I thought I'd separate out the sad from the comical this morning. We have come to the conclusion that Scooter's time here with us is very short. The tumor won't suddenly get better, and while he eats and drinks pretty well, he can't stay hydrated. Taking him to the vet stresses him out, and he won't let us give him fluids. In fact, he's gotten downright difficult about letting us apply compresses to his tumor to keep it clean. I think he's been trying to tell us he's ready to go, and while I actually came to terms with that as much as I possibly could, I feel like both Scooter and I have been waiting for Keith. This may be very unfair, but I felt like I couldn't approach Keith about it after the whole not talking to me last month when the vet thought it was Scooter's time.
The whole situation is heartbreaking. I love Scooter so much, but then again this poor, very thin, partially deaf and blind cat that lives with us isn't the same Scooter except occasionally. For several months I've almost been afraid to touch him since he looks so fragile. He'll come at night and get into my lap while I knit, and that seems just like old times. Last night while I was waiting for Keith to come to bed, Scooter got onto my chest to sleep, something he hasn't done in a very long time.
I've got to end this right now. I'm starting to cry, and my grammar will go all to hell.