No change. On hold. It's all over

Callie's condition is unchanged. She's still sitting on the floor down in the entryway, which has been one of the places where she enjoys spending time in summer for years now. It's cool down there, she can hear us upstairs, and she can look out through the sliding glass door to see what's happening outside.

At 9:00 a.m., I'll be calling the veterinary clinic for an appointment. I hope they'll take us this morning.

Since Callie can't go upstairs under her own steam, and she's too heavy (20.5 kg / 45 lbs.) for us to carry upstairs safely, that's where we've got her set up. We can use a towel as a sling to carry her just a few steps out onto the gravel driveway to do her business — peeing all the way, a couple of times yesterday. I get really sad when I think she can no longer scramble up the wooden staircase to the loft (I've loved that sound), go out walking through her favorite woods and on her favorite route around the vineyard, or go up to the loft and spend the morning sitting regally on our bed, waiting for the morning walk while I work on my blog.

Again last night, I slept down in the entryway on a mattress on the floor. Walt slept upstairs with Natasha. It's better to keep the puppy up there, because she doesn't yet feel confident about walking down the wooden staircase and stays up there rather than wandering all over the house. Sometime between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m., Callie starting whimpering and whining. I couldn't figure out why. I talked to her, petted her, turned on the lights, and tried to figure out what she wanted. To go upstairs? Can't do that. Have Walt come down and see her? I hated to wake him up. Go outside and pee? She wouldn't usually go out at that time of night.

Finally I went to the sliding glass door, which was open just a crack for cool air, and opened it wider. What did I hear? Caterwauling. Two cats were involved in a growling standoff in the neighbor's yard or out on the road. That's what Callie was hearing and she was whimpering in excitement and frustration. The fact that she didn't get up to go see the action means she really can't stand up now. By then, Tasha had also started growling and even barking her shrill yap upstairs. I heard Walt close the front window of the loft, just above the front door of the house. Tasha calmed down because she couldn't hear the cats anymore.

I stepped outside clapping my hands (no nearby neighbors right now) and calling "Scat cat! Scat cat!" I walked out the front gate and down the road a few steps, to let the cats know I meant business. The growling and wailing stopped, and I went back inside. Callie settled down, and we both went back to sleep, as did Walt and the puppy, he says. He also says he looked out the loft window before he shut it and saw a neighbor's cat and a mysterious unfamiliar cat sitting and wailing at each other on the road. It wasn't our cat Bertie. Who knows where he was...

P.S. update: Callie died at about 12:30 today. Euthanasia. Peaceful.