It occurs to me that the last post that I made about my kitty was not an optimistic one, and that elaboration is in order.
Being an unpredictable little brat, she held on and has recovered. She’s still a 16-year old hyperthyroid kitty with less than absolutely textbook liver function, so she’s not the picture of youth and vigor, but she continues to be the vessel of as much piss and vinegar as possible, tearing around, eating her food, licking her toes, shedding on everything, and otherwise living the life of a retired geriatric lady and being a treasured companion and very special little soul in the process. On June 12, this was her, bathing directly in the one slice of sunlight falling on my couch:
She’s doing okay, and I’m happy to share my living space with her as long as she is willing to hang around in it.