Resting. Finally.

It's been a rough few days. The cat (pictured) is ill, and we have been running back and forth to the vet, which luckily is just a couple blocks away. Something's up with his liver, he's listless, doesn't eat, and lost a lot of weight. Many conversations about what we are willing or not willing to do for a fifteen year old animal. How much is too much? how much is not enough? Invasive tests and surgeries and feeding tubes are all being offered and seem out of the question. We are feeling old and infirm all by ourselves, thank you, and are having a hard time with an extra responsibility. But right this minute, after subcutaneous fluids, anti-nausea meds and antibiotics, he doesn't seem so bad. Got him to eat a few bites of designer cat food from an actual spoon (I am feeding a cat with a teaspoon!), although he was reluctant to eat from a dish. Mostly he just wants to burrow under my arm and sit on me. So this moment, where he's stretched out normally on the back of a chair, seems like good news, or at least a respite.