A few years back, when Sean and I were still in a fairly new-ish relationship, we took in his elderly family cat. Misty had first been his sister’s cat, and then had sort of become his mother’s. Now that his mother was sick, Misty became ours. She was already elderly – 19, by his best estimate, and plagued with illnesses. Diabetes, a tumor on her jaw, hyperthyroidism – the list was fairly long, but in spite of it all, Misty was a happy, content little cat. We gave her her insulin, monitered her diet, tried to keep up her calorie intake and hoped for a few more good years.
In the spring of 2005, Misty seemed to go downhill. It was almost impossible to keep weight on her, so we moved her over to a pricey, vet recommended diet. I had my misgivings, but Misty was Sean’s cat, and I decided that the best move on my part was to step back and let him and his vet sort out her care. Sean isn’t like me – he doesn’t pester his vets with questions and second guessing and ‘but I read this on the web’ type statements. I suppose that makes him a better veterinary patient than me, although I’m not so sure that being ‘pesky’ isn’t frequently a good course to take when charting the care of our pets.