Well, don't we all feel great today, here at Morgan towers.
Very late Last night, had to make a heartbreaking decision. Harry, our Ginger cat fell through the door, quite clearly not well at all. He'd basically lost the use of his back legs and was dragging himself around by his front legs.
Sharon ran to fetch me to tell me that something was horribly wrong. He couldn't stand up and was breathing loudly and rattly. Having had the week we have already, what with Luke being quite ill, but getting better all the time, we'd both had a few glasses.
We decided that if the worst came to it, Sharon would take Harry to the vets, Working in transport as I do, a DD ban wouldn't do any favours. As it was neither of us were caning it last night as we had our niece staying over, but we'd both have been slightly over.
Looking at him, I pretty much knew that this could be a one way trip. I made him as comfy as possible in the wash basket, wrapped up snugly in a towel. He purred contentedly between gasping for breath. I knew then that this was it. As Shaz left, I said to her that she was to make any decision based on what the vet told her, bravely, she did.
So at 2.45 this morning, Harry went to play in the big fields in the sky. It was the only fair and decent thing to do for him.
I wish I'd gone as it's fair to say, Sharon is a bit traumatised by the whole thing. She stayed with him and cuddled him until he went to sleep.
Apparently, it was a blood clot that formed and cut off the supply to his rear end. The rattly breath, fluid on his lungs.
Sometimes wonder why we bother, but I suppose if you didn't care, then what would be the point.