A couple years ago, prior to Obbie, this orange and white cat started coming by the house. She wasn't into being petted, but very much enjoyed the crunchies I left for her.

Two kittens showed up prior to me going to visit Oklahoma, and I think they were hers. She never owned up to them, though. She kept coming by for crunchies, but didn't stay long, then wouldn't come back for weeks. She was a passerby.

Last summer, she came and stayed, outside, and had kittens. I heard them before I saw them. One day, while I was sitting out back on the stoop, she brought me her kittens one at a time.
That's how I met Grunt, Sissy, Reggie and Fraidy. They all hung out as a big happy family, coming and going as they pleased. Except for Grunt, who I brought inside because he was tiny and scrawny, and just puny, and I was afraid he'd be snatched away by one of the big hawks that hang out around here. Poor Fraidy was very beautiful, but dumb as a box of rocks, and eventually ran out in front of a truck and got killed. He's buried behind the house.

This past winter, Mrs. Cat and the remaining kittens (now pretty grown) came in and stayed in. It was cold. They'd go out a little, but would scurry in when Obbie and I left for work, to find a warm place to sleep.

Time passed, everyone has been happily going in and out, and all was right with the world. On Thursday, when I got home from work, Mrs. Cat was sitting on the floor by my computer, curled into a ball, napping. I didn't think much of it. Later, she got up and went out in the hall. I heard thrashing around, and went to investigate. She was having a seizure. It was a terrible flashback to Pete back in January. She ran up the stairs, and fell back down all of them. It was horrible.
She curled up in a ball in the dining room, and didn't move. I went to work Friday thinking I was going to come home to take her to the vet to be put to sleep. When I got home, she was sitting up, and looked a little better. Ok. I thought we'd see what would happen. On Saturday, she looked about the same, so we left to go to Philly, making sure she had food and water if she wanted. I actually prayed that she'd die, so I wouldn't have to take her to be killed. When we got home on Sunday, she was gone. We searched everywhere for her. EVERYWHERE. I couldn't find her. I figured she'd gone someplace to die, and prepared myself to start looking for her body before the hot weather got really bad, and smell of death permeated my house.

Last night I was poking around in the laundry room, and there she was. Quite alive, and not really willing to come out of her hiding spot. She was either dying or healing. I didn't know which. I figured I'd find out soon.

Sure enough, tonight she was out here in the living room, laying on the floor. She can walk, but it's very very unsteady, with a definate tilt to the left. She went out to the kitchen and chowed down on a bunch of crunchies and water. The vet told me, when Pete stroked, that sometimes the cat will overcome it. Not be 100 percent, but recover from it.

Am I being cruel by letting her live? Am I just prolonging her agony? She's not crying or anything. She's just 'here'. What kind of life is she going to have? Or should I suck it up, and take this cat, who has done nothing but fight her whole life, to the vet for a shot to end her life?