Well it’s been a rough day in my little corner of life. Our cat almost died, and while he is hanging in there now, we don’t know what the week will bring. He’s almost 14 years old, and truly the fattest cat you have ever seen (pictures don’t do him justice, but I’ll see if I have any on this computer I can post).
Considering that the vet told me (when he was a year old and a mere 11 pounds lighter than his current 25 pounds) that he needed to be on a diet or risk an early death from diabetes or heart disease; you would think that 13 years later I would not be surprised when he’s taken ill. For the record, not from either of those afflictions.
But really, he is a farm cat, and a hearty little (okay big) guy. He’s tough… a real dog kind of cat. Comes when you call him; lets out a little bark when the doorbell startles him; eats his whole bowl of food as soon as you pour it…He has dog envy.
He was here first. Before Craig and I got married. Before another cat. Before each of three kids. Before the three consecutive fish. Before the dog. He took it all in stride. Never peed anywhere other than the cat box. Never hid under beds. Never did any of the weird stuff cats do when they are ticked. I mean, I guess what I am saying, is that despite his obese cat status, I just assumed old Sam was invincible. He’s just too cool of a cat not to be.
I think there is a lesson here, but I don’t think I have it in me to connect the dots…too many dots, and too many lessons. And probably different for all of us.
Anyway, this one’s for you Sam… hang in there little buddy.