17 years isn’t enough for this cat.
I started this blog years ago when I was sitting with my sick “firstborn” (he wasn’t my first cat ever, but he is the first that I alone chose at the age of 16). He recovered, as he always did, from the anemia that time, the pancreatitis before, the blocked urinary tract before that. Now here I sit again with my firstborn on my lap, my baby, my chunkalunk, the one I cried over for weeks when I moved out of my mom’s house. But this time there’s no recovery. His birthday is a day before mine, March 1st. He just turned 17. And he went from feeling a bit bonier than usual on Monday to a cancer diagnosis on Wednesday. These little a-holes hide everything until it’s really bad. His normal girth didn’t change, apparently because it’s not filled with fluid, and didn’t even have any interest in the one true love of his life – food. So I’m here visiting, as I will do every day that I can until he tells us it’s time.
He will happily sit here for hours. My butt might not be ok with that, but I am.
I know 17 is a long life for a cat, but I suppose somehow I expected him to be around forever. It’s life, I know, but when he’s sitting here on my lap (which was a rare privilege for him to bestow before), my heart breaks. It feels more like he’s trying to comfort ME. When my legs go numb eventually and I am going to have to move him off my lap, he will fight to get back on it. He’s just sitting and purring and occasionally looking up at me with his big eyes and his fu manchu whiskers (both reasons I fell in love with him at the shelter in the first place).
This is the life of an animal parent, we take on these furry babies and hopefully give them the best life they can have knowing fully that we will, almost certainly, outlive them.
I apologize for being a downer. A blog about a dying kitty (especially after so many months of not posting anything) is not exactly uplifting material. But, well, this blog is about being a crazy cat lady, and crazy cat ladies all have to deal with this at some point.
So many things have changed since I was 16, but Fatty has always been my kitty. This sucks.
MEOW hear this! 
I am, without a doubt, heartbroken for you. Preparing for the loss of our fur-babies is unbearable and stressful and sad and infuriating all balled up into one big bad heap of emotion. I am sorry for you and your baby boy. I hope you find a way to enjoy some of these moments and simply snuggle together and communicate love the best you can. It helps…a little. Sending you love and wishes for peace from afar. You are both in my thoughts…
Thank you so much. I grieved him already partly when I loved out 8 years ago, but turns out that letting them go doesn’t make it easier. He is being such a love, he’s making it really really easy to soak it up while we can.
I’m so sorry to hear this terrible news. Cancer sucks. It took my baby boy last year and I still grieve for him. And the grief is powerful–I think because the love was unconditional. He just adored us. We never let him down, we never disappointed him, he loved us without reservation. And losing love like that will damn near kill you. I’m also so grateful you have the opportunity to say goodbye and to love on him a bit. It’s not much, but it’s something. I would give anything for a day with Papa, just to hear his little meow and kiss the top of his head. Thinking of you and sending so much love and courage. There is no easy way through this.
I’m sorry you lost your baby boy. It’s never fair and it’s never easy. I thought I would have a bit more time but the appetite goes a bit more each day so I’m “prepping” myself – like that’s gonna do anything, right?
Thinking of you and sending love and strength. There’s no prepping for that kind of trauma. But at least you can hug him and kiss him and tell him over and over how much you love him. That counts for something. {hugs}