Last night I thought she'd cracked it.  She wanted dinner, meowed, reach up with her paws like always.  Only gave her a half portion as it had been so long since she'd eaten she might vomit if she ate too much.  As it was I saw her eating crumbs from Matisse's bowl.  Thank you! I said to whomever is the Protector of Cats and whatever It is that watches out for me.  Disaster averted.  

So when she wasn't waiting at the door this morning my heart plummeted.  And when she didn't stir from the chair until I vacuumed and even then she only walked, slowly, to hide in the laundry, it was obvious the miracle was a fluke.  Now, she sits hunched, as she has all day, in pain.  I've got the heater on even though it's not cold, trying to keep her comfortable.  She'd gone into the bedroom waiting for the afternoon sun that never came (it's overcast).  I carried her back to the living room.  She meowed, a piteous meow.  Gave her the meds this morning - were they the miracle? - to no effect.  

So her grave is half dug.  Will finish it today and ring the vets tomorrow.  She looks so sad.  It's just cruel to wait for the miracle that will not come.