tough couple of weeks
Rasta
? to September 16, 2008
Last Saturday, when I came into work, I noticed that someone had left an occupied carrier abandoned by the front door of the shelter. I unlocked the door and brought the surprisingly light carrier inside. “It must be a kitten,” I thought to myself. It wasn’t.
I have never seen an adult cat so emaciated, and hope never to see it again. A full grown, red-gold Persian was sitting inside, overheated from being left in a carrier in the sun. He weighed 3# 12oz. His fur was filthy and matted beyond all belief. One side of his jaw was bloody. The shelter I work at receives no government help. It’s funded by donations. Whoever abandoned the cat hadn’t even bothered to put $5 in the carrier to help us out. There was, however, a note:
I was found at Morris Hill Cemetery. I was lying on Chuck Baxter’s headstone. “Baxter” should be my name. With a check-up and a bath I should turn out pretty cute. Thank you.
The extent to which people will delude themselves never ceases to surprise me. I was worried for the cat, and angry at the people who left the note. This cat was on death’s door, and the welcome mat was about to be rolled up. The shelter director took "Baxter" straight to the ER at West Vet.
The vet let us know that “he” was actually a “she.” Cats this ill almost always have serious health problems underlying their surface illness. I was worried about her having distemper or something worse. Failing that, she was basically a ribcage with fur. Chances were good liver disease had set in. Amazingly, taking in account everything she had been through, she came back with a fairly clean bill of health.
The next day, the director went to West Vet to visit the former Baxter. The cat was more alert and aware of her surroundings. She was one tough Persian kitty. After petting her poor matted orange head, Sheri decided on a new name based on the kitty’s dreadlocked fur - Rasta. The name stuck.
Today, three days after she was abandoned on our doorstep, Rasta repeatedly went into respiratory failure. She was resuscitated twice. She didn’t come back the third time. One of the vet techs cried for her, and she wasn’t the only one. In the short amount of time she was with us, Rasta gathered quite a fan club.
An autopsy by the vet found the problem. She had come to us with cancer. We did our best for her. We were just too late. At least she didn't die alone, and had some affection from people who cared about her before she went. It's been a tough week.
? to September 16, 2008
Last Saturday, when I came into work, I noticed that someone had left an occupied carrier abandoned by the front door of the shelter. I unlocked the door and brought the surprisingly light carrier inside. “It must be a kitten,” I thought to myself. It wasn’t.
I have never seen an adult cat so emaciated, and hope never to see it again. A full grown, red-gold Persian was sitting inside, overheated from being left in a carrier in the sun. He weighed 3# 12oz. His fur was filthy and matted beyond all belief. One side of his jaw was bloody. The shelter I work at receives no government help. It’s funded by donations. Whoever abandoned the cat hadn’t even bothered to put $5 in the carrier to help us out. There was, however, a note:
I was found at Morris Hill Cemetery. I was lying on Chuck Baxter’s headstone. “Baxter” should be my name. With a check-up and a bath I should turn out pretty cute. Thank you.
The extent to which people will delude themselves never ceases to surprise me. I was worried for the cat, and angry at the people who left the note. This cat was on death’s door, and the welcome mat was about to be rolled up. The shelter director took "Baxter" straight to the ER at West Vet.
The vet let us know that “he” was actually a “she.” Cats this ill almost always have serious health problems underlying their surface illness. I was worried about her having distemper or something worse. Failing that, she was basically a ribcage with fur. Chances were good liver disease had set in. Amazingly, taking in account everything she had been through, she came back with a fairly clean bill of health.
The next day, the director went to West Vet to visit the former Baxter. The cat was more alert and aware of her surroundings. She was one tough Persian kitty. After petting her poor matted orange head, Sheri decided on a new name based on the kitty’s dreadlocked fur - Rasta. The name stuck.
Today, three days after she was abandoned on our doorstep, Rasta repeatedly went into respiratory failure. She was resuscitated twice. She didn’t come back the third time. One of the vet techs cried for her, and she wasn’t the only one. In the short amount of time she was with us, Rasta gathered quite a fan club.
An autopsy by the vet found the problem. She had come to us with cancer. We did our best for her. We were just too late. At least she didn't die alone, and had some affection from people who cared about her before she went. It's been a tough week.