The sad situation with Bishu
I've had my cat almost exactly 13 years, and tonight might be the last night I get to spend with him.
Bishu, once a 17-pound beast, is down to 10.8 pounds, and he's not particularly mobile - not really eating, not really drinking. The really scary thing is that he's not purring. So I took him to the vet today.
The vet is of the opinion that his kidneys have basically shut down, and that the tumor in his neck may have begun impairing his ability to breathe and eat. Treating the tumor aggravates the kidney disease. Because of the kidney disease, they can't knock him out to operate on the tumor. Between the two, he's dehydrated and lethargic. And he is, after all, not a young cat.
Tonight they hydrated him and gave him some meds, and sent him home with me. The doc hoped that he would respond, and he did perk up a bit -- but only briefly. He clearly lacks the strength to get around. He couldn't even get to the food dish by himself. And when he did he simply licked up the gravy. He's not in pain, but he's fading fast.
It kills me to see him like this. It's not fucking fair. This is a cat who's had a good life, a happy life, and he has enjoyed the love and attention of just about everyone who's met him. This is a cat who has pretty much greeted me at the door every day, who has slept at my feet, cuddled beside me, for thirteen years. This is a cat whose reaction to new people is to ask whether they will pet him, and whether he can maybe climb up on their shoulder and nuzzle them. He thinks dogs are friends, no matter what their size, and he likes to watch cartoons with me, and he likes to yell at the birds outside the back window. He thinks Pringles are yummy, and loves the bits of milk that are left after cereal.
But if he's not responding at all to the treatment today, the chances that he'll respond to a more intense fluid treatment are pretty slim. The vet, who lost her own cat to kidney disease, was honest about the options. I can drop hundreds of dollars to prolong his life, which might buy a month or two, max. Or I can spend the rest of this night with him, and love him, and say goodbye.
So I've been letting my family and friends know what's up. I really thought I was okay with it, but I've been crying at the drop of a hat all night.
I've let work know what I'm up against tomorrow morning. There is still a slim chance that he could perk up, but I doubt it. He's just not moving.
I really don't think I could take it if I came home and found him dead.
I have seldom dreaded a morning like I dread tomorrow.
Bishu, once a 17-pound beast, is down to 10.8 pounds, and he's not particularly mobile - not really eating, not really drinking. The really scary thing is that he's not purring. So I took him to the vet today.
The vet is of the opinion that his kidneys have basically shut down, and that the tumor in his neck may have begun impairing his ability to breathe and eat. Treating the tumor aggravates the kidney disease. Because of the kidney disease, they can't knock him out to operate on the tumor. Between the two, he's dehydrated and lethargic. And he is, after all, not a young cat.
Tonight they hydrated him and gave him some meds, and sent him home with me. The doc hoped that he would respond, and he did perk up a bit -- but only briefly. He clearly lacks the strength to get around. He couldn't even get to the food dish by himself. And when he did he simply licked up the gravy. He's not in pain, but he's fading fast.
It kills me to see him like this. It's not fucking fair. This is a cat who's had a good life, a happy life, and he has enjoyed the love and attention of just about everyone who's met him. This is a cat who has pretty much greeted me at the door every day, who has slept at my feet, cuddled beside me, for thirteen years. This is a cat whose reaction to new people is to ask whether they will pet him, and whether he can maybe climb up on their shoulder and nuzzle them. He thinks dogs are friends, no matter what their size, and he likes to watch cartoons with me, and he likes to yell at the birds outside the back window. He thinks Pringles are yummy, and loves the bits of milk that are left after cereal.
But if he's not responding at all to the treatment today, the chances that he'll respond to a more intense fluid treatment are pretty slim. The vet, who lost her own cat to kidney disease, was honest about the options. I can drop hundreds of dollars to prolong his life, which might buy a month or two, max. Or I can spend the rest of this night with him, and love him, and say goodbye.
So I've been letting my family and friends know what's up. I really thought I was okay with it, but I've been crying at the drop of a hat all night.
I've let work know what I'm up against tomorrow morning. There is still a slim chance that he could perk up, but I doubt it. He's just not moving.
I really don't think I could take it if I came home and found him dead.
I have seldom dreaded a morning like I dread tomorrow.