Dead Cat Walking

I have long subscribed to the philosophy that my cat is simply that, a cat.  In the event that my cat can not longer live a healthy cat life, I will take him to the vet for the ultimate cat nap.
I have friends who have paid thousands of dollars to nurse along an ailing animal.  I totally get it.  However, I'm just not that person.
I tend to equate animal healthcare, among other things, in trip value.
For example: my friend's dog recently required surgery and physical therapy to the tune of $3000.
I see that as 2 round-trip tickets to Fort Lauderdale, where Matt and I will then board a ship and sail away for a week to the Bahamas.
Doggy surgery vs Cruise to the Bahamas?  Bahamas.  Hands down.

So my cat is getting older and Matt and I agreed, and have shared with the kids, that in the event that the cat doesn't eat and drink on his own anymore or if he decides to dedicate anywhere in my house we will take that little drive to the vet and put him down.  No pills, no therapy, no surgery or tests.  Sorry but he gets three strikes and this cat is out.

Last night Eli told me that the cat pooped on the carpet in front of his litter box.  I cleaned it up and decided there was a chance that this was the result of a dingle berry.  I decided not to count it against him but it was his one and only warning.

This morning I woke up and there was cat vomit on my bed.  STEEEERRRIIIIIIKE 1!

He better figure out how to control his bowels and tummy or he is on a slippery slope to meet the big kitty in the sky.


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