Oliver, the 18 year old cat we adopted right before New Years Eve, passed away overnight.
He had been sick for about two weeks, suddenly refusing food, or nibbling at it without much enthusiasm. A weight loss was noted, and Lisa bought him liquid meal replacements for cats, designed for weight gain. For the last week I've been feeding him with a syringe each night. A few days ago one back leg began to fail him; on Cinco De Mayo both back legs stopped working.
While affectionate, he was not overly fond of *requesting* affection. That night, on the 5th, he demanded to be petted and cuddled and even nipped my hand when I stopped for too long. It was clear he knew the end was coming, and he was afraid. It broke my heart.
On the 6th he tried and failed to get off the bed and use the litter box, and Lisa, sadly, made the right decision by scheduling a euthanasia for 11am the next day.
She let him remain on the bed tho, throughout the day he would shift from one spot to another, sleeping almost the entire time. When I went to bed for the night, on the couch, he was twitching in his sleep.
Lisa returned from an overtime shift at about 330 or 4. He was awake and alert, and she spent some time petting him before drifting off to sleep.
At 5:30 AM she woke me up. "Danny, I think he's gone." I went and checked on him and rigor mortis had already set in. He had avoided the euthanasia appointment by seven hours, and died at home on the bed next to Lisa, some time in the 90 minutes after she returned home.
In my mind, I know he waited for one last goodbye with her. He loved spending time with Lisa.
Smiley buried Oliver in our backyard shortly after six, with most of the house still asleep.
We had Oliver for only 129 days (12/30/24 - 5/7/25) but I do not regret adopting him. He was a loving cat that was loved in return, and brough a lot of happiness into our lives in that short time. Man, it was good to have another gray and white cat in the house.
RIP Ollie. You were grand.
