Missy's in the hospital...
...which, under the circumstances, is the best place for her to be. Which I know, but I'm not really feeling it right now.
She just didn't seem right this (yesterday?) morning. She was sunning in the bedroom, stretched out in front of the glass door as usual, but I had an uneasy feeling. She's had mild dehydration off and on, but when I checked her this time (by "skin tenting"), it was definitely worse. Before he'd left for work, B said that Missy hadn't been at all interested in food when he'd put it down at 9 AM. When I picked her up and put her on her feet, she didn't fall over, but staggered a little as she went back to her sunny spot. I brought her some food on my finger, but she ignored it until I actually dabbed it on her lips. She licked it off, but I think that was an instinctive reaction.
By themselves, those three things are sadly not unusual for Missy these days. Seeing all of them at once was something else entirely.
So I put some chicken grease on my finger and offered her that. She did sniff and lick that off, but when I got up to leave the room, she looked up at me briefly and then laid her head back down. A taste of chicken should at least have got her on her feet.
I took a few deep breaths to loosen the knot in my stomach, then called and canceled my afternoon dental appointment, and called B to come home. I knew I shouldn't try to lift the carrier into the car by myself, but if Missy had shown any signs of getting worse, I would have done it anyway. Missy's vet is on staff at the veterinary hospital at which I worked almost ten years ago. I called and they said to bring her right in.
Dr. Yank, the vet who's treated Missy the longest (and Rose before her), had been in surgery all morning, but was now taking walk-ins. It was reassuring to see her; I hadn't expected her to be available until Thursday, when we'd actually scheduled an appointment.
Missy had some blood drawn, and then I laid on the exam room floor with her (she wanted to be under the bench, not on the exposed exam table, thank you very much) for twenty minutes while we waited for the results. B read us a quiz from an issue of Cat Fancy magazine. Sample question:
A manx cat has a short--
a. attention span
b. to-do list
c. tail
Er, all of the above?
Missy could have cared less, but B and I felt a little better.
Dr. Yank came in with the results and went over them with us. Her kidney function wasn't any worse than it has been, but her calcium, already worrisomely high a month ago, was even higher. There's got to be something else going on.
So Missy's staying overnight at least. They're going to get IVs in her and get her properly hydrated and possibly give her some other medication, and see if they can get her eating a bit.
Dr. Yank: She can have whatever she wants, as long as we can get her eating again.
Me: Do you have any tuna?
Of course they have cat junk food -- Fancy Feast, baby food, etc. -- around for this sort of situation. (Or maybe somebody has a tuna sandwich in the fridge they can raid.) Even just getting her rehydrated might turn her around.
They're also going to do more tests. Dr. Yank and I went over some of the possibilities, some of which we've discussed before. I'm trying not to think about them too much right now.
And I can't even tell you how difficult it was to let the technician take my baby girl away. (Although it was nice to hear the tech baby-talking to her all the way down the hall.)
The house is, of course, much too quiet tonight. B and I were both listening for the yowls for service that we've gotten used to.
"Is it my turn?"
"No, I'll go this time."
"She probably just wants somebody to put the blanket over her."
"Yes, it's only been fifteen minutes since I petted her. For half an hour."
When I took my dinner into the living room (yes, I eat on the couch while watching TV), I was strategizing: Take the water in first. Don't leave the meal unattended. Then I remembered that no, there wasn't anyone waiting to jump onto my plate this time.
Dr. Boisse -- one of my best friends from my time working at the hospital -- is the emergency vet tonight. Much as I like her, though, I really don't want to hear from her in the next few hours.
Not that I expect to get much sleep anyway.
She just didn't seem right this (yesterday?) morning. She was sunning in the bedroom, stretched out in front of the glass door as usual, but I had an uneasy feeling. She's had mild dehydration off and on, but when I checked her this time (by "skin tenting"), it was definitely worse. Before he'd left for work, B said that Missy hadn't been at all interested in food when he'd put it down at 9 AM. When I picked her up and put her on her feet, she didn't fall over, but staggered a little as she went back to her sunny spot. I brought her some food on my finger, but she ignored it until I actually dabbed it on her lips. She licked it off, but I think that was an instinctive reaction.
By themselves, those three things are sadly not unusual for Missy these days. Seeing all of them at once was something else entirely.
So I put some chicken grease on my finger and offered her that. She did sniff and lick that off, but when I got up to leave the room, she looked up at me briefly and then laid her head back down. A taste of chicken should at least have got her on her feet.
I took a few deep breaths to loosen the knot in my stomach, then called and canceled my afternoon dental appointment, and called B to come home. I knew I shouldn't try to lift the carrier into the car by myself, but if Missy had shown any signs of getting worse, I would have done it anyway. Missy's vet is on staff at the veterinary hospital at which I worked almost ten years ago. I called and they said to bring her right in.
Dr. Yank, the vet who's treated Missy the longest (and Rose before her), had been in surgery all morning, but was now taking walk-ins. It was reassuring to see her; I hadn't expected her to be available until Thursday, when we'd actually scheduled an appointment.
Missy had some blood drawn, and then I laid on the exam room floor with her (she wanted to be under the bench, not on the exposed exam table, thank you very much) for twenty minutes while we waited for the results. B read us a quiz from an issue of Cat Fancy magazine. Sample question:
A manx cat has a short--
a. attention span
b. to-do list
c. tail
Er, all of the above?
Missy could have cared less, but B and I felt a little better.
Dr. Yank came in with the results and went over them with us. Her kidney function wasn't any worse than it has been, but her calcium, already worrisomely high a month ago, was even higher. There's got to be something else going on.
So Missy's staying overnight at least. They're going to get IVs in her and get her properly hydrated and possibly give her some other medication, and see if they can get her eating a bit.
Dr. Yank: She can have whatever she wants, as long as we can get her eating again.
Me: Do you have any tuna?
Of course they have cat junk food -- Fancy Feast, baby food, etc. -- around for this sort of situation. (Or maybe somebody has a tuna sandwich in the fridge they can raid.) Even just getting her rehydrated might turn her around.
They're also going to do more tests. Dr. Yank and I went over some of the possibilities, some of which we've discussed before. I'm trying not to think about them too much right now.
And I can't even tell you how difficult it was to let the technician take my baby girl away. (Although it was nice to hear the tech baby-talking to her all the way down the hall.)
The house is, of course, much too quiet tonight. B and I were both listening for the yowls for service that we've gotten used to.
"Is it my turn?"
"No, I'll go this time."
"She probably just wants somebody to put the blanket over her."
"Yes, it's only been fifteen minutes since I petted her. For half an hour."
When I took my dinner into the living room (yes, I eat on the couch while watching TV), I was strategizing: Take the water in first. Don't leave the meal unattended. Then I remembered that no, there wasn't anyone waiting to jump onto my plate this time.
Dr. Boisse -- one of my best friends from my time working at the hospital -- is the emergency vet tonight. Much as I like her, though, I really don't want to hear from her in the next few hours.
Not that I expect to get much sleep anyway.