We took Hobbes to the vet to have her put to sleep.
She’d been fading since this summer. Her few wits were the first thing to go. She’d wake us up in the middle of the night, sitting on the car in the garage and screeching. We’d get up and go see what was the matter, and she’d stare like “What are you doing here?”
Her personality became more kittenlike. She was friendlier than she’d ever been as a kitten, and not afraid of anything. Before when we were too purposeful or she saw another human, she had to go hide. Really, she changed into a pest. She followed us around to be petted and yowled at the back door when I was inside trying to work. I’d finally open the door and she’d be all bemused. “Who are you?”
In late November she stopped taking care of herself. She’d always been a dirty cat, but she stopped even pretending to try. We had to hose clumps of caked-on kitty litter from between her toes. We couldn’t brush all the mats out of her fur, and it was too cold to shear her. She was the garage cat; she’d always been too timid to come inside.
She lost interest in food. (Hobbes!? The chow hound?) So we started bringing her inside each morning for a special treat of moistened cat food. She loved that. She’d lap up the broth, eat a few bites, go outside, then yowl to come back in for twosies.
We started letting her stay inside, but she had no indoor manners. She peed on the floor, and when she peed on the lap chair, she lost unsupervised inside privileges. I won’t go into the catbox details, but there’s another story there.
Last weekend she stopped eating. She’d sniff at it then wander off. A couple of days later she stopped drinking water, and she’d always loved her water.
She was ready to go.