[cat adventures…]

[cat adventures…]

Life often throws a curved ball you don’t expect.

Last Monday morning, I kissed my cat good bye and went to work. Everything was great and as usual.

In the evening, I came home, opened the front door…

My cat and I have a tradition (yes, after 19 years together, you get traditions even with your cat.) I come home, and she’s right there…

But there was no one there.


I came in, looked around, and saw her standing on the bed, looking sleepy. “Oh well, guess I opened the door too fast and she didn’t have time to wake up and come.”

However, it wasn’t so simple. As she clumsily got off the bed, I saw that she is limping. Both front and back right legs didn’t seem to work or were painful.

“What happened, Liz?”

I looked at her paws, wondering whether she just got hurt jumping on the table or something. Nothing… apart from limping and very tired look.

Although she is quite old (133 cat years / 19 human years), she was never sick, so I decided to watch her.

On Tuesday morning, she didn’t get up from the bed at all when I said her most favorite word: “Kooshat” (which means “come eat,” but sometimes I suspect she thinks it’s her name). She always was running to the kitchen, often getting tangled in my feet as I sleepily stumbled to get her something for breakfast. Not that day.

I got really worried.

Finally talking to the vet, I arranged for her to come take a look at my cat on Thursday. Mom said she’ll come too. I needed all the moral support I could get.

Wednesday was wasted for me because all I could think of was vet’s visit and what she would tell me.

“It’s cancer. She’s got a month.”

“She’s 19 years old after all. There is nothing I can do.”

“Let’s spare her the misery and pain and put her to sleep.”

There were so many possibilities and none seemed encouraging.


Finally the Day of the Vet came.

I hoped I was ready, but every time I looked at my miserably limping furry monster, my heart just squeezed into a tiny ball of anxiety.

… Long story short, turned out Liz had a stroke.

But I am thankful because it means that with pills, she stands a chance of recovering fully (even if I have to get creative trying to get her to eat those pills).

I am thankful because I still have her at my side.

I am thankful and was on the verge of tears when I came home on Friday and Liz met me at the door. Still limping, but we’re getting though it.

I am thankful because God has answered my desperate prayers (or, I guess, those were more like pleas for help).

I am thankful because I can look again into those bright blue eyes and see my reflection and feel her tongue washing my hands.

And it’s not as if I wasn’t thankful before (just ask anyone who ever made a mistake of asking me about my cat… I can talk about her for hours…), but this week’s trial made her even more precious to me.


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