Lydia is back home in my back yard. She ate a bit, though nowhere near her usual amount. The vet found nothing wrong with her other than advanced age and advised me to "keep an eye on her" — so I guess I went to all that trouble just to get a second opinion. She seems a little better now but only a little.
And I guess I shlepped her over to this vet just to be told that there's really nothing that can be done for her. She'll be around until she's no longer around, which is pretty much the prognosis for all of us. Sorry if I spoiled any good moods out there with my morning worries but it's quite unlike her to be absent for so long and I was right that something is wrong.
She would kick and scream and claw if I tried to keep her inside but otherwise, I'm going to keep not one but both eyes on her and do whatever I can to make her comfy. Unless, of course, she refuses to pay off on our Oscar bet. Get Out as Best Picture? What was that cat thinking?