Ditzy, the cat who has lent her beautiful eyes to the banner on my blog, is ill. For a cat who is remarkable for her attitude, it's sort of sad to see her going so quietly. It was clear something was up three weeks ago when she relocated her sleeping spot to the top of the armoire and decided she was only coming down for trips to the cat box. She perked up and chowed down on Fancy Feast dry (in her own little bowl on top of the armoire with her) and began to think that perhaps she had just chosen a new nesting spot and she wasn't ill at all, or was perhaps only suffering from progressing senioritis.
Really, though, I knew better. Those of you who have had a few senior cats pass on have learned the signs. The pauses when moving from Point A to Point B. The small increased effort in breathing (cancer). The increase in time hovering over the water bowl (kidneys; diabetes). The abandonment of favorite spots, to new sleeping areas that say "Leave me alone, all you other cats."
I can probably get her into my own vet today but I'm checking with home-visit vets first, because I really would prefer to just get a heart/lung once-over for her here at home first without subjecting her to a clinic trip.
Those of you who know Ditz will understand why. This is a cat who goes into full scream as soon as you pick her up, and will yell like a banshee while you are petting her, then turn around and come back to be petted again. There was never anything normal about Ditz, which is precisely what makes her so endearing. She eats wood ashes and licks iron, paces in front of the bow window like a caged lion (the runs over to be petted when you call her name), has double-paw smack-fests over my knees with Ivan when sleeping in my bed (to the point where I have to prop a pillow on my side to prevent eye-contact), despises kittens, but nonetheless frolics and plays as happily as a kitten herself and purrs her head off if you scratch her cheek.
She's one of those cats who is so prickly you figured she would live to be 25 just to spite all the other cats in the house.
Apparently not, though. She had nice pink color the other day, but her color is lousy today. She's quietly enjoying being petted, rolling into the caress. Could it be that the cat who spent her life snarling like a devil has decided to depart fast and purring?
I really can't imagine this house without the Ditz. We'll see what the vet says.