Miss Cleo, our 18-year-old cat, appears to have had another stroke last night. She's been declining for about a week, and this morning was substantially worse, unable to control her back legs at all. She stares at the food and water bowl like she's trying to remember what they're for. Her feet and tail are cold, indicating that circulation is shutting down. She has a final appointment with the vet this afternoon.
I just took her across the street to visit her former owner to let her say goodbye.
We joke that Cleo was on her 27th life. She's survived so many things that could have been fatal. But old age has caught up with her at last.