Molly
On Saturday morning, or Friday afternoon, or even earlier - I'm not sure - our cat tried to jump down from something. It was probably something pretty high that three or four years ago, she would've been able to leap in a bound. Her back legs had been arthritic for a long time, and something inside her front leg snapped (Achilles' tendon) when she tried to land with all her weight on it. She couldn't walk more than a couple of steps without folding over, so she probably slowly, agonizingly made it across the backyard, in the summer sun, to water or attention. Neither of which turned up for hours. I found her at almost noon on Saturday, and didn't even think anything was amiss until I saw the angle she had folded herself into in the shade of the clothesline. She drank three or four bowls of water in the time it took me to track down Dad. She was vicious and tired and hissed at the vet and eventually clawed at her. I don't know how we put her in the cage unscathed.
On Monday, we got told that her condition had deteriorated. She'd dehydrated really badly, and that, combined with the trauma of the whole experience, had caused damage to her kidneys. Her kidneys were fine two months ago. We got told to expect bad news. And I so I kind of did, but they were keeping her on a drip and waiting to see if conditions improved. On Tuesday, we were told she'd made a turnaround, and we went in to see her first thing in the morning. She was drugged up and sore and not too responsive, but less mangy than Saturday. We seem to only feed her kangaroo meat these days, and that meant that she was licking all the gravy of whatever tripe the vets gave her before pushing it to the side of her kennel. The vet offered to go to Pak n' Save on her lunch break. Dad went and got it instead while apologising profusely.
On Wednesday morning, we got told that she was fading fast. I went to sleep thinking I'd take her home Wednesday night, but the moment the phone rang I felt like there was this pit at the bottom of my stomach, trying to pin me where I lay so that I wouldn't answer it. So on Wednesday night me and Dad and Lily were at the vet's saying goodbye to her. She'd started to bloat from her kidneys shutting down. She could barely open her eyes when we leant to kiss her, and there was encrusted vomit on her whiskers. Me and Lily burst into tears. Dad always pretended to be aggravated by Molly, even when he was literally all over her. He was pretty shaken up. "Goodbye, cat."
I haven't been without a pet since I was 6 years old. Molly used to lie on my hard drive in the middle of winter when I was up all night writing essays. When I came in from a run or sport, she tried to lick the salt sweat off my legs. She would insist on sitting on my lap when I was wearing boxers and digging in for the long haul. She almost crushed Rebecca once and wouldn't get off her because of the orgasmic frenzy she went into whenever she got attention from a cat lover. She was bad-tempered, and dim, and baleful. She was all ours, and was so warm and little and beautiful, and I miss her.
I tried to spook her with this monstrosity one time. She scratched me and it wasn't even a "YOU SCARED ME!". More of a "That's not funny, idiot."
Somewhere in kitty heaven, my kitty is feasting on kakapo.
On Monday, we got told that her condition had deteriorated. She'd dehydrated really badly, and that, combined with the trauma of the whole experience, had caused damage to her kidneys. Her kidneys were fine two months ago. We got told to expect bad news. And I so I kind of did, but they were keeping her on a drip and waiting to see if conditions improved. On Tuesday, we were told she'd made a turnaround, and we went in to see her first thing in the morning. She was drugged up and sore and not too responsive, but less mangy than Saturday. We seem to only feed her kangaroo meat these days, and that meant that she was licking all the gravy of whatever tripe the vets gave her before pushing it to the side of her kennel. The vet offered to go to Pak n' Save on her lunch break. Dad went and got it instead while apologising profusely.
On Wednesday morning, we got told that she was fading fast. I went to sleep thinking I'd take her home Wednesday night, but the moment the phone rang I felt like there was this pit at the bottom of my stomach, trying to pin me where I lay so that I wouldn't answer it. So on Wednesday night me and Dad and Lily were at the vet's saying goodbye to her. She'd started to bloat from her kidneys shutting down. She could barely open her eyes when we leant to kiss her, and there was encrusted vomit on her whiskers. Me and Lily burst into tears. Dad always pretended to be aggravated by Molly, even when he was literally all over her. He was pretty shaken up. "Goodbye, cat."
I haven't been without a pet since I was 6 years old. Molly used to lie on my hard drive in the middle of winter when I was up all night writing essays. When I came in from a run or sport, she tried to lick the salt sweat off my legs. She would insist on sitting on my lap when I was wearing boxers and digging in for the long haul. She almost crushed Rebecca once and wouldn't get off her because of the orgasmic frenzy she went into whenever she got attention from a cat lover. She was bad-tempered, and dim, and baleful. She was all ours, and was so warm and little and beautiful, and I miss her.
I tried to spook her with this monstrosity one time. She scratched me and it wasn't even a "YOU SCARED ME!". More of a "That's not funny, idiot."
Somewhere in kitty heaven, my kitty is feasting on kakapo.