Kitty Hospice

Finn and Nicolai Pootenburg
back in Mesa 

Arizona Avenue has turned into a Kitty Hospice. Finn is still with us, though he hasn't eaten anything of merit since Friday. He doesn't even want canned cat food, milk, turkey, cheese or peanut butter. He isn't grooming himself either, though he is open to letting us brush him.   

We all love on him every chance we get, and more to the point, Finn--who is usually a bit standoffish--is letting us. Because he doesn't seem to be able to jump on the the furniture any longer, I fell asleep on the bedroom floor petting him for the last several nights. When Marty came home for lunch Monday afternoon, he found me curled up the bedroom closet. Finn was laying on my hand, purring.  

I didn't realize how we were all affected until Sunday afternoon when one of the Sunshines snapped at another. A third sagely pointed out we were all stressed about losing our cat, as that person gave Finn a few pats. Even Luna is hovering and whines when Finn doesn't move too much.

From our estimation, Finn isn't in pain. We know the inevitable is coming.