George
For some time now, I had resigned myself to the fact that George was likely gone and I wasn't going to see him again. The line I often threw out was "I just hope he is doing okay".
Last Saturday, I decided to push my usual limits of biking, heading over to Eats on Ponce. Yes, I know, 2.6 miles. Baby steps, kids. On my way back I stopped by the fraternity briefly, watching them play Starcraft over a LAN, remarking on how a game that was partially responsible for my failure from school ten years ago was still being played.
After a while I got a call on the phone from an unknown number. I have been filtering most of these calls as of late, perhaps due to my repeated disappointment when people have called about a black cat at a specific address on Calhoun Street which I have known for weeks is not George. At any rate, I answered, and someone told me she had George. When I found out on she was on Atlantic St, I figured it might actually be him, so I pedaled over.
Indeed, there he was, laying down looking pitiful in a pet carrier, with a mostly devoured can of tuna in front of him. George looked at me sort of strangely as I let him sniff me over.
Jennifer, the woman who found George, told me that she saw him cowered around his house and used the tuna to lure him in. This was difficult, she said, because he was walking funny... like he had been hit by a car or something. Yet, there was no apparent physical damage to him, besides the tremendous amount of weight he had lost. George's collar, the very reason that Jennifer knew to call me (having not seen my kajillion signs), was still around his neck, though very loosely. I would say there was an inch and a half gap between the collar and his neck.
At any rate, I sped home, grabbed the carrier and then carted George back to the house, with him meowing at me the entire way. Oh yes, George definitely knew it was me. I let him out and he attempted to run around, with tragicomic results. Indeed, George's back legs were not working very well. He was sort of walking sideways. Unfortunately, in his excitement, George decided to try to run down the stairs. This did not end well as he sort of rolled down the last few stairs. Thankfully, no physical injuries occurred.
After this excitement, George settled down, lying beside me, grooming himself (as can be seen in the above picture). I took the picture and posted it to Facebook. About five minutes later Emily (elcielo) calls me... do I need to take George to the vet? Yes, I concurred, I did, particularly when George seemed to refuse the food I poured out for him.
I'm glad she called and I did not wait, because the prognosis was not good. George, due to his lack of diet the past six weeks, had developed something called Fatty Liver Syndrome (http://cats.about.com/cs/healthissues/a/fatty_liver.htm). In short, his body was trying to metabolize the fat in his body to sustain him due to lack of food but cat livers aren't very good at this, which results in fat getting caught in the liver. Eventually, the liver starts swelling in size, resulting in all manner of bad side effects, and eventually death.
Had Jennifer not found George when she did, or Emily didn't immediately offer to take me to the vet, who knows where we would be right now. As it stands, George is not out of the woods yet. He's spent three nights at the vet, who have pumped him full of fluids as well as inserting a feeding tube, which I will be using to feed him small amounts of food until his body starts returning to normal. If it returns to normal. The procedure is not guaranteed to work, though the prognosis so far looks good. George does have his youth on his side, and he has tried to eat when food has been offered, which is not always the case with cats with FLS.
Tomorrow, I will hopefully be bringing him home. I'm glad he's getting some help, though I feel awful for him, and a little awful for myself since the vet bill is going to wipe me out financially (+$1,500). Yet, not paying the bill was never a serious option for me... I was going to find a way to do it come hell or high water. Thankfully, I have enough of a cushion from my student loans to pay for it, and I should be able to pick up another day or two of work to help pay for it. My roommate has been gracious in offering to help feed George when I can't be around.
It will be difficult, but it is simply what must be done. There was a tentative silence when they originally presented me the estimate for George's care and I had to review my balance and make sure I could pay for it. I'm sure there are many people who would have to refuse treatment, and I'm glad I didn't have to make that choice.