Goodbye Miss Timmy
Miss Timmy was eating well this morning. I thought she was doing better. This evening, she was worse than she was the other night. Her anus was badly swollen and extremely painful, and as she bent over to lick herself, she urinated all over the carpet.
She looked awful.
And tomorrow is the one day during the week my regular vet is off. I took her to the emergency clinic tonight.
You know, I've seen that look, only I've been one giving it. The look that says, "You're getting rid of your pet because it's inconvenient for you." The vet suggested a blood test for kidney failure and diabetes, suggested that with treatment-insulin shots and regular subcu fluids-she could survive with a "reasonable quality of life."
Only no, she can't. I can't afford that right now. Not with one cat already with chronic anemia and a lifetime requirement of expensive immunosuppressants. I had to move Timmy to the granny flat because the other cats were beating up on her, and I knew she was unhappy with not having enough of my attention. I thought it would be better for her.
They kept asking how old she was. I don't know-in her teens? I don't remember when she showed up on the bungalow's doorstep, already a battered adult. I only know I moved here in 2003 and inherited her.
Looking at her test results on paper, it looks like I took a perfectly healthy cat and had her killed. The only notes to her condition are, "Integument: poor turgor" and "Differential diagnosis: geriatric."
So now I look like an absolute tool, a total fake. I'm supposed to rescue animals, not dispose of them. And what right do I have to decide this animal's death?
Timmy finally settled into my lap and pricked her claws into my leg as I cried. We did that for a long time. She managed a few rusty purrs. Not many. Not like she used to purr.
I elected not to be there for the needle.
Being an emergency hospital, the trip wasn't cheap. As I signed the bill on the counter, the TV over the desk was playing "Animal Cops" on Animal Planet.
She looked awful.
And tomorrow is the one day during the week my regular vet is off. I took her to the emergency clinic tonight.
You know, I've seen that look, only I've been one giving it. The look that says, "You're getting rid of your pet because it's inconvenient for you." The vet suggested a blood test for kidney failure and diabetes, suggested that with treatment-insulin shots and regular subcu fluids-she could survive with a "reasonable quality of life."
Only no, she can't. I can't afford that right now. Not with one cat already with chronic anemia and a lifetime requirement of expensive immunosuppressants. I had to move Timmy to the granny flat because the other cats were beating up on her, and I knew she was unhappy with not having enough of my attention. I thought it would be better for her.
They kept asking how old she was. I don't know-in her teens? I don't remember when she showed up on the bungalow's doorstep, already a battered adult. I only know I moved here in 2003 and inherited her.
Looking at her test results on paper, it looks like I took a perfectly healthy cat and had her killed. The only notes to her condition are, "Integument: poor turgor" and "Differential diagnosis: geriatric."
So now I look like an absolute tool, a total fake. I'm supposed to rescue animals, not dispose of them. And what right do I have to decide this animal's death?
Timmy finally settled into my lap and pricked her claws into my leg as I cried. We did that for a long time. She managed a few rusty purrs. Not many. Not like she used to purr.
I elected not to be there for the needle.
Being an emergency hospital, the trip wasn't cheap. As I signed the bill on the counter, the TV over the desk was playing "Animal Cops" on Animal Planet.