Sad

My cat, Molly, has been pretty ill for some time, really since about December.

She had a horrible paw infection right before Christmas. After that, she got a lengthy respiratory infection. This was immediately followed by mouth sores that made it difficult to eat, and then an eye infection that would not leave. (My good veterinarian, Dr. Jacob at Brykerwoods, discovered that she had a feline herpes virus, probably contracted at birth, which was causing all of this later stuff.)

Through all of this, Molly has spent many, many nights at the vet's office, hooked up to IV fluids and antibiotics. When she's been home, I've been hitting her at least twice daily with oral antibiotics and eye drops, sometimes more than that.

And - and I cannot stress this enough - she HATED EVERY FUCKING SECOND of all of this. They had to sedate her every time the vet or vet techs wanted to even put their hands in her cage, because she would sooner rip your finger off than let you touch her. And, she would get so depressed, being away from home, that I would generally come get her out a day or so before they wanted me to, just because I didn't want her to give up.

Well, today, I had made an appointment for yet another vet appointment, this time to a veterinary opthamologist, who would hopefully be able to address this nagging eye problem. I didn't feel really optimistic. She's lost a lot of weight, and she was starting to smell a certain way that suggested that there were things wrong inside.

But, sadly, I let Molly outside to sit in the sun yesterday morning. And she - she, who has never left the porch or the back yard, not once, not in thirteen years - has not returned.

I cannot decide whether I should be grieving right now or totally pissed off at her.

By default, I'm grieving.