For the last couple of years she's had a massive weight loss. The vets charged us about £900 (thank God for insurance) and we were still none the wiser as to what the matter was. For the first six months of her deterioration, we had to give her a pill every day. That in itself was traumatic for us and the cat. Cats are demons for spotting anything foreign in their food and we ended up learning how to drop the pill down her throat (typically with a dose of peanut butter to stop her spitting it straight back out).
But after six months of pills, and a change to special vet food pouches, there was no significant change so we carried on without pills waiting for her to die. The vet told us we'd have a few months, but in the end we had nearly another 18 months with her.
The vet said there was liver damage, but wasn't able to do anything about it. The likelihood was cancer but not sure if she'd have survived so long if that was the case. They did suggest further ultrasound tests at a not-insignificant cost, and the only reason we declined to have those tests, was that the vet said it would help diagnose what was wrong, but in all probability wouldn't change the cat's outlook.
Over the last two years we've got used to lots more toilet accidents - luckily all on a tiled floor; a ravenous appetite - she never seemed to want to stop eating; and a general withdraw from her playful activities.
We have kept asking ourselves when it would be a good time to put her down but the advice from the Internet added more confusion. A common theme seemed to be that if she was eating and wanted to spend time with you, then she was likely OK. Well, her appetite for most of those two years was ferocious, and she mostly slept on our bed with us like she always did. The Internet didn't help at all frankly.
But on Thursday she seemed more withdrawn than usual. She'd eaten but was sick twice in the night. On Thursday evening, she got into her litter tray and just sat down for a few minutes looking a bit confused.
So, on Friday I took her to the vets. On the way there, she lay down in her cat box, which was odd in itself. She was always on her feet, sniffing around. The vet picked her up, and realised after feeling her backbone that she'd lost more weight and 'yes, it was time'. When she was healthy, she was 5 kg. For most of the last 2 years she'd been half that at 2.5 kg. When she was weighed on Friday she was 1.9 kg.
The procedure was quick. The vet shaved her leg and injected. I was stood in the wrong place at first so the nurse moved me to where Molly could see me.
Molly blinked a few times, then was still.
The vet left me and Molly alone for a few minutes. I told her she was the best cat ever, stroked her, kissed her, then left.
In the morning, I find myself checking to where her food dish was, to see if she's got enough to eat. And when cooking, I keep expecting to hear her scampering up behind me to see what she could scavenge.
But of course, there's nothing.
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