I couldn't stand it any more. I picked her off the floor, cut off a good portion of her hind fur (matted with poo, litter, pee, etc.) and bathed her. Oh, it was so hard. She couldn't lift her head well and tried to protest and meow through the process... but it didn't sound like a cat. It wasn't any sort of good, strong cry.
She couldn't even sit up in the tub or do anything but move her front paws a little in an attempt to get away. I rinsed her, wrapped her in a towel, dried her up and brought her to the kitchen. Sat her on a towel and tried to give her water.
Later I figured out that she kept sticking her head in the water to drink, but was unable (for whatever reason) to actually drink. I was afraid she would drown, really. She kept twitching and sometimes crying. I scooted the water away and figured I would try again later. She would go to the vet in the afternoon as I couldn't possibly bring the littles (esp. Woodjie) to a place like that. We love Woodjie, but things like this... we can't do them like other families.
It was hard, hard stuff, knowing how bad things were for our cat. But I'm so glad that I did the uncomfortable (for both of us!) thing and bathed her. Brought her downstairs even though she didn't want to move at all. She was able to rest under the kitchen table and I had Elf and Emperor occasionally give a brief visit and pat.
Lunchtime... she stayed under the table. I swept around her after lunch and Girlie decided that she was a cat all afternoon. Meoww.
By the time Patrick and G came home from school, she was very, very still. I let G go to the park without a talk, but Patrick I asked to come into the kitchen before he left, would he?
He decided not to catch up with G at the park. He laid down on the floor with his glasses off, slowly petting. Petting. When would we take her to the vet? After G's ABA therapist came by. Soon. Patrick seemed annoyed and worried that I hadn't done this before.
Truth to tell, I didn't want to traumatize her by bringing her. I wanted to wait until Patrick had some time and D was home to watch the other children. Then we could wrap her up and Patrick could HOLD her on the way out. It isn't as though she's going anywhere and running away that we need the carrier. I knew she didn't have much time, but I was hoping for some pain medicine. (No, even though this was hard, I couldn't see myself putting down the cat.)
Patrick had to have been lying with the cat there a good hour and a half. Silently. Petting. This was his companion since he was three years old. Mopsy used to chase things, play dressup, cars, share a bed with Patrick and just all around be his buddy. Now she lay soo still except for a small twitch in the front paws occasionally.
Well, our therapist was there for "observation" (he'll help us with a plan to help G do well at home, so he's short-term here) and we were to do whatever it is we would normally do. So I told Patrick to get himself together so that we could go and I started rounding up my cell phone and stuff.
"She's not going anywhere," D called to me from under the kitchen table.
G, Patrick, D and I petted the kitty and some of us cried. It only took about five minutes before we slowly realized that her heart and breathing slowed, slowed and finally stopped. It isn't like in the movies. No last gasp. Just very slow fading.
D cradled our cat and we each said goodbye to her. I brought Elf and Emperor upstairs to give pets goodbye. She was then wrapped in a towel and placed in a shoebox. (Today D brought her to get cremated; he kept hitting pipes in the backyard with the shovel and we don't want to just do the drop the cat off at the vet thing.)
Elf and Emperor and I prayed and thanked God for our cat and her beautiful life. I don't think the therapist got a usual "day in the life" observation he came for, but I thought I heard him snuffling in the other room...
Elf declared that he wanted to be alone and mourn for his loss. He ran upstairs and wailed and wailed. The therapist decided it was time to leave.
We all miss our Mopsy. She was a good cat.