My cat, Chilli, is sick. Chilli of email-address chilli. Chilli who looked like a frozen chinchilla when I first knew her as a 1-pound, 7-week old flea-infested abandoned frozen kitten at Cornell Vet School. My very first personally-owned cat. First cat I spayed as a vet student. It is hard watching her be ill. She has hyperthyroidism and kidney disease. The disease, and her reluctance to let me treat her regularly, have made her thin. That's hard to see because she's always been "fleshy." Her coat is shaggy because she doesn't allow me to groom her real regularly. She looks at me and meows every now and again, like she's a little desperate. I know she can't feel that great; her heart is pounding and she is weak because her muscles are small. Sometimes she can't make it when she tries to jump on the bed. Then I apparently scare her when I try to help her.
So I tell people that I'm "coming to terms" with her "committing suicide," because I can't force her to let me help her. But I feel a little helpless, and no I don't want her to suffer of course not, but I don't think it's time. Just recently she's showing interest in canned food, and seems to be getting her thyroid medicine if I grind it up and put it on top. So maybe there is hope for her. It's not easy.
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