My beautiful Bean is sick.
Not desperately so, and perhaps not-imminently-fatally so, but she is ill, and it likely that this illness will at some point result in her death.
It pains me to say this, because I do not want my sweet old kitten to die, but I cannot ignore her decline.
Cannot. Will not.
I did ignore what was happening to Chelsea. It’s so clear, in retrospect, that she was sick for years, dying for months, and almost gone by the time I saw that gone was the best place for her. I spent money I didn’t have on a delusion that at 18 what little life she had in her was enough for a few more years.
It made the ending harder than it had to be for both of us.
So I won’t do that with Bean. I will see her, as she is, an old and sick cat. Oh, I’m doing what I can, within reason, to slow that decline, but at 15 1/2, ‘within reason’ amounts to home care and wishes.
Whether that decline is weeks or months or even a year, I have no idea.
But I’ll be ready, or readier, this time. Chelsea taught me that. Wishes or no, I have to see Bean clear.