I am sad to say that my beloved cat, Horatio Puddin' HooHoo, is dying of cardiomyopathy. Basically, he has heart disease, and he's not getting enough oxygen to function, and medication can keep him alive for 3-10 months, hopefully. Giving him his Lasix is a lot like putting batteries in a toy-- he revs up quickly and acts like his normal, playful, snuggly, hungry, annoying self, and then his batteries slowly run out until he just hunches in one place and breathes quickly with his spine sticking up. Poor guy.
First of all, i'd like to say that the Cat Clinic of Cobb sucks. After $444 of diagnostics, they couldn't tell us what was wrong with Puddin and sent me home with steroids and placebos that I had to tearfully force down his exhausted and traumatized throat three times a day. Then, we he became ill again one week later, they told me to bring him in for "more tests". My gut told me not to return, so I picked up his records and went somewhere better. They quickly saw us, listened to me, and suggested that he had cardiomyopathy. Since the test costs $700 and he was going to be dying either way, I went all Dr. House and requested they treat him like he had cardiomyopathy and see if he improved, which he did. A $50 temporary cure, which worked.
Here's the kicker: once I had a diagnosis and did some internet research, it was painfully obvious that he had EVERY SINGLE SYMPTOM of cardiomyopathy. The breathing, the sudden onset, the strange "bony back, floppy belly" caused by liver distension, the hunchy posture, the sudden weight loss. This should have been a no-brainer for Cat Clinic of Cobb, but either they didn't catch the obvious, or they wanted to milk me for money I don't have. Which is why I don't like them. Taking financial advantage of someone's love for a sick animal is flat out evil.
So now we wait, give Puddy his Lasix pills, and enjoy as much time as we have. We've decided to rescind his diet and provide him with the stinkiest, nastiest foods money can buy. He's going to die, anyway-- might as well enjoy himself. And we're letting him drink out of the shower and sink, and sleep on us all night even though our arms fall asleep.
I can't believe that we're going to lose our Puddy after only 7 years. We always thought he'd go to 16 and called him "the best $15 we ever spent". We wanted Cleo to grow up having him around. And I just don't like being home without a cat around, moving independently through the house, just being there simultaneously, like when I used to play Castle Wolfenstein in the 80's, and there were little dudes that were always moving around other rooms, doing their thing. I want him to keep on bouncing around the house, annoying us and amusing us and generally being a very strange cat and a very good buddy.
I have been sitting here for 20 minutes trying to come up with an amusing or clever last line, something that ties in death and life and humor and my usual irreverent and grinning view, but I just don't have it in me today. Hell, even Tom Robbins doesn't have any quotes on loving life but hating your cat is dying. I call a draw.