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Lessons Learned From A Dying Cat

It’s not easy watching my beloved cat dying.

The vet said basically to take her home and spoil her, because there’s not much else to do.

But it’s hard to spoil her. She has almost no appetite. She hides a lot, like cats do when they feel vulnerable. And she looks at me when she is out in the open with a look.

She doesn’t really want to be petted, because I think she’s in a tremendous amount of pain. All she really wants is lots of water, changed for fresh water as often as I can do it.

I don’t know what her look means. Does she think I’m going to be able to fix it up? Is she judging me? Or is it just a look?

Small things like her actually eating a few bites of food this morning are miraculous. I was so happy to see that. I just wish I had a magic wand to wave to make it all better.

But here’s the thing. It hurts her to jump, bit she still jumps up to her windowsill. It hurts her to walk, but she still comes out in the apartment hall when I open the door so she can explore her empire. She keeps going through it all.

And that’s what I have not been doing since I learned about it, but why should I not keep doing my equivalent of jumping into windowsills and exploring my empire? Humans have this complex idea that this kind of stuff is unfair, and God knows it is sometimes, but somehow you have to keep going.

I left her at home with her head peeking from behind the bookcase and her eyes almost totally shut, still breathing. Who knows what the next few days will bring.

This is all a mess of writing. I don’t know totally what I’m trying to say. I just had to write this down.

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