I got back from the vet this morning without Smitty with me, who is staying to get some blood tests done. Her weight is down to 8 pounds, 4 ounces: a far cry from her fighting weight of 11 pounds. Even without the results of the bloodwork I know such a drop is not good.
The vet got a feisty cat, though. Smitty sat still for her temperature reading but that was about it. She squirmed and hissed at getting her heart checked, and pitched a royal fit getting her stomach checked. At one point she was hanging off the arm of the vet assistant and cussing up a storm (the vet assistant was surprisingly serene about it, though).
Once I got home and the kids were off to school, I took a shovel into the backyard and dug out Smitty’s final resting place. She might go into it this evening.
I’m going to be a nervous wreck all day.
The degree to which that must suck is very high. Sorry to hear it.