Our cat - my cat, really - Lyta is getting on in years. She's about 12-13. My mom keeps saying 15, but I digress. Ever since her sister had to be put down a few years ago, it has been a constant stream of comments about how we've got to put Lyta down soon. No reason, really.
When Zoe was getting sick towards the end, her clumps in the litter box were more watery than anything else, so my dad likes to mention once a month (It was once a week for a LONG time there) how he's watching Lyta's droppings, and the moment he sees anything, we're taking her to be put down.
Gee, thanks. It must be nice to put someone's foot in the grave so suddenly without a bit of evidence.
On top of that, every so often my mother likes to explain to me, like I'm a fucking child, how the cat is getting old, and some day...SOME day, well... Jesus, I *know* she's getting up there, I understand the whole concept of death, but we don't need to sit like bloody vultures hoping she gets sick so we can get rid of her.
So when Lyta came down with a cold, coincidentally at the same time and with the same symptoms as I did, it began again.
"When you've got a moment, check under your bed for Lyta," I already knew she was there, "Because when cats get sick they'll go and find someplace comfortable to die. She's not long for this world."
WHOA WHOA WHOA. That was it, right there. I went off and reminded her of all the little comments she's forgotten she's made over the past five years, told her it seems like she's looking for a reason to get rid of the cat, and there was none of this talk when our other cat who is almost as old got sick two months ago and went to hide under the couch. Talk about your double standards. It's clear which pet everyone else in this house prefers.
She often calls Lyta a bitch, when she's the nicest animal in this house, she blames her for stuff she does NOT do, she blames Lyta for attacking the other cat which she NEVER does. In fact, it's the other cat who has attacked Lyta since we got him, and gotten *very* violent about it. And every time it happens all my mother says is, "I've never seen him do anything like that." or say she doesn't remember him ever attacking her, or even ask when he started doing that. TEN YEARS AGO. That's when! At least dad backs me up on that count.
I know she's old, and I'm not trying to be in denial that someday she'll pass on, but for fuck's sake, we do not need to sit out in the yard with the grave dug and calling her to it.
And for the record, Lyta's cleared up mostly, still a litte sniffly, and eating and drinking just fine. She just wants to be left alone. Hell, *I* wanted to go crawl into someplace dark and quiet yesterday too, and at least I could blow my own nose. I guess it's time for me to die as well.
I should start making comments about retirement homes every time my mom sneezes.