The old lady goes down fighting

Readers may remember how she’s figured out how to go down the stairs by herself. Unable to use her back legs properly, she’s learned to use her shoulders, pushing herself from one step to the other carefully.

Even though she has problems walking because of her arthritis, she still insists on moving herself from one end of the third floor to the other, seeking the most comfortable area to sleep.

She also continues to enjoy her food and even to tease Thong, one of the soi cats who likes the third floor too.

To me, that cat seems so proud, as if she’s not letting something like old age slow her down.

The only time I’ve ever seen her fearful was last year, when she suffered a seizure. She seemed terrified that she couldn’t control the spasms in her legs, but luckily, after she woke up from the sedatives the vet gave her, the terrible seizures stopped.

Old age has slowed her down, nevertheless. Over the months, she’s been spending more and more time sleeping - common in elderly animals - but she doesn’t sleep alone. One-eyed Angel sleeps nearby, as if she’s the elderly cat’s guardian. Of course, she steals some of Susu’s food too, but not much, just a taste.

As weeks pass, I notice that Susu has increasing difficulty walking. At one time, only her right back leg caused her problems, but now she has difficulty controlling both back legs, and her front legs are weakening too.

I increase the dosage of the food supplement to strengthen her ligaments and muscles, and for a while, it seems to help.

And then, this morning, the seizures suddenly return. She’s eaten a good breakfast, but a few hours later, I see her head twitching. I take her down to the first floor, where I can keep an eye on her. Angel follows, too. Susu, though, has that fearful look in her eyes again. She can’t control the movements of her head.

Within minutes, the seizures increase, and I rush her to the vet's. At the clinic, she’s administered a sedative and falls asleep.

The sedatives don’t help. The seizures start again as soon as she wakes up.

“The prognosis isn't good,” the vet says, meaning that because of the seizures, her brain and other major organs haven't received enough blood. Her body is shutting down, but we decide to try the sedative again.

She never wakes up. Instead, she falls into a coma, and her breathing weakens. Then it stops.

She’s gone.

That night, Angel wakes me up again and again, calling gently. “Someone is missing,” I think she says.

She’s right. Someone is missing. Someone is missed.