I moved here from Michigan with all my belongings stuffed (and it was tight packing) into an eight foot pull behind U-Haul. The cats rode up front with me (We are not amused. Not amused.) and we were fine until we hit Buffalo, New York. Then my brakes started getting harder and harder to operate. The cats were sympathetic (Holy shit, does this mean we get to stop??) but I pressed on - I made it (coasting in) to my fathers house in Canandaigua, there to find out my car's frame had cracked and the car was a big ugly paperweight. I finished the trip out with all my possessions taking up a teeny amount of room in an eighteen-foot U-haul. (Only certain sizes [all the biggies, natch] are allowed over the border) The cats helped me feel like this was my home.
My oldest cat, Panda, has been slowing down for a year or more. We think she's fifteen, which is a pretty respectable age for a reformed barn cat to have attained - but I don't want to let her go. Now, though, it may be just nearing her time.
She's started wandering around the house, crying like she's lost, and even when the other cats go to her she still doesn't seem comforted. She spends a lot of time dozing, and her eyes have a glassy sheen. She's lost a bit of weight, and last night we found blood in the cat box. Thursday Bear will take her into the vet and we'll see what he says.
I hate thinking that this is the end. On the bright side, she's still eating and drinking and purring and doesn't seem uncomfortable, just lethargic and...well, old. And tired.
Thursday we'll know.