27 August, 2007
We had to euthanize the kitty today.
She very definitely had not been well over the weekend; no appetite, and
taking great effort in breathing through her mouth. Sunday she could
barely walk without having to stop for breath.
Sunday I decided to wait a bit, and see if we could get any vet
recommendations from anyone (no); also, she hated the car and so a trip
was going to stress her very badly - a very bad thing when in
respiratory distress already.
This morning, she seemed better - more normal behaviour, wanting
breakfast - but was still unable to breathe through her nose. Off to
the vet.
She did not like the trip, but stayed on my lap whilst I drove. I
think she couldn't get enough air to really spazz.
The vet said she was definitely 'emergent', which means "yes, this
qualifies as an emergency". Much discussion followed. They couldn't
do the X-rays for two hours, because they wanted her to recover her
breath, basically.
When they finally did the X-rays, she had a chest full of fluids, and
the vet thought he saw a mass in her chest cavity (via X-ray). No
fever, so it probably wasn't directly an infection.
He said prognosis was poor, and it would take things like a chest tube
for drainage, and so on. Try to imagine keeping a chest tube in a
small animal.
We decided that, rather than spend thousands - literally - of dollars
on surgery and drugs merely to keep the kitty alive in a vet hospital,
in pain and terrified, that we would euthanize her.
We miss her terribly.
Since we got her at an unknown and adult age, I've been thinking for a while that she was old, and cats (and other pets) don't live as long as humans. So it's not entirely a shock. This helps, a bit. Knowing that I'm going to be a wreck, and that it's okay, helps by not adding guilt or shame to the pain of loss.
I'm still crying a lot when I think of her. She'll never sit next to me while I do computer, like she used to. She'll never wait at the door for me to come back. She's the only kitty I've ever met that DEMANDED her belly be scratched; she'd lay there, looking intoxicated, as I did her belly grooming, half her legs draped over my arm as she jiggled (from the scratching) and purred (from the sensations). Some days, she'd wake me up at 0600, or keep me awake at night, because she wanted me to cuddle her, like a kid and a teddy bear.