the water on for his shower. I get out when it's Mom's turn for a shower, though, for some reason. I'm using the box normally, and drinking water normally.
I told Mom tonight that I'm not quite ready to leave even though I'm hurting and confused, and she said that all I have to do is tell them when I can't stand it anymore and they'll release me. My kitty nieces and nephew aren't ready yet, so I'm going to stay around until they can handle the transition. I can tell Mom and Dad will never be quite ready to let me go, but they will do what's best for me. Rori knows what's going on, knows I'm close to leaving, and has been watching from a distance rather than her usual headbutting-following-me-around behavior. Death always troubles her, and she hides from it and then picks up the pieces. That's why my sister chose her to be Big Kitty of the Household. She came and sat with us on the couch tonight as I was talking with Mom, just sat, watching and listening, then walked over and rubbed against me telling me that she understands. Then she let Mom pet her, too.
We don't know how long it's going to be. No one ever knows.
Mom says that she talked with the vet about a week and a half ago, when she ordered my fluids (which I've been taking every two days). Dr. Bob now thinks I may have cancer, since my behavior's changed so abruptly. Nothing in my behavior seems to correlate with kidneys or hyper-T, in fact some of it counterindicates. So cancer is their next guess. If it is, then it's in a place where it's not showing up yet and not a mass, maybe in the bone marrow. That's what Dr. Bob said, and Mom and Dad think that's most likely, too. That's what they've been thinking for a while, and sensing from me as well.
We just don't know anything for sure, but who ever does?