Last night Java: shat in the middle of the dining room rug at 11; woke me at 1:30 for food; threw up said food at 2:00; woke me at 2:30 for more food; and sprayed the wall in the living room at 3. [I had given up and moved downstairs to sleep on the sofa at 2:30.]

I'm exhausted. His gastro issues are challenging, but the rest are all pointing to feline dementia. And that makes me really sad. He's 15, and he's been alone in the house for the last 4 years.

We're working hard to avoid that conversation. But at what point do we fail him by not acting? When does the loving thing become the hard thing?