Our cat of eighteen years, Holly-boo, is suffering. Each day, she slips further from us. Her hips have gone. When she stands over her food or water bowl she looks like the coyote hitting the canyon floor in a roadrunner cartoon. This cannot be anything other than painful. She has lost her appetite and mobility. She doesn’t groom. She rarely sleeps. Neither do we.

Last week, she tried to climb the stairs during the night. Stubborn. She fell. I was out of bed and there to catch her before she hit bottom. I don’t think that incident helped either of us. Nothing broken. Things are just not working. She has been found in all corners of the house, trying to get some relief that will never come. She’s old. She just wants it to stop. I’m just worried she will try climbing the stairs again. Stubborn. I respect that.

Nikki and I have made an appointment. Neither wanted to. But it seems the kindest. Tonight, we fill her with all the things she shouldn’t eat. Pick her up. Pet her more than she wants. Let her pee where she wants. We will scratch that lovely head and look into those soulful eyes. Tomorrow we take Holly-boo on her last trip. I’m going to ask the vet once more if there is more we can do. I already know the answer, but I’m going to ask. We expect to return home alone.

This fucking sucks.

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