In August (in fact, the day this picture was taken) I came home from work to find Abigail with two different-sized pupils...one very large, and one small. I rushed her to the vet, who looked her over, did some tests, and sent us home with some medication for a possible eye infection (although neither one of us thought that's what she had.)
Over time, our poor Babs became incontinent, lost her appetite, became constipated, had a few seizures, and eventually had lost so much weight she was becoming weak and wobbly. We took her to the vet again yesterday morning (Steve and I), and he said we had run out of treatments (we had tried a bunch.) Dr. Ricks told us she was on that terrible downward slide toward death, and if we let her, she'd survive until she was just bones and skin. That's not much of a life. We decided there and then for a peaceful end for her. The doctor is convinced she had either a neurological disorder or a brain tumor, uncommon in cats, but not unheard of.
We held her while she became drowsy from the sedative, and the doctor took her from us. She is being buried on a farm near town here. I tell myself that she was lucky to have had time with a family -- the warmth of sunny windows, companionship of other cat friends, good food and table treats, cozy laps and gentle brushings. And while I try to take solace in the ten months or so we had with her...it just doesn't seem like enough.