Victor

My cat is dying. Maybe not on the brink of death this very moment, but it's hanging in the air and with it is that dread that nips at my heels several times a day. At 16, he is no longer young and strong. Almost daily, I notice some new deficiency like losing his balance more easily, sleeping a little longer than before or not having the strength to jump effortlessly from the ground to the top of any piece of furniture he sets his sights on. (We are down to the bed only at this point with even the dining room table a no-go).

I found Victor in the street when he was just a year old. I had watched him for months from my balcony--he lived mostly on the street. Never able to catch him until he was weak and limping on the sidewalk, it was nearly midnight when I saw him and raced downstairs to scoop him up. When we got to the emergency room, they told me that he was extremely dehydrated and might not make it, but he did. I was happy to see him slowly recover as I cleaned his abscess and gave him antibiotics.

Over the years, I have become obsessed with this cat. His amazing personalty--demanding and affectionate. His ability to feel my moods and push his head against my forehead when I am in tears. He screams with displeasure when I pick him up and he is not feeling like being picked up. He purrs with his whole body when I snuggle against him.

Witnessing his decline singes my thoughts with terror--images of his death intruding on my plans for the day or my grocery list. I'm not sure that everyone feels the kind of nagging dread that I am plagued with. An anxiety that pushes on my chest. Ten years ago a vet told me that he had about seven years left due to his kidney disease. I felt my cheeks burning as I processed the words, but within days had pushed the prognosis out of my head as he grew stronger following that first urinary tract blockage. Now I'm back to those words, but they are sitting leaden in my stomach with new images of his declining physical strength.