This is Muggles.
No, we were no big fans of the Harry Potter books.
I picked the name out of the thin air because of the M on her forehead (only partially visible here.)
It wasn't until later that I learned that all tabbies have this M.
But about six weeks ago our beloved Muggles stopped eating.
She also had developed a nasty cough.
And she began migrating to an apparently chosen spot, under the bed in SWMBO's room.
She grew smaller and smaller as she went day after day without consuming any food and very little water.
We assumed she was dying.
And as much as we hated that and grieved over it, we held back from taking her to a veterinarian to have her "put down".
I told a friend, Tom in France, about it one day in a comment on his blog.
He responded lovingly, having gone through the loss of his dog Molly, like Muggles a member of the family more than a pet.
And yet.
And yet.
Muggles has begun eating again.
And drinking.
She still has the cough.
And she has lost so much weight that she resembles a kitten.
And when touched, her body is like a fur coat stretched over a framework of wire coat hangers.
But she apparently is spending less time under the bed, favoring the top of the bed and it's fuzzy quilt.
She still comes to me for her "petting" when I sit down at the base of the bed.
She still purrs.
She has taken up, once again, her habit of coming into the kitchen and banging the door that she knows is to the cupboard holding the cat food, even though she eats very little of it.
We don't really know what to think.
We had pretty much prepared for her departure from our lives.
What a cat.
Great cat.
Muggles.
May she be, like the title character in the book I brought home today from the library for SWMBO (and I) to read, "The Cat Who'll Live Forever".
