The Reports of My (Cat's) Death are Greatly Exaggerated...

It seems our sweet old cat Fungus has a life left in him after all. He is home, thanks to a kindly neighbor who fed him for a few days then called us when he saw one of our signs. (I think we've made new friends with that family; The Youngest, aka The Wild Child, enjoyed playing with their son today when we stopped by after they first called. Fungus wasn't there at the time but showed up again later on.)

He's in rough shape. He was already skin and bones but he's lost even more weight. His bones aren't just showing, they're sticking out all over. He's walking funny like he got hurt somehow. I called the vet when we picked him up but they said to just watch him; I'll take him in tomorrow morning when the doctors are there. He's all set up inside our laundry room now. He's been fed (but not too much- we don't want to make him sick all over) and now he's settled on a heating pad and nice soft towel in a box. His poor old bones need the warmth of a heating pad; we've kept one on for him since we first noticed his arthritis. He breaks my heart, the poor old thing. I'm so happy he's home, and so worried at the same time after seeing how bad off he is. I'm dreading what the vet might have to say tomorrow, but maybe he'll be OK.