The Ugly Three Legged Stool

Back in April our Sophie girl was diagnosed with feline diabetes. At nearly 17 years old, the diagnosis came as shock. Yet, after a life free of health problems until a sudden decline, it wasn't exactly unexpected either.

For a little while she seemed to hold steady with a special diet and not much else. 

Unfortunately, it was only a temporary fix. Our old girl is going down hill again and I know that our next choices aren't ideal: Insulin or mercy.

I feel like a asshole for saying that I don't want to go the insulin route. It's an expensive and intrusive option for a geriatric cat that hates all things medicine and injections. It doesn't seem fair to her to have to go through that in her twilight years.

At the same time, it's not fair to her to not feel well either. Poor girl, she's spends most of her day hiding from the crazy that is life with a toddler. She is most active in the mornings before he wakes and in the evenings when he's in bed. She's nearly blind and while she has trouble always making it to her box, she does everything in her power to not make it worse then it already is. I'm sure this situation is heartbreaking and embarrassing for her.

Yet, I can't bring myself to face the alternative. The one that means she won't be here anymore. Not when she's still capable of being a part of our family. She still greets us every morning and watches us head up to bed every night. She still hops up on the sofa with me every evening for TV time and sneaks onto the bed when she thinks Mr. Berg isn't watching.

When I found myself in this position a year ago, it made sense. Bob was dying, there wasn't anything I could do to save him. Sure, I could try  medicine that would buy him at best a few more weeks and at worst a few more hours but I couldn't buy him quality of life. I knew what I was doing with merciful. I knew my choice was the best gift I could give him.

With Sophie, I don't know. I feel like I'm failing her on every level no matter the decision.

I think deep down, I know which choice is right. I know she doesn't want to feel so crumby. I know she knows that time is running short. There are nights when we're curled up on the sofa, I'll be engrossed in the TV when I suddenly look down and realize she's watching me. Her gaze soft and silent. Almost as if she's taking it all in, trying to remember every detail. 

There is no way to wrap this up in a pretty bow and end the story with a happy ending. There are going to be tears and there are going to be sad times ahead. I just wish I knew when the time is right.

I hate knowing that this is coming. I absolutely hate it.