The damn cat just stood there on the window sill, not seeming to give a shit about what she just did to me. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. The vet said she had cancer, small cell lymphoma. The oncologist suggested chemo, and while I was a bit reluctant, not sure if I wanted to put her through that, I figured that it would be worth it if it prolonged my beloved kitty’s life.
Still, having her spray diarrhea all over me is trying my patience. I know she didn’t do it on purpose, and the vet said that loose bowel movements are a common side effect of the chemo. But this is too much. For her and for me.
Fortunately I am in the kitchen, so I’ll strip off my soiled clothes and climb up into the kitchen sink. It’s a tight squeeze, but I need to wash off as much of that cat shit as I can so I won’t track it through my apartment.
After this episode, I need to rethink my decision to put her through chemo. Even though she is standing there, staring out the window showing no remorse, I’m sure she’s not a happy camper right now. She’s a fastidious cat, always cleaning and preening.
I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch her suffer. She’s 18, and she’s lived a good life. I’m going to call the vet tomorrow. I’m going to do what’s best for her and put her to sleep.
It’s ironic that they try to convince you that to put down another living creature is the humane thing to do.
Written for this week’s Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Photo Challenge. Image credit: Brooke Shaden.