The vet called me a little while ago. The little cat has leukemia.
Her protein levels are up, and there are signs that she’s got the disease going, right now… she isn’t just harboring the antigens or whatever they’re called.
So, I talked with my sister and we are going to do the only thing we really can do: euthanize. I need to call to see if the vet can do it late this afternoon/tonight. (Why the rush? Apparently feline leukemia IS contagious between cats, so I can’t risk Simon’s health. Also, I can’t allow myself to grow any more attached than I am. It’s better to get it done rather than putting it off.)
I’ve only “known” her since Wednesday night and yet I’m really upset about this. I keep crying. Good thing T’s coming with me because I don’t know that I could go in the room with her. When Sam died, it was so incredibly traumatic an experience that I have real problems trying to face it again. (If you recall, I didn’t want to be in the room when they did it, but I was b/c I think the vet was in a hurry or something. And Sam made little whining noises as he faded away, eyes looking at me the whole time. I still have vivid nightmares about it, 13 years after the fact.) I’m just so grateful T’s willing to be in the room with her.
This sucks. I’m angry. She never had much of a life at all.