All three of the cats were loaded up into their carriers with a great deal of chasing and drama, and with great howls of despair (which dropped property values as we drove past) it was off to the vet. They were originally scheduled for last week, but there was that damn snow to consider.
Miss Sophie and Phantom just sailed through their exam, the vet even complimented us on the condition that they were in, especially their coats. Happily, neither one of them needed to have any dental work done. Then there was Mu the Terrible.
Since last year he has lost five pounds. That's a lot when you're a twelve-pounder to start with. And he is nearly seventeen years old now. So they took blood, and we'll be called with the results on Saturday. The vet thinks that it may have something to do with his thyroid, but I'm not too certain. We'll know more then. It's the waiting that bothers me.
I feel dreadful that Mu isn't well, and I'd be sick if we have to take the next step. I know he's miserable, and he's only really happy when he's up in my arms being cuddled. He play a bit with Phantom, but most of the time now he's curled up in his bed. But -- If I have to make the decision about having to give him euthanasia, I will. I don't want him to suffer in pain, that's cruel and not at all necessary. Better to let him go with dignity and without suffering.
Sigh.
But it still hurts like hell.
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