Hey! Like so many, I have a sick puddy tat who won't eat much.

I posted a long thread in the heath forum because my sweet old man, PC is dealing with diabetes and an infection from a tooth that likely went into his nose.

We're trying to do everything we can in the hopes that he can recover and spend a few more years with us.

I live in Texas with my husband and four cats.

PC is my oldest. He has lived with us two months shy of 15 years. The vet thinks his 16th birthday is in July, probably because the paperwork at the shelter said he was a year old when we adopted him. I don't actually remember what the paperwork said, so he's at least 16. He's the one who has diabetes and an infection in his nose. He's the one in my profile pic.

Pebbles is 15. She was born in June of 2004, I met her when my brother adopted her at six weeks. She's a flame point Siamese, very beautiful, very sweet, very cranky, and very much a one person cat. That one person turned out NOT to be my brother or his wife. It turned out to be me. She would only come when I called and only I was allowed to hold her. I'm still really the only one allowed to hold her, but she'll come when my husband calls - because she knows when he calls he has cheese. She's the true head of this household, ruling everyone with a red and cream iron paw.

Blueberry or Boo, as he's usually called. He's about ten. Maybe eleven. We feed any stray or feral cats that wander into our backyard. When we bought our house we also bought a sweet, declawed, stray outside cat that we named Blackberry. We started feeding her, and when we realized she was declawed - after we saw her climb trees and found her on the roof of our carport more than once - we tried to bring her inside. She broke herself out of the house, and lived happily in our backyard for years. Shortly after she disappeared (I suspect she got I'll, she was quite old, and went off to get better or die and didn't get better, she never left the backyard unless it was to go across the street and back) a family of ferals moved in.

Boo was born to one of them before we could trap them, and before he was old enough to learn to fear us his mother passed away in our carport. We buried his mother, but assumed he was afraid of us. Except he wasn't even afraid of our cars! I picked him up so my husband could safely back up and he settled in a purred at me, happy as a clam to be held for the first time ever in his short life (he was about six-eight weeks old).

We brought him inside, because we knew what his lifespan would be if we didn't. And we trapped the remaining ferals that hadn't moved on by then.

We suspect he's part Maine Coon because he's got the fluffy coat of one and the personality of one. He's still just as playful at ten as he was as a baby, so sweet and laid back. He has only gotten angry at me a handful of times, and when he does he forgives quickly.

Pebbles hates him and he loves to annoy her because of that.

Jessie. She's the baby. She turned one on the eleventh. She also belonged to my brother, but because of some stupid drama involving my very immature and petty elderly mother - who they live with - they were forced to rehome her. Rather than let her take her chances at a shelter we took her in.

She's a petite little torbie. Hates that there are other kitties in her house, but is adjusting over time.

Pebbles hates her, the boys don't care unless Pebbles has her cornered - then they want to get involved by standing there. Jessie tries to be dominant and that drives Pebbles nuts.

We usually let them work out their own differences, but we intervene so no one gets hurt.

Anyway, that's my brood.