Poor Joey

My big old tomcat is feeling poorly again. He's still a big purr box with me, but he has no interest in playing with the other two cats. He's visited his water bowl (a good sign) but only wants to eat treats. He's even rejected the baby food and Feline a/d I heated (to make it extra smelly for him). Because he's not eating, he hasn't left much in the litter box for me to inspect. I can tell when I lift him that he's lost weight.

We're going to the vet together on Thursday morning. I hope that it's something easy to diagnose and simple to treat, like bad teeth. I'm fearing the worst, though. I sense him fading away from me.

He's a very good boy. He's never naughty. In our nearly two decades together, I can't recall a single moment when I've disciplined him. He has almost no temper. Throughout her long feline life here, my diva girlcat Charlotte slapped him every day, for no reason beyond not liking the cut of his gib, but he never one responded in kind. It's not in him. He wants nothing more from life than a patch of sun to sleep in.

Joey was named for Joey Tribbiani, Matt LeBlanc's character on Friends, a show that had its finale ten years ago. When I brought him home from the shelter, Bill Clinton reeling from his own mid-term elections.

As I hold him close to me, I admire his wonderful heart and hope he's not hurting.