Ophelia has been ailing again. She didn’t want to eat. I offered to help by eating Ophelia’s food but you can imagine what the Mom said.
Ophelia nibbles. My mom keeps coaxing her to eat more. Ophelia stopped purring.
So my mom took her to the vet today.
“I don’t think Ophelia is thirteen,” she told the vet. “I think they lied. She acts like a 17-year-old cat. She’s all bony.”
The vet agreed: Ophelia has taken on the qualities of a very old cat.
“Here’s the thing,” my mom said. “You’ve got an old, fat cat. You want to give it a home. The cat is 11, 12, 13 or more. That sounds OLD. So you mark the cat’s age down to 9. Single digits. Now she’s more adoptable.”
Even so, my mom never tires of saying, Ophelia spent 30 days in a cage in the Seattle SPCA. She was lucky to get adopted at all.
So my mom is back to giving Ophelia fluids and medication. Ophelia’s got that smug look, like, “I’m gonna win this one! No more dry food.”
I’m a neutral observer. Treat, please?