Conversation with the exterminator about my 16+ year old cat:
Exterminator: Ma’am? I’m afraid you have a dead cat in your living room.
me: Oh, he’s not dead. He’s just really old.
Exterminator: I’m sorry, ma’am, but this cat is dead.
me: He’s just fucking with you. He sleeps with his eyes open.
Posey: MEOW.
Exterminator: JESUS CHRIST!
me: Exactly.
…That was several months ago. Since then, Posey has gotten thinner and wheezier and I felt selfish, so yesterday I took him to the vet to have him put to sleep. But then the vet was like, “This cats thyroid’s fucked up. I could probably save him. I mean, unless you just WANT to kill him.” Which is awesome. So now I feel happy and like an asshole.
Also, the vet told me to take a picture of Posey today and then another one in 3 months so that I can see the difference in his appearance. I assume he means if Posey responds to the meds, and not if he dies of a stroke in the next week. Hard to tell.
