On Christmas Eve, she spent most of the time lying down in various spots on the floor and a table. She felt warm, like she had a fever. On Christmas day, she acted like she was feeling some better. Still lying down, but with her head up, looking around. No longer feeling feverish. Around 5:00 Thursday morning, she vomited a large amount of thin liquid. She went in the kitchen and lay down by the water bowls, sphinx-style. I got up at 9:30 to call the vet for an appointment. I found her lying flat out on her side in the corner of the kitchen, dead.
I took her to the vet so they could send her for an autopsy. I forgot to ask them how long the results would take to come back. After the autopsy, she is to be cremated and returned to me like Buttercup was.
At first I was afraid she had something contagious. I covered the yakkage with a towel so Penny wouldn’t get in it. I’d been cradling her in my arms while I was on the phone with the vet. I put her in a box, then scrubbed my arms with antiseptic soap and threw my nightgown in the washer. Now, though, I’m afraid she got into something poisonous or swallowed something that caused an obstruction in this wretched mess of a house.
Penny was pasted to me up to a couple of hours ago. Now she’s probably back in the former bedrooms, which is her territory.
In 15 months, 4 cats have died. Three untimely, all unexpectedly. It’s just Penny and me now.
Right now, I feel like I’m dying, too.