The poison could date back as much as three months the vet told me, but I think Tiboy may have been hit. He went exploring two days ago, and when I picked him up to bring him back in, he was fairly quiet and didn't fight that much. The next day, he slept under the bed, coming out only to have some mackerel at lunch time. Last night, we cuddled on the bed together and he was calm for once, not trying to do his disturbing humping thing on me.* For that I'm so grateful. I already feel guilty enough that I didn't notice he was suffering without having him pass away while I was disgusted with him.
He was a dumb, frustrating, not-very-hansdome** cat, but he was also sweet and affectionate and faithful. I'm going to miss him.
*I could have sworn I typed an entry about this way back when, but a quick search will not reveal it. I don't have the heart to type up an explanation.
** We adopted him in March 2002 when he was only about 6 weeks old from a woman in our apartment building. She no longer wanted him because she was going to get two purebred Burmese kittens. Three cats would have been too much, you know. It is being judgmental on my part, but seeing the woman, her impeccable dress, her airy, impeccably decorated Parisian apartment, it did not surprise me that scrawny piebald little Tiboy, with his wide murky eyes and fur that couldn't decide if it wanted to be short or long was getting the boot. He got better looking with time, and he never lost that sincere affection he showed us from the moment we met him.