I will try to write another post later, but it might be very late.
Miranda cat has grown very thin and for the last two weeks has diarrhea and can’t seem to control it at all. I thought it was hyperthyroidism, which hits every cat who lives long enough, sooner or later.
Marshall is moving out this weekend, so we asked him to take her in to the vet, so he could take medication with him (she’s very attached to him and if he moved out, of course she’d need to go or she’d stop eating) and she could be all right for another year or three.
Well, it cost a lot of money to tell us she didn’t have thyroid issues. It cost a lot more to find out what she did have. The bill is close to a thousand, now, and some more expenses are necessarily still involved, and not the kind we wish to pay for.
Miranda cat has stomach cancer which has metastasized to the liver. I feel like the worst of cat people, as in the moves and all we didn’t notice how bad she’d gotten, until these last two weeks, because it’s impossible not to note running your carpet cleaner three times a day.
Because of her condition — our fault not noticing sooner — chemo would just kill her. We had two choices: euthanasia or keeping doped out of her tiny head till she goes naturally in a matter of two, three weeks.
We’d take box two, though giving Miranda meds would aggravate both of us. She’s never taken them well. But Marsh is moving out. We’re not going to send her with him in this state, and it would be bad at any rate to make her endure yet another move now.
So it’s box one, which I hate, and which I’m sure she’ll resent as much as our Dejah Toris did.
I’m getting tired of sending inmates to the rainbow bridge.
Miranda was the only cat we ever bought. She was my “yay, I’m published” gift almost sixteen years ago. I picked her out of a litter of Cornish Rexes and a litter of Sphynxes because (it was January, in CO) she climbed up my overcoat, got close to my face and said “Meeee.”
Of course she, then, immediately adopted my younger son, and made it her job to bring him up right.
One of the last things we sent Mrs. Heinlein was a library-bag with a picture of Miranda painted by older son.
She’s been boss cat since Pixie died, no matter what the boy cats think, and able to hold her own with them though she never weighed much more than five pounds and the boy cats are in the fifteen to sixteen pounds. She was a brave hunter of wasps, terrorizer of boy cats, and indefatigable warmer of laps. And we’re taking her on her final trip. And until I looked for a picture of her to put on Facebook, I had forgotten how beautiful she used to be, even five years ago.