she is literally skin and bones. i don't know how she can even move. i can't believe there are any muscles still in there. i've been trying to get glucosamine and chondroitin in her for the stiffness, but i'm feeling like that's too late.
she's hungry all the time and both my cats are completely inept at eating wet food. they basically smash it all to the bottom of the bowl and then ttyki looks at me helplessly. like, every 15 minutes, 24 hours a day. meow. i'm constantly refilling or prying the left overs back up to extend another 45 seconds of eating.
she crawled into the shower yesterday and just peed away. frankly, if she's going to pee somewhere that isn't the box, this is the blue ribbon location to choose. you know what? i prefer peeing in the shower to peeing in the litter box. no muss no fuss no environmental destruction, other than running the water a bit. brian had a keniption, like the whole shower was going to contaminate him. it was like he's never seen our shower, because i can tell you that thing is about as far from contaminate-free as you can get. it's just sitting there waiting on our bank accounts to tear the whole thing straight out of there. so i don't know what all the upset's about. even spraying bleach-based cleaner on it wasn't enough to make him feel clean. not that bleach should make a person feel clean.
i spend the nights on the couch because i don't want to relive her going into hyperglycemia and me being out of commission for eight hours. i can't stand to remember how close a call it was five years ago. very kismet-like, the finding of her. so i wake up constantly to either check on her or to clean up juana's incredibly revolting diarrhea, or to check for more poop because there's no way juana's diarrhea can still be making that smell even though it is, and to feed ttyki some more, and to make sure ozzy is keeping his filthy mits off ttyki and not crushing her to death, i hate him.
almost every time i call the vet (which is at her recommendation), i have to call multiple times over multiple days to get her. sunday, when i got the reading of 90 and worried i shouldn't be giving her a shot, i was told the vet had just left, and for some reason the person answering the phone felt confident enough to tell me to proceed as normal which could have killed the cat, so she went to ask a vet at my behest, but then oh! she caught my vet just on her way out. magically. i don't like having to feel that my vet is avoiding my scheduled calls. she didn't call back yesterday and i just give up. maybe i'll adjust meds myself. but at what point do we decide she just isn't responding to this insulin?
we just keep sticking her with needles. and it's hard to do injections when there's not much there to inject into.
probably 90% of the population would suggest i just haul her on down the road and decide this is the moment you die, cat. and i would totally understand a pet owner making that decision in this situation. but i just can't make that decision without her being in obvious and ongoing anguish. i feel like i can't make that decision for her. i've told her a couple of times she can go when she needs to. that i'll do what she decides. that she doesn't have to fight. that i'll understand.
i'm afraid to recycle all the cardboard boxes. i know which towel to wrap her in and which toy to put in with her. and then i'll come home with a ttyki-shaped hole in my life.
i wonder if cats look at us and wonder how it is that we age so slowly.