Olivia goes to the vet today and Pia, who could hear someone quietly getting a pet carrier out of a closet a mile away, decided she’d rather be anywhere else.
Don’t mind the pin-pricked sofa arm in the photo. We’re pretty certain those responsible feel real bad about that.
Olivia, Olivia, why do you eat for Dad but not for Mom? It’s a mystery.
Every other day, Mom gives Olivia an appetite stimulant gel that goes in her ear (Olivia’s ear, not Mom’s who doesn’t need an appetite stimulant in the least). If Olivia doesn’t barf twelve hours later, she seems hungry, has both wet food and kibble in her personal bowl, and will walk away from individual kibble bits hand chosen and offered by Mom. Dad, on the other hand, can feed her a dozen or more kibble bits every day and everyone’s happy. Except Mom. And Dad in that he can’t stay home every day to hand feed Olivia kibble bits.
Never a big cat, or a weighty one, Olivia’s always been sleek and thin. Just not five pounds thin. Yes, she’s slowing down, faster than we thought she would; does anyone really see their pets slowing down other than the grey fur showing up here and there and getting up to move from place to place? Olivia alternates from being able to jump up on the kitchen counter to not jumping up on anything. She used to sleep nightly with Quint; now she prefers to be alone, on a blanket on the floor in another room.
She’s never been a social cat, it’s now she seems to prefer being alone more than usual. She doesn’t spy on anyone, never has anything to tattle about. You know when you just get that feeling something’s not right, that something’s off?
Our vet didn’t detect anything at Olivia’s vet visit last month, and her bloodwork came back perfect. Later this week, she goes back for X-rays to see if that shows anything. We look forward to finding an answer and hopefully, we’ll find one. Until then, it’s a mystery.
