I’m no more ready to lose my buddy that I was yesterday. Despite a trip to the vet, I’m no closer to knowing what the issue is than I was last night. Nick, my cat, is still not eating, still kinda dazed, and now a little stand-offish. I know it was a rough day for him. I feel bad. I was nervous to take him tot he vet. Like pit in the stomach and sweating in places you don’t want to sweat nervous. The last time I went through this with one of my cats, Murphy, we made several trips to vets, put him through several procedures, only to watch him waste away before us. This is what I hate about pets – the end. My last cat died suddenly about a year and a half ago. She let out a howl and when I checked on her, she was slightly contorted, weak, and drooling. I sat with her until she died – about 15 minutes after I found her.
I don’t want to go through either of those situations with Nick. And yet I’ve already scheduled the ultrasound to see if they can figure out the underlying problem – they suspect something chronic. Elevated white blood cells – the body is fighting something. It could be IBS, it could be inflammation, it could be a type of cancer – they’re not sure. I forgot how frustrating the not knowing can be.Time, effort, money, and worry – we’re used to getting something in return for those things, we’re used to getting answers – or at least uncovering small pieces of the puzzle. That’s not where things are at with Nick. Tonight, he drooled and foamed when I gave him some medicine (apparently this is normal – it still freaked me out). He’s sitting in the hallway doing what cats are known to do, ignoring, being solitary, hiding.
I’ll follow him around. I’ll check on him incessantly. Eventually, I’ll get tired and go to bed. I tend to think that there are only two outcomes here – he gets better or he gets worse. I always forget about the long days in between – and the even longer nights.
‘Till tomorrow and whatever that may bring…