Clogged Tear Duct | Cat

Sometimes I think she’s fine. Sometimes I think her body just found a small, harmless way to look like it remembers every loss I’ve ever told her about.

Miso sat on the arm of the sofa, one eye gleaming clear and sharp, the other weeping a slow, rusty tear. It wasn’t sadness. Cats don’t cry for reasons we understand. This was plumbing—a tiny, clogged duct somewhere behind her tortoiseshell mask. cat clogged tear duct

I dabbed it with a warm, soft cloth each morning. She leaned into the pressure—just for a second—then flicked her tail and walked away, offended by my concern. Sometimes I think she’s fine

Day after day, the same ritual. Warm compress. Gentle wipe. A single, perfect tear reappearing by noon. It wasn’t sadness

The vet called it epiphora . Too fancy. Miso just looked perpetually moved, as if she’d finished a sad book hours ago and couldn’t quite shake the final page. A brownish trickle stained her white bib fur, then dried into a little comma under her eye.

Here’s a short piece based on the phrase “cat clogged tear duct”:

The duct stayed clogged. The cat stayed dry-eyed, except for that one steady leak. And I stayed there, cloth in hand, wiping away a sorrow that wasn’t even hers.