Wesa is maintaining. She hardly eats or drinks, and spends her day moving from one hidie hole to another, occasionally coming out for some petting before slinking away. I'm not even pretending to hope at this point.
My real wish is that she would go on her own. I don't want to make the decision that involves a needle and a vet. I wish she would go on her own, quietly and in her sleep, peacefully and swiftly. Then I wouldn't feel quite as awful. I'd just miss her rather than feel I was killing her.
I'm feeling awfully sorry for myself, I'd like to point out. I'm making the other cats a little skittish with all the huggling and cuddling and petting. But only a little -- they are all sluts. I adore them.
I didn't sleep last night because the dark was full of thoughts and memories, about not having children or parents, about being forgotten, about not remembering anything about the family that went before. There's a book out there somewhere, I think it's called City of the Dead or something like that. I've read only the synopsis, and it's about an afterlife where people go when they die, but only as long as someone alive remembers them. Once they are forgotten on Earth, they vanish from the city -- a sort of second death. I'm never going to read that book. The very thought digs too deeply into my own fears.
On the other hand, I'm getting a lot of reading done. It's a great remedy for the swallowing dark.