Back in late February, my cat Mouse began acting funny.  Everything
began with her voice getting weaker and squeakier, and some lethargy
and a decline in her appetite.  Everything happened very gradually and
we deduced that she had a cold.  We tried waiting it out, but when it
became apparent that she wasn't getting better, but worse, we took her
to the vet in early April.  We waited so long because taking her to
the vet was always such a traumatizing experience for her that we
hated to put her through that.  We were beginning to suspect that she
had diabetes, because she also had developed a greatly increased
thirst.  Mouse was also to the point where she couldn't meow or purr
anymore, only make a very faint hissing sound.  The vet tried to take
a blood sample, but she couldn't get it to work, so she had to pull
her out of her cage and carry her back there AGAIN to re-do it.  They
had trouble with that sample too, and called us back a while later
after we went home to tell us that Mouse was so anemic that they
couldn't get a proper blood sample from her, her blood was too thin.
She said she was shocked that Mouse was still alive at that point.  We
were given steroids that would gradually increase her blood count, but
we were told Mouse may have a kidney or liver problem along with the
anemia, and if she did (which they couldn't deduce until her
bloodcount was high enough for a test), the steroids would kill her.
But WITHOUT the steroids, we were told, she had no chance.  We were in
a box.  So we gave her the steroids and she gradually got better, and
the vet said that her blood count was finally high enough to do the
test.  Luckily, no kidney or liver problems.  We went home and she
slowly started to get worse again.  We took her back to the vet  and
they said that she was EVEN WORSE than the first time we brought her
in.  She was flabbergasted, because she said the vast majority of cats
would have been DEAD with a HIGHER blood count than Mouse had at that
point.  Apparently, she was one tough puss.  So we  had no other
choice but to begin a higher, mroe dangerous dose of steroids.  Nasty
stuff.  She developed a terrible infection in one eye, and then the
other.  She went completely blind.  Her pupils were gone.  The eye
drops we gave her up until the very end did nothing for her.  Her eyes
leaked constantly, and one of them crusted over completely until she
clawed the stuff off in the night, leaving her with no furr around her
eye. She began losing the furr on her face.  She apparently had a
stroke or something and she began holding her neck crooked, and
walking crooked.  We had to carry her everywhere and tap on her food
and water dishes to indicate to her where they were.  One morning when
I got up she was sopping wet and I realized that she had fallen in her
water dish.  We began shutting her in my mom's bedroom to sleep with
her at night, the floor covered with plastic and newspaper (she went
on the floor a lot).  She'd sometimes bump into things and fall over.
We'd have to hold onto her while she was in the litter box because a
couple times she actually fell over on her side and hit the floor very
hard.  She apparently began losing her mind, because everytime we'd
set her in the box, she'd start eating the litter and we;d have to
reach down and block her from doing it.  We'd often carry her outside
and let her lie in the sun, or if it was hot, the shade.  You could
tell she absolutely LOVED it, although the first few times afetr she
went blind she was scared.  Sometimes my mom would sit in the recliner
and hold Mouse and rock her like a baby.  She looked absolutely
terrible for a while, like a corpse pulled out of a dumpster, but she
was still our adorable little Mousie.  You'd crack open her can or
open the door to go carry her inside and her head would pop up, and
she'd try to look around, doing that silent meow.  Oddly enough, she
developed a ravenous appetite when she was at her sickest.  She ate
like our dog.  You couldn't feed her enough.  But alhough her belly
grew, she remained emaciated, her spine and hips poking out.  You'd
pet her and all you'd feel were bones.  There were a couple times when
my parents were going to have her put her to sleep and I sobbed and
sobbed, but they backed out at the last minute, saying as long as she
wasn't apparently in any pain, we'd let her stay and die peacefully in
her own home.  Me took her off the steroids at the end because they
weren't helping, they were only giving her terrible infections.  On
September 27, my beloved dog unexpectedly had to be euthanized.  He
was in terrible pain from airthritis and was walking around with his
tail tucked under him, quivering, and was even losing his mind.  The
last time I saw him was when he was lieing trembling in the yard,
watching me go with a pained expression on his face. I was utterly
devestated.  I had been expecting Mouse's death for a long time, but
not my dog's.  The night of October 19, I was sitting in a recliner,
crying over the loss of my dog.  I was a wreck.  My dad tried to calm
me down by holding Mousie in my lap.  I hadn't noticed that she really
was dieing the last few days.  She just laid there, limp, like a
ragdoll.  She got up for the last time to defecate all over the living
room rug.  My mom took her to bed that night and said, "You might want
to pet her, I don't think she's going to make it through the night."
I was skeptical, as she had said that a few times before, but I got
down on my knees and stroked her.  She seemed totally unaware of the
world around her.  That morning I got out of bed only to discover that
my beloved cat that I'd had since I was 9 years old, had died in her
sleep.  I saw her stiff corpse.  I was in shcok.  I had just had my
two childhood companions taken away from me within three weeks of each
other after a decade together.  I didn't know how I could possibly
deal with one dieing.  Now I had to deal with BOTH of them dieing.  I
still miss them both every day.  I dream about them almost every
night.  I feel bad about those instances when I got mad at them and
said things I shouldn't have.  And I feel bad about the times after my
dog's death when I'd come home, walk in the door, and sweet little
Mousie would stagger out, blind, to try and greet me.  All I could do
was sulk that JACK wasn't there to greet us the way he always used
to.  I feel bad about the time that I actually began feeling hostile
towards her, as though it were her fault that she wasn't getting
better.  But those feelings quickly passed and I never treated her
badly.  I did everything I could to make her last months on this
planet as comfortable as possible.  She looked terrible, but she was
still my baby.  I'd do anything to have her and my dog back.  I tear
up as I sit her typing this.  Has anyone ever heard of a cat going
through such a horrible mysterious illness, and then actually going
blind from the steroids?  It's amazing that she was able to fight as
long as she did.