We lost little Betty in June. She never really seemed "right". I would watch her just sit in the middle of the floor and stare, almost as if she really couldn't see. She never took any interest in grooming like the others. When you would pick her up she drooped over your hand and would seem to almost fold in half with no fight in her. We weighed her once and at 8 months she was still only 3.5 pounds. One morning we found her laying prone under the space heater. Fang was alarmed, I cried. The next day she was worse. He scooped her up in his big grisly hands, his shaky voice whispering soothing sounds into her fur. I drove to the vet. Many suggestions and a couple of X-rays later we still had no clue what was wrong with her. We took her home with a prescription and laid her in a cage with towels all around, she would not move. Her momma and daddy slipped into the cage after awhile and sat with her. That night she died.
Sometimes I think cats are holding places for the spirits of those moving through this existence. You've heard me say this before, people live in cats. I really feel Betty was a holding place for a life force that hadn't found its beginning yet.
It still doesn't take the hurt and sadness away. It only offers a reason.
