Pondering mortality

I found myself thinking about death today, in regards to pets. Brownie is 17 1/2, and lately she has been showing her age. Like Indiana Jones, she's had a lot of miles. I remember several years ago I had asked about a cyst like object in her back. The vet felt it and thought it would go away. About a year after that I took her in since I thought she may have scratched her eye. It had been squinty and watery since sometime the day before. I asked them to take a look at the cyst again while she was there. They called me later that day to say they had removed a BB from her. Now, if you knew Brownie, and I know some of you have heard her yowling in the background when you call, you might understand why someone shot her with a BB gun. I don't condone that in the least, especially since I got a surgery bill out of that trip, but I can understand how some ignorant person might shoot this cat who is very noisy. She used to be great at climbing up things and not being able to get down. In fact, one time she was missing for three days. It was a windy October, and I couldn't hear anything but the rustle of wind for those days. Keith and I finally thought we heard something and followed the noise. We found her stuck on someone's roof. No one was home, and we got on their deck, moved a table and were able to reach her. They were probably so relieved when they got home that the shrieking cat was gone.

Anyway, she's had a lot of miles and quite probably some metal poisoning from the BB. She has gone from being the terror of rodents for several houses around to looking so feeble that it would seem she would fall over when you pet her. This morning one of her eyes was dilated and would not go back to normal. What I have learned in the past is if it's not dire (like major bleeding) to wait a little while instead of rushing to the vet. I have rushed to the vet many times in the past only to get those huge bills for nothing at all being wrong with the pet. So I told myself to keep an eye on her eye and give it a few hours. Then I went to take a nap. As I woke up, I noticed that Brownie had not come in once to yell at me. She hadn't left the kitchen. And that's when those thoughts started. Was she ok? Was she still alive? Would Keith get home in time for us to inter her if necessary, and if not, what would I do with her while I waited? Luckily, she was still alive, sleeping in "her" kitchen chair. It took a little longer for her to rouse (we think she's partially deaf and can't see as well anymore), but movement around the food dish moves her into action. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about it for awhile longer. I know it's coming every time I look at her, but even though she can be a pain in the tush, I'm glad that she's still with us.