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I don't know. Maybe the cat won't die, maybe he will. What I'm sure of is that it's up to him. After days spent with a glaze of absence over his eyes, days in which every breath seemed to take something out of him, Claudius retreated to a corner of the basement. What was strange was that his alertness and personality then returned.
He enjoyed company again, though didn't seek it out. He enjoyed being patted and even purred a bit. He still had no interest in food, though he drank water.
Yesterday, he actually ate a few mouthfuls at one point and then refused later on. I carried him upstairs to join us in front of the TV last night (he weighs nothing!) and he seemed like himself again, though a weaker version of himself.
I carried him back to the basement last night and then found him upstairs again in the morning. He went out and sat on the back steps and when he came in, he ate a little bit (more like licked at the wet food for five minutes). He ate a bit more before I left the house for work and I've left food in his bowl, though I'm sure it will be the dog who will empty it.
So, his life seems to be in his own hands at this point. If he had fluid in his lungs or some infection, he seems to have fought it off. I don't know if he's going to take in enough calories to slow his weight loss. Much more and he's probably at risk for a heart attack. But I feel calmer about the whole thing because I've taken myself off the hook. I don't control his life and death and will accept whatever happens at this point.
Lessons in humility, eh? Thanks for all your kind words and wishes.
He enjoyed company again, though didn't seek it out. He enjoyed being patted and even purred a bit. He still had no interest in food, though he drank water.
Yesterday, he actually ate a few mouthfuls at one point and then refused later on. I carried him upstairs to join us in front of the TV last night (he weighs nothing!) and he seemed like himself again, though a weaker version of himself.
I carried him back to the basement last night and then found him upstairs again in the morning. He went out and sat on the back steps and when he came in, he ate a little bit (more like licked at the wet food for five minutes). He ate a bit more before I left the house for work and I've left food in his bowl, though I'm sure it will be the dog who will empty it.
So, his life seems to be in his own hands at this point. If he had fluid in his lungs or some infection, he seems to have fought it off. I don't know if he's going to take in enough calories to slow his weight loss. Much more and he's probably at risk for a heart attack. But I feel calmer about the whole thing because I've taken myself off the hook. I don't control his life and death and will accept whatever happens at this point.
Lessons in humility, eh? Thanks for all your kind words and wishes.
