He's 13, which is getting old for a kitty. Since he was a kitten, he has always had a sensitive stomach. I kind of figured he'd have all kinds of health issues as a old cat, but I just don't want this to happen right now.
Last week, I noticed he seemed a little listless. Then when I petted him, he seemed a little bony, but he's been through those periods before. Before I left for Katsucon, he was really not looking well. When I got back, it's apparent he's let himself go. He's dropped a lot of weight, is super-bony, and doesn't come when I call anymore. He hasn't cleaned himself for a few days, and his fur is greasy. His nose is cold, he doesn't seem feverish or wheezy, just very, very, very tired.
He always comes when I call. He didn't this morning. He had slept under a chair last night (something he never does), and we couldn't find him this morning until we looked there. He got on the bed when we called him, but he looked terrible.
I feel, deep in my heart, he's going to die very soon. I kind of knew last year for some reason, but after all the other deaths, I wondered if I was paranoid. Pookie I had an inkling before she suddenly died a week later (like, out of the blue, fell asleep, never woke up). When I was a kid, I knew about a week before Daisy died, Mikey I kind of knew, but didn't want to face it. Oreo, I was too busy with my back, Christine's broken ankles, and CR's operation (and then my pneumonia) all at the same time to pay attention. I have always felt guilty that had I paid more attention to him, he might have been treatable, but by the time he was really sick, it was too late, and had to be put to sleep.
We're taking him to the vet this evening. I am most afraid of being told, "Well, we don't know and this will cost a lot," than I am of his death. That sucks to say that aloud, but I don't have the kind of spare income to deal with stuff like dozens of operations, chemotherapy, and a lot of other stuff that just delays the inevitable. That always makes me feel like I chose money over the life of a living being, but my family always comes first, and I can't put us in financial jeopardy for the sake of a pet. I feel I owe a lot of apology to my friends over this as well, because you all knew him. None of my other cats were even remotely sociable. Storm (the gray kitty) is kind of crazy, but sometimes she came out when parties ran late at night. Cosmo (CR's brown cat), doesn't like anyone but CR, and Thisby... well, is scared of everything. But Artoo would be other there, greeting guests, sleeping on their jackets, and being generally a good kitty host.
Artoo has always been there for me. Even when I didn't want him, and he tried to get into my den and yowl at the door when I was in there, but I couldn't let him in because he'd crawl all over my stuff, get hair in my open computers, knock stuff over while trying to crawl on shelves, and then inevitably get stuck in the closet.
I guess the only things I want to hear from the vet are, "Oh, it's just a flu, some take some antibitoics, and he should be fine..." or "There's nothing we can do."
I am trying real, real hard not to cry right about now.