I thought I would be making that call to the vet on Monday. He didn’t eat at all on Saturday and didn’t even have a glimmer of interest in his favorite dried squid treat. Just one sniff and he would walk away. He sort of sat down at the water bowl and would take the tiniest little lap with his tongue and then just stare out into space. He had that distant look that so many of you wrote about (thank you, btw, for all your comments and stories) and didn’t really want to sit with us. The evening was hard. My brother, who is a vet and the one who got us Tobi as a kitten back in 1997, told us that if he didn’t eat through the weekend, then it might be time. He had put his own cat to sleep himself earlier this year and euthanized our family dog 6 or 7 years ago as well (probably one of the worst things we went through as a family). I wasn’t sure what I’d find in the morning, but when I woke up I didn’t have to wonder. He had jumped up on our bed and wanted to be petted, rubbing his cheeks against our hand, peering into our faces. We laid like that in bed, petting him for the longest time. “Oh, maybe he is saying goodbye”, I thought.
We got up and saw that his food remained untouched and gave him fresh food which he refused. We left early in the morning for the day, but when we came back later in the afternoon we saw that the food was eaten. All of it. We gave him more and he ate that too. He seemed a bit like his old self, plopping himself smack in the middle of the girls’ train track village while they played, standing on his hind legs to sniff at the stalks of lemongrass on the table that Mark had bought in Chinatown that day.
I don’t know what it means. Maybe it means nothing. Maybe we take it day by day. All I know is, I won’t be making that call to the vet tomorrow. Not yet.