Monday, December 21, 2015

When is it Time for a Pet to Die?

Some people might have told me: about $200 ago.

At first, she simply spat out the pills the vet prescribed. Then, she started “cheeking” them. Her hissing had stopped neither my attempts nor the vet tech's to get the medicine inside. Apparently, she thought we might assume she'd swallowed them and leave her alone. 

Next, we tried the same medicine in suspension form. I delivered correct doses from all three syringes, but most of it ended up on my clothes or in a foamy mess around her chin. My husband tried the next day, but had similar results.

She has the run of a large nooks- and crannies-filled basement. We haven’t seen her since last night. She hasn't touched her food all weekend, even though I haven’t tried to hide ground-up pills in it since last week. Except to refresh it, I haven’t messed with the water in the still-full bowl either.  Maybe she'll come through the open door to my office and perform her "jump in front of the computer screen and threaten to drool on the keyboard" routine. Darned cat. Or perhaps, this stubborn fifteen-year-old senior citizen has made her own end-of-life decision.

Update: She showed up in my office, still turning up her nose to water and even Kat-Man-Du dried Bonita flakes. If I try to give her more medicine, she’ll run away and I may never see her again.


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