Sadly, I had to euthanize my lovely, snaggle-toothed, orange kitty Remy yesterday.

A few weeks ago he reverted to semi-feral behavior, cowering and running from me, and seemed to be having pain issues. I took him to the vet where a general exam didn’t show anything.

In the last week, he didn’t seem to be having much pain, but he was scared and wasn’t moving around much, although was always up on a chair or the couch. He was still using the litter box, but he wasn’t eating or drinking much.

Yesterday morning I picked him up off a chair and put him on the floor to eat: he scrambled, loosing strength in his front legs, and fell over on his side; he tried to run away, but his legs wouldn’t work and he dragged himself along the floor.

Needless to say, I made appointment with the vet right away.

For the half hour before we left for the vet, I sat on the couch with my two cats. I held Remy in my lap, petting, scritching and brushing him (brushing was his favorite): he purred and gave me nice, relaxed looks.

At the clinic, I was shown a room right away. After examining him thoroughly, the vet said it was most likely (99% most likely) a central nervous system issue, and that whatever was causing it had a bad prognosis. She gave me three options:

• do nothing and watch my cat live a scared, confused life of degrading quality;
• have Remy suffer through a multitude of tests costing (at least) hundreds of dollars, only to find out that there was nothing to be done; or
• euthanize.

As heart-rending a decision it was, I made the right one.

For five years, I gave Remy a wonderful, and comfortable, post-feral life. He evolved from a terrified, wild thing hiding in the smallest of places to an affectionate and sweet house cat. He gave Kiki a companion, calming her neurotic tendencies, and gave me the joy of living with a floppy, undemanding cat.

So long, Mr Rems. Kiki and I will miss you greatly.