I just thought of a series of pictures that would amuse H & C. Aremid had no problems with D. No problem. No eye contact. No interest, whatsoever. (I was watching D. for the weekend. This is back in 2004).

I am reminded of how big Aremid’s behind used to be.

Beloved, devoted
Dear, sweet boy
He saved my world
A lot

I have engaged in a lot of cat-gallows-humor that past few days, but I’ll keep that to myself, including calling this a “dying cat blog”.

As we move closer to the inevitable, Aremid did greet me from his perch when I got home last night. And I wrote in a draft post, “rather than take these as positive signs of any recovery, I’ll just take them as positive moments as we reach the end of the journey. Aremid will be around at least through the regular part of the weekend. My vet is going to be out of town. But Monday could be the day.”

Well, we added Cerenia to his medication cocktail last night. This is to suppliment Zafran to help with nausea.

And, for the past twelve hours, Aremid has been showing flashes of his former self, if I consider his former self to be how he was getting about a few weeks ago. A few weeks ago, I was not considering putting him down.

He has not been having trouble eating anything I’ve put in front of him. More importantly, I haven’t had to put food in front of him; he’s sought out food on his own. His meek meows have generally been subjugated by his classic loudy whiny meows that have irritated me for 16 years. He hasn’t hidden in his dark places at all.

So I think I’m pushing back the Doomsday Clock for at least a day, but likely longer, since the first day of work-week is, selfishly, a very bad day to do this.

I don’t know how to deal with this.

I finally get it that he’s miserable. I didn’t get that being old and decrepit and only half-lucid much of the time did not make for that bad a quality of life when you still had your person loving on you. I still don’t know if I get that. But if I imagine being nauseous all the time, and there’s no relief, I begin to realize that, at this point, each new day is not really a gift.

We’ll see. If I were completely in acceptance mode, I would be planning the end. I’ve heard people say that they spent one last night with their pet, that they had planned it like that. I don’t want to plan that. I would rather that my vet pick a random time to knock on the door and say, “Ok, I’m here to do it right now.”

Ok, enough morbid thoughts for now.

I have been in denial. I think my vet was trying to gently let me know this morning that I should be planning to put Aremid down soon. The ultrasound was inconclusive, just like it was last year. Last year, Aremid rebounded a bit, particularly after he started prednisalone. But that weapon has already been used. Now, we’ve just added anti-nausea and appetite-stimulant meds. I don’t think they’ve made much difference over the past 10 hours. When I put Aremid in front of food, he seems to be devouring it. But he doesn’t stay on top of the food long enough to devour very much, and I don’t seem him returning on his own.

The signs are there if I want to see them. He is doing “lipsmacks” which is when he seems to be licking the top and bottom of his mouth, particularly after just having eaten. This means he is feeling nauseated. His eyes often seem like they’re focused on absolutely nothing. He hasn’t been hiding out-of-sight all that much, but typically when he’s next to me, he still has that aloof hiding vibe about him.

Just last week, he seemed to be ok, but that’s how these final days and weeks and months and years go. Every glimpse of his old behavior gives the false hope that he is rebounding. Today is the first day that I truly beginning to get it, that Aremid probably isn’t going to be rebounding.

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