If you've ever had a pet you'd understand. They become such an integral part of your life that you can't, and don't want to, imagine living without them.
Pookie has been part of my tribe for 17 long years. Almost 18. He's a stinker, but a loveable cat who's made me laugh a thousand and one times, or more. He's my bubba.
Anyhow, he got himself in quite a pickle last Monday. He was showing signs of - well - he was stopped up. He was lethargic and hadn't eaten. He kept trying to hork up a fur ball. And after about 8 attempts of him horking up something - mostly clear fluids - I got concerned and took the poor little guy to the emergency vet Monday night. (Why do these things always happen after hours?)
The ride to the vet was eerily silent so I knew something was up with Pookie.
Once there, the young, very young - I almost asked to see his credentials, vet examined Pookie. The Pookster just sat there so quiet and controlled. Such a good kitty. The Vet determined Pookie was dehydrated and constipated. Apparently when in that situation cats will also try to vomit. He recommended cleaning Pookie out, fluids for the dehydration, and a shot to help with the vomiting.
The shuffled Pookie into a back room (I sat in the lobby. I had no desire to be a part of that). And about 15 minutes later they handed a very stinky, very unhappy cat back to me.
We went home and the poor little dude could barely move. The next couple of days were traumatic to me. He couldn't pick up his back end by himself, he wouldn't eat, and he just appeared to be out of it.
Just about every night I would contemplate the "what if" it was Pookie's time. It broke my heart just thinking about it. I quickly realized that was not a scenario I wanted to consider. And yet, I know I must some day.
I got a hold of the at home vet I use and she scheduled to come out on Friday. Dr. Hanna is a whiz with cats. And I was confident that if it was time to sent Pookie to the great cat climber in the sky that she'd tell me. She's kinda a no bull type of doctor and I appreciate that.
She and her assistant showed up on Friday and Pookie sauntered out to see them. Silly cat didn't even realize who Dr. Hanna was or what was about to happen.
After some examining, blood draw and shaving of the back end. Dr. Hanna and her tech gave Pookie a little bath to clean up the back end. The howling, and words that came out of that cat's mouth. I swear he would have made a sailor blush. She reluctantly sat in the kitchen sink and glared at me. His eyes saying, "Oh you're gonna get it."
Once done with the bathing of the back end, we wrapped him in a towel (and by "we" I mean Dr. Hanna and her assistant) and then proceeded to give him some fluids. Dr. Hanna's assessment is that he'll live for now. His kidneys - no surprise - are declining and of course there are options, but she wanted to wait and see how he did after this visit.
She released him and he took about three steps from her and turned to give her what I could only assume was meant to be the death stare. It didn't faze Dr. Hanna one bit.
Dr. Hanna also gave me some VERY EXPENSIVE, high calorie cat food to feed him over the weekend to get him to eat. She also gave him a shot to stimulate his eating. A shot I don't want or need thankyouverymuch.
He's eating - some. Not quite as much as he was eating. His back side is shaved and looks ridiculous - I find it amusing. And somehow one side of his whiskers on his lip got cut - which is even more amusing to me. All in all, he's doing better. I'm not convinced he's out of the woods just yet, but I feel more confident about it now than last week.
I was a mess last week. I couldn't stop thinking about having to make that decision for him. Holding his life in my hands. Not a place I want to be ever. I secretly hope that I just come home one day and he won't wake up from his nap. Until then I'm going to continue to spoil him rotten. He sure smelled rotten last week...bleck.
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