We were very worried about the cat. She was acting listless, old, tired, moving around like a rusted-up robot, barely lifting her head above the horizontal to guarantee a view of the path before her.
She is old. Just a little bit older than Mary. Or a little big younger. I forget. (I'm no spring chicken, either.) Which, in cat years, so I am told, puts her in the geriatric range, somewhere between eighty and ninety.
Being the kind, compassionate cat-keepers that we are, we booked her an appointment with the veterinarian. She was due for a check-up anyway; what better time to inquire about her longevity? "Hey, doc, while you're checking the tire pressure and oil, can you take a look at the springs and seals, too?"
As was typical, we had a few days to wait before the appointment, kind of like when you try to make an appointment with the doctor and they don't have any openings until the middle of next week, and unless you're actually dying of something, they don't have time for you - and if you are dying of something, they tell you to dial 911 or head to the emergency clinic. Where they take everything entirely too seriously.
Her appointment was on Monday, so we had the chance to observe her over the weekend. She wasn't getting any better, just got slower and slower and slower. Didn't wake me at 5 a.m. Didn't eat her breakfast. Had to be carried down the stairs in the morning. Didn't meow every time someone walked near the fridge, as though we had something for her. It was obviously a serious illness. But what? Well, no cat doctors are we. It would have to wait for the diagnosis.
Being somewhat more free than most with my time recently, as my schedule consists of half-time working and half-time looking for work, I was able to take the poor kitty into the vet on Monday. The actual inspection of the cat was brief and very hands-on: the vet took the cat in her hands and kneaded her like a large mound of dough, announcing the state of the organs as she plied them. "Liver feels good, kidneys are good, no obstructions in the bowels." I figured she must have X-ray implants in her palms. "She's breathing a little fast." Possibly due to the fact that she's being turned into a pizza.
In the end, the analysis was inconclusive. "She's old." Yes, we knew that. "There's nothing conclusive from the external observation, but ..." Wait fro it. "We can do a complete blood & urine screen ... for $200."
Note to vet: it would be better to postpone the announcement of fees until the concerned owner has committed to the idea of additional investigation.
$200! Good grief! For two hundred dollars, the pet shelter will give me half a dozen cats in far better shape. Why spend good money on an old cat that is nearing the end of its lifetime anyway?
Needless to say, I politely declined the offer, and instead took the poor kitty home (after paying $55 for the fifteen minute probe!) so that she could die in peace.
At home, she continued her listless attitude, lying about the house in various poses of feline decripitude, earning the sympathy and fond well-wishes of the entire family, who were practicing their grief-stricken expressions in anticipation of the actual event.
Later in the evening, Cheryl took a good look at the cat's posterior hindquarters and noticed a familiar bloody smear. She'd seen this before - the result of a clogged anal gland suddenly un-clogged. Ah-ha! Mystery solved. The cat was suffering from an abscess of some kind. That also explains why she'd been scooting her butt across the floor last week - it was part of her self-help treatment. And it looks like it eventually worked.
That doesn't explain how the vet missed it, but sometimes even the best of us miss the obvious clues.
Kitty spent the next couple of days fastidiously cleaning her posterior regions with great attention, and her behavior slowly returned to normal.
In fact, this morning she woke me up at the proper time (5 a.m.) and demanded her breakfast with several happy meows, and then proceeded to proffer her head and flanks for the traditional rubbing / petting, accepting all with a satisfying purr. Once sated, she nimbly leapt to her perch by the window and proceeded to look out upon her kingdom with the contented gaze of a restored monarch.
Life was, once again, good.
She is old. Just a little bit older than Mary. Or a little big younger. I forget. (I'm no spring chicken, either.) Which, in cat years, so I am told, puts her in the geriatric range, somewhere between eighty and ninety.
Being the kind, compassionate cat-keepers that we are, we booked her an appointment with the veterinarian. She was due for a check-up anyway; what better time to inquire about her longevity? "Hey, doc, while you're checking the tire pressure and oil, can you take a look at the springs and seals, too?"
As was typical, we had a few days to wait before the appointment, kind of like when you try to make an appointment with the doctor and they don't have any openings until the middle of next week, and unless you're actually dying of something, they don't have time for you - and if you are dying of something, they tell you to dial 911 or head to the emergency clinic. Where they take everything entirely too seriously.
Her appointment was on Monday, so we had the chance to observe her over the weekend. She wasn't getting any better, just got slower and slower and slower. Didn't wake me at 5 a.m. Didn't eat her breakfast. Had to be carried down the stairs in the morning. Didn't meow every time someone walked near the fridge, as though we had something for her. It was obviously a serious illness. But what? Well, no cat doctors are we. It would have to wait for the diagnosis.
Being somewhat more free than most with my time recently, as my schedule consists of half-time working and half-time looking for work, I was able to take the poor kitty into the vet on Monday. The actual inspection of the cat was brief and very hands-on: the vet took the cat in her hands and kneaded her like a large mound of dough, announcing the state of the organs as she plied them. "Liver feels good, kidneys are good, no obstructions in the bowels." I figured she must have X-ray implants in her palms. "She's breathing a little fast." Possibly due to the fact that she's being turned into a pizza.
In the end, the analysis was inconclusive. "She's old." Yes, we knew that. "There's nothing conclusive from the external observation, but ..." Wait fro it. "We can do a complete blood & urine screen ... for $200."
Note to vet: it would be better to postpone the announcement of fees until the concerned owner has committed to the idea of additional investigation.
$200! Good grief! For two hundred dollars, the pet shelter will give me half a dozen cats in far better shape. Why spend good money on an old cat that is nearing the end of its lifetime anyway?
Needless to say, I politely declined the offer, and instead took the poor kitty home (after paying $55 for the fifteen minute probe!) so that she could die in peace.
At home, she continued her listless attitude, lying about the house in various poses of feline decripitude, earning the sympathy and fond well-wishes of the entire family, who were practicing their grief-stricken expressions in anticipation of the actual event.
Later in the evening, Cheryl took a good look at the cat's posterior hindquarters and noticed a familiar bloody smear. She'd seen this before - the result of a clogged anal gland suddenly un-clogged. Ah-ha! Mystery solved. The cat was suffering from an abscess of some kind. That also explains why she'd been scooting her butt across the floor last week - it was part of her self-help treatment. And it looks like it eventually worked.
That doesn't explain how the vet missed it, but sometimes even the best of us miss the obvious clues.
Kitty spent the next couple of days fastidiously cleaning her posterior regions with great attention, and her behavior slowly returned to normal.
In fact, this morning she woke me up at the proper time (5 a.m.) and demanded her breakfast with several happy meows, and then proceeded to proffer her head and flanks for the traditional rubbing / petting, accepting all with a satisfying purr. Once sated, she nimbly leapt to her perch by the window and proceeded to look out upon her kingdom with the contented gaze of a restored monarch.
Life was, once again, good.
2 comments:
So now she probably expects the $200 you saved to be spent on some real special cat food. Just wonder why the vet didn't catch it. Oh, well, even people doctors miss something once in a while.
People doctors miss stuff a lot of the time. And that is with people who can tell them where it hurts.
Glad kitty is feeling better.
:-)
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