I'm so angry and guilty and sad...I can't think of him as being in a better place. It's my/our fault. We knew he wasn't right, but we just didn't have the money to give him what he needed. If we'd asked about more comprehensive nutrition therapy back in April when he first started having the health problems, could we have reversed things? He may have been too far gone even then; there just aren't enough decent tests to be done in the non-private practice vet offices, and the private offices cost a fortune. The Banfield folks at PetSmart, while ok vets, I'm sure, thought he was on death's door in April, and the only advice they gave me on his diet was let him eat whatever he wants, because he was too thin as he was. He held out for 7 more months, but we've definitely learned that cat does not live on chicken breast and cow's milk alone, and that when they start getting finicky about food, it's not a problem, it's a PROBLEM, one that requires immediate attention. I get it now. We thought he was rallying, but he was probably feeling like shit for 7 solid months, otherwise he would've eaten more, eaten actual cat food, looked better, gained more weight. We were fooling ourselves, and that damn sure will never happen again. He was such a beautiful cat. I'm finding myself weeping openly at work over this. I'm so angry.
Figaro's getting insured, and we're putting her on a lower-calorie diet. She gets plenty of exercise tear-assing around the house, but the silo's got to go, cuz she's a little furry black piglet. And we're so in the hole over this, that I've no idea where rent's coming from in 2 weeks, and there's an excellent chance they'll be holding Jordan's ashes hostage until we can pay for them. Merry fucking Thanksgiving.
Sorry...not in the greatest place right now.