>my cat is 16 years old
>he's been by my side for most of my life
>ran into some minor health problems a couple weeks ago, made me really depressed
>taking medicine now, seems to be on the mend for now
the last thing i needed was for david bowie to remind me of mortality. im not ready to lose my cat.
cats are fucking worthless. i've had like 5 cats die on me. who gives a shit? i'm pretty sure one of my cats actually bled to death on my porch. he just laid there for like 3 days straight making noise and i would just glance at him as i walked past and then i realized he had stopped moving and there was dried blood all over his fur and he was dead. what are you going to do? i tossed his dead ass over the fence and hoped a possum got to his corpse before he started stinking the place up.
In the same exact situation with my dog
She's 16 (even older for a dog than a cat) and has recently had some health problems tho she's recovering. Obviously she doesn't have much time left being 16 and canine but she's much happier now than when she was sick.
I'm in pretty much the exact same situation with my 13 year old dog. I thought she was about to die a few months ago, but now she seems to be doing better and it's a relief, but there obviously can't be that much time left at her age. I'm going to be so sad when she dies.
We got Toby in the summer of 2000, he was just a kitten, no more than half a year old. Orange tabby, from a local shelter. Not sure where the litter came from, but luckily they were at the shelter that day. He jumped on my sister's lap right out of the cage when they opened the door, and that was pretty much it.
We have a few acres so we had land to let him outside. He ended up being sort of a 50/50 cat, outside during the day, inside at night. Any time I had to do yardwork with my dad, he would be right there. I remember so many spring days when we would be in the garden preparing to plant the tomatoes and peppers, and he was always there, content to watch and chase bugs around while we worked in the dirt. Any time you went for a walk in the neighborhood, he followed. At first we were afraid that he might run off, being so far away from home, but he was like a dog in that sense. He knew who his family was and where his home was.
He was remarkably healthy for most of his life, despite being run over when he was 7. Luckily, the tire only caught his tail, so the only damage was a separated pelvis (when he tried to jump away) and a small hairless spot halfway up his tail. He had a unusually quick recovery (by the veterinarian's own admission), and was back outside hunting mice within 2 months.
Last year, he began to develop growths in his ear. The vets said that it could be cancer, but to take a biopsy would require anesthesia, and with his age and heart condition (discovered years earlier, but never affected him), it might not be worth the risk. So we let it go, hoping for the best. Unfortunately, the cysts grew and spread, and it became clear that he would die. His health deteriorated over the next few months, yet he chose to spend even more of his time outside, always laying in the sun during that last summer.
Eventually, I could see he was in a significant amount of pain, rarely eating, sleeping more than usual, so I scheduled an appointment with the vet to put him down. The next day when it was time to go to the vet, I couldn't find him. I walked around our yard for hours looking in all of his usual sleeping spots, but he had vanished. When it got dark I stopped, but hoped that he was still out there (he was known to go days without coming back inside, but not in recent years). I still looked for him over the next few days, but it became clear that he was gone. I knew he didn't have more than a week or two to live anyway, so I assumed the worst.
I'd like to believe that he chose to die here, somewhere hidden in the bushes in our yard, because he somehow knew what the other option was. He always did know where his home was.