Rachmaninoff is waiting for spring.
Physically, I prefer to think of him as "diminished," though "emaciated" is the correct clinical term for a cat in chronic renal failure. The fact that Maine Coon cats are a longhaired breed is a blessing. I am grateful that he is comfortable, a word that has come to mean so much since he became ill late last summer.
Living without hope is not something I know how to do, but now my hopes have been tamed. I hope that he will see another spring. I hope he will see his 18th birthday in May, and I dearly hope that he will have a chance to loll in the green grass again, something he loves to do.
I'll settle for the moon now and ask for the stars later.