Be sure ‘n’ give your four-footed ones some extra attention; my eldest daughter’s big, black tabby, Hawkeye, had to be put down last night. He wasn’t quite 8 years old. Big guy had undiagnosed congestive heart disease, and a clot migrated to the aortic branch at his pelvis and painfully cut off blood supply to his legs and tail.
No cure.
Hawk was the “teddy bear” among the cats in the family, my daughter’s far-and-away favorite, and the one cat who was best buds with the thrice-jilted shelter cat, Sam, we adopted five years ago. I expect Sam’s going to be unsettled for weeks trying to adjust to the absence of his bestie.
Sorry to hear about Hawkeye. It’s hard to lose a pet.
I’m very sorry to hear that. Coincidentally, my mother is having her old cat, Polly, put to sleep this afternoon. She has a combination of age-related health problems, including difficulty keeping food down, and Mom thinks it would be inhumane to subject her to another round of medical interventions when all she wants is to sleep in a basket of towels.