My old cat is on its last leg (or legs, if you count all of them). Chelsea, my daughter brought him home 13 years ago, a tiny, flea covered, dying kitten and he remained with us. He is as jumpy and terrified as a Scaredy Cat, is unsociable and finicky and just plain ornary. I love him anyway. He has never caught a bird or a mouse, vomits only on carpet and loses great big clumps of fur all over the house. The odd time , when he feels playful, he will attack my leg and bite me and he always drinks out of my bath. Poor Sidney (we named him after Sid Vicious).
I wish he didn't have to feel so bad, cuz its making me feel really really bad too.