The Geriatric Ward

Mo has suddenly gotten old. Very old, almost overnight. He has an old cat's body now. He's lost a lot of weight. His fur is rumpled and dry-looking.

His eyes were watering badly. I felt guilty for not finishing up the antibiotics prescribed for him. I mixed up the rest of the batch and gave him a dose last night and this morning. This evening, he seems the better for it.

But he is still an old man. I hate to see this happen, but it's inevitable.

This morning, I heard a strangled little meow and went in search of it. I found Boris in the litter box, hunched up, looking miserable. Poor Boris. Plugged up again.

My fridge looks like I could run a vet clinic from it. I found the syrup to dose Boris (it's worked twice so far) and he was not pleased.

Gus has taken to following me around. I think he misses Gracie, who was cuddled up with him and Mo almost every morning.

The cats are changing and the dynamic is changing.

Phoebe is coming around for affection. This morning when I woke up, she was at my side. And just below her, to my astonishment, was Sophie.

Katy rarely ventures out of my study. There's a comfy bed on the desk and that's where she's spending most of her days. I realized that Katy's probably close to eleven.

Butch is a loose cannon these days. After eight years of sitting on the kitchen table or the top of the little china cabinet, he can spring up anywhere these days and frequently does.

This morning when I ran down to the basement to fetch something, I spotted Dylan on the basement floor, behind a box. This is nothing like my showman cat.

Things are changing. They always do.