When Mark and I got home from visiting Joe M & Aunt Phyllis (along with Karla, Al, and Joey D), I checked on Harmony.
I thought for a few appalled moments that we'd lost her. She was in her cat bed, where I'd left her, but her head was drooping over the side just about upside-down.
I went to pick her up, and she meowed weakly. This poor cat. I sat on the floor for a while with her in my lap, and it was like having a rag doll or a beanbag -- she was completely limp, not moving at all.
Except her tail. I couldn't help but grin at the sight of her tail moving normally. Tail movements are cats' answer to humans' mood rings, and hers was moving in that slow, relaxed way. Just by watching her tail, no one could guess how sick the cat it's attached to has gotten.
I eventually put her back in the cat bed, since I was concerned that my lap was proving to be an uncomfortable place for her in that limp state.
Then I took her upstairs to the living room. Cat bed and all. One of her favorite nap spots is the extended foot of the recliner on my end of the sofa, particularly if I'm lying down on the sofa. So I put the recliner back, put the cat bed on it, and am now sitting next to her as I type.
I can't do much beyond give her my presence at this point. Every little while I reach over and give her a few pets and talk to her. Oh, and I have a recording of her purring saved on my cell phone. I played that back for her, too.
I had it in the back of my mind since I first brought her to the vet that until we know what's wrong, there are no guarantees that whatever the problem is can be treated. But I never expected her to deteriorate this fast. Between yesterday and today, it's like having two different cats -- and I was extremely concerned about how poorly she was doing *yesterday*.
Now I'm reduced to keeping her, with her cat bed, nearby so she knows that Meowmy is right here and dotes on her.
Why, but why, is that vet's office closed on Sundays? :o( I'm going to have to track down the address of University of PA's emergency vet clinic, just in case of crisis. By which I mean... well, given how far down she's gone, I guess I mean that a crisis is a bout of pain that I can't find a way to alleviate for her. This is unbearable enough to witness, and she's just weak and (apparently) fading. But she doesn't appear to be suffering. As long as she's resting and seems to be comfortable, I'll sit with her.