One Life Down, Eight to Go

Remember Felix?

Last Tuesday Felix was acting weird. He walked up against the end table table legs and looked at me and meowed and meowed. It was like he couldn't figure out how to move himself. I picked him up and tried putting him in his favorite resting spots, but he struggled to get out of them and kept heading back towards those table legs. He wasn't moving right. His left leg kept folding up underneath him.

He finally made it to where he wanted to be -- curled up on the carpet next to the heat register. I decided two things. 1. Felix wanted to be warm. 2. Felix was dying.

I wanted to make him comfortable while he peacefully died. I covered the heating pad with a flannel pillow case and put in near his warm spot. He soon found it.

On Wednesday, he staggered out, got a drink, used the box and went back to the heating pad. I'd bought a couple of cans of cat food and fed him a tablespoon or so and gave him some water with the bulb syringe.

On Thursday, I fed him some more of the canned food. Then I went out and dug a hole for the inevitible burial. Then Felix groomed himself. Got more water. Used the box and went back to bed. He really rallied.

On Friday he ate the rest of the can of food. It was no small task -- I'd given up on H's baby spoon and was using my fingers to put food in his mouth. He chewed gratefully, sometimes on my fingers. I made a wooden spoon out of a big popsicle stick with my Dremel. He knew he wanted food -- he just wasn't sure how to get it.

And I have been holding him in my lap at least twice a day, spooning food into his mouth. He comes out to drink and use his box, I guess. I haven't monitored his every move. Every day he is a little more active but he always returns to the heating pad.

Crab and I decided he had a stroke. His left leg still folds sometimes when he moves and he often circles to the right. I looked cat strokes up on the web and see that many cats recover from strokes. So I'm hoping for the best. I don't know how long I can stuff stinky food into his mouth. A hole awaits him if my patience runs out.