When my household in suburban Oakland had two cats, neither one would ask me to refill their food bowls until one was empty. By that time, the other bowl had only a few kibbles left, so I refilled both. Once Galadriel passed away, though, Scooter changed her habit. She still finished off her bowls, but after every refill, she came to me to ask for new food. It took me a while, but I figured out that even a dozen new kibbles satisfied her demand. Scooter wasn't really hungry; she just wanted the attention.
About six weeks ago, her odd little requests stopped. This had happened before, only to resume later; so I thought nothing of it. Sadly, it turned out to be the harbinger of something far worse. Her liver was failing, and her eating itself was steadily slowing. By the time anyone noticed something was wrong, it was too late; the only option was to keep her comfortable as her appetite vanished completely and her body shut down.
Tonight, about seven weeks shy of her 15th birthday, Scooter crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She had lost the ability to jump to or from her corner of my bed, and the pain had become just too much. At about 21:15 Central time, a veterinarian performed the euthanasia. In her final minutes, she wanted nothing but ear scratches from me, and those were probably the last things she felt.
So long, Scooter, you Cat of Many Colors. And thanks for being my friend for 14 years.
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