Hello? Dr. Kevorkian?

Take a cat with ailing kidneys. A cat who has been with you as long as you have been with your husband–in fact it was your then-boyfriend-turned-husband who suggested you bring him home from the Humane Society where the grouchy little bugger weaseled his way permanently into your heart. And I’m talking about the cat, not the man. He was already in there.

So what do you do with this cat? His pink nose that turns a gorgeous bright pink when he’s happy. His amazingly bright whites that puts Sunlight Laundry Soap absolutely to shame. Your daughter has scars from this cat. You buy special food at the vet’s office for this cat. You moved apartments and took on a roommate for this cat. And now the kitty with the glued on blue plastic claws is having digestive and uh…bum…problems. Just how many accidents and ‘drop plops’ do you have to live with before it is time to play Dr. Kevorkian?

Unless said cat is evidently anguishing, how do you live with the guilt of assisting him painlessly (and I’m sure with a hefty veterinarian bill) into the great feline hereafter? I mean, he seems okay. Other than being skin and bones and guzzling water if he eats dry kibbles. And, of course, the whole bum thing. (How much stink can one cat make, anyway?) I mean, he’s still that loveable cat that gets in your face and is simply irresistible when he tries. He’s still that grumpy old goat who likes his ‘face space’. He’s still that curious guy who meows for you when you are gone. He’s still that poor abandoned cat who was rescued on your first night at the Humane Society, all grateful and purring even though he had lost part of his one ear to frostbite and had been abused and was missing a tail so nobody else wanted him or would love him. Except me.

He’s my pal. What can a girl do? What can a girl do?

All I can do is wait, hold his kitty litter encrusted paw and be his friend.