Tough Love

Today

Abby is poorly. She hasn't eaten for nearly a week. She spent two days at the vet where they diagnosed a urinary infection, rehydrated her intravenously and brought her temperature down. She's back home but still won't eat and I've had to force some water into her, an act against which she struggled vigorously. I still have to get antibiotics into her and she's not very happy with me.

I'll probably have to resort to wrapping her up in a towel so that she can't fight me when I get the tablets and water in. I suppose the fact the she has some fight is a good sign.

In My Day

In 1993 my little cat Amelia was starting to show signs of her age. She was pretty arthritic and rarely left the house and garden. Her fur, never her strong point, began to look "staring" and dry as though she'd been in a spin dryer. He little white patches began to look yellowish, as she stopped caring for herself, and I took to washing her gently.

When she stared bringing up her food we took her to the vet who said that her kidneys were becoming atrophied (quite common in older female cats), prescribed a special diet and gave her six months to live. Amelia couldn't even manage this diet. She clearly knew she was dying as she decided to go on a walkabout of her favourite haunts. We saw her walking with a stumbling, drunken gait down the neighbour's path. When she came home she climbed into her bed.

She refused all food and I became worried that she would die of starvation and thirst. So I found a 10ml syringe and simply forced a mixture of milk and water into her about every hour. She didn't seem to be in any kind of pain and simply allowed me to poke the syringe into her mouth; putting up no resistance. A day or so later I felt her becoming colder and colder. Eventually, one night when I popped her into her bed I knew how unlikely it was that she would still be alive in the morning.

And I was right; she'd slipped away, apparently peacefully, because she was still in the same position that I'd left her. She was nineteen, which is quite a good age, and. given that one has to die, she managed it with grace and ease.

Abby, I don't think you're at this stage yet, but you really must let me sort you out - it's for your own good and, in this case, I really do know best.