cat crisis

Our 16-year-old Siamese has, not surprisingly, been pretty listless and not at all playful for some time now. Since 16 (and 3 months) is like about 75 for a human according to this cat age calculator, I didn't expect his frisk-factor to be too high. Still, he needed his annual shots, so it seemed like a good time to get him checked out by the vet anyway.

Well, his teeth were pretty disgusting, we were told, and he'd need to be asleep during the cleaning (and fasting for 8 hrs before that), so we made an appointment for the next week. When we brought him back yesterday, the vet did a blood test to make sure he was okay for the general anaesthetic, and found acute pancreatitis with a super-high amylase count -- a count he's only ever seen post-mortem (until now). It seems cats frequently die of pancreatic disease without ever being symptomatic (unlike dogs, who feel enough pain to alert their loving owners) and our dear Sunny may now have one paw in the grave as a result of our neglecting his teeth for too long. Not that a 16-year-old cat can rightly expect all that much more grooming-and-scratching time anyway. But I am kind of counting on him living to 20 (85 in people-time).

It is clear to me that it is not possible to explain to non-pet people the attachment I feel to this animal. I can't explain it to myself, how Sunny the Cat's personality seems so substantial, considering that his verbal communication, while abundant compared to most cats (Siamese are the most vocal -- could it be a higher intelligence?), is limited to purring and meowing. I guess it must be the non-verbal communication ... the way he comes padding along whenever I "call" him [I meaow, as it just seems more respectful to communicate in his language] and the way we just hang together when I'm sprawled on my bed reading or watching tv, or when I'm on the toilet and he rubs his head on my ankles, or the way he laps up the water that's left on the floor of the shower stall after I've showered.

How do you convey to a non-pet person the misery of seeing your sweet furry friend, who's older than your teenager and has survived as long as your marriage, hooked up to an IV in a big cage at the vet's, and the sad emptiness of a home where he's missing? We all miss him, but especially Mr. Squarepeg, who was the one who first brought him home, and has a very mushy soft spot for him.

We went to see him today, my daughter and her best friend and I, and he was silent except for a little mewing after I stuck my head in the cage and hugged him and promised we'd take him home as soon as he was healthy again. In another cage, she discovered a 3-week-old street kitten that the vet had taken in. Her sadness over our ailing pet gave way to a nurturing instinct upon seeing this teeny-tiny motherless creature, and she took her out to play. Soon she was begging me to take the scrawny thing home and of course I said no. She kept asking and I kept saying no, until I suddenly agreed, but only until Sunny comes back, because I don't want him to feel usurped. The vet was delighted to have a foster family for this helpless mite over the weekend and cackled like a drug pusher as I loaded the furball and a bit of special food and a syringe into a box. I think he suspects we won't be bringing the kitten back ... we'll see.

I didn't do it for the kid, or for me. I did it for Mr. Squarepeg, cause I knew he'd take one look and his heart would melt. I was right.

Resist that -- I dare you.