Smoke

Eugene has a cat - a very old and beautiful cat.

His name is Smoke and he has been in Gene's family going on twenty years now.

Alas, old Smoke is looking toward the Rainbow Bridge, I am afraid.

Gene came over today and asked if I would take a look at his lovely grey tom. It was heartbreaking to see his rheumy eyes, matted coat, distended belly and to feel his bones, sharp and protruding, beneath his skin. Smoke was calm and he looked up with trusting eyes as I held him in my lap on the drive to the vet clinic.

Of course, at his age, the prognosis is not good - cancer or congestive heart failure is the apparent diagnosis. We could do the heroics and spend a fortune in vet bills, but Gene and I both want to see him live out his days the way nature intended. So, the vet gave him an injection for dehydration, a steroid to make him feel perkier and some ointment for his eyes.

When we got Smoke home, he lept from my arms and headed for a the shade where I fed him a bowl of canned salmon. He has had such a difficult time eating lately, that it was good to see him enjoy a meal. No more cat food for Smoke - canned tuna and salmon from now on.

We hope that, when his time comes, Smoke will wander off and find a sheltered spot with a view where he can lay himself down.

It seems that our furry friends are leaving us as quickly as they are finding us.

Take care, Smoke.