“What an amazing escape”

Before I begin this post, I want to thank everyone who has been sending Mike positive thoughts.   You will never know how important all your support has been for us in the past weeks.   I know the blogosphere has its trolls and jerks, but I have been blessed with a group of communicants that are righteous, beautiful and supportive.   Thank you all so much.

 Honestly, I thought that I would be writing an obituary now.   I even had a portrait picked out.

 

I still can’t believe what has happened in the last couple of days. 

We really had gotten to the point with Mike that we didn’t think he was going to get better.   He was getting extremely resentful of the hand feeding and water dosage.   Then a couple of nights ago he started showing signs of jaundice again.  His lethargy increased.   He still wanted to go outside, but only to lie around in a nest under the box shrubs. 

He started to show signs of abdominal pain, also.  

Now, we are set to go on this vacation.   I talked to my vet and told him what was going on, and the prognosis  was not good.   Liver damage is a serious situation, and the vet’s opinion was that it was very rare to have an animal survive it.     

Jim and I talked the situation over thoroughly.   One of our friends that had volunteered to help feed Mike while we were gone was starting to back out of the deal.   She just didn’t know if she could stand to see him wither away.  The other friend is not really a cat person and I wasn’t sure he would be able to do the things that need to be done on his own.

Oh, there was soul searching.   It seemed like Mike was deteriorating now, not getting better.   I made the decision yesterday to stop forcing him to eat and drink.  He was so resentful and angry about it, I really got the feeling that he was deeply offended by the demeaning treatment he was receiving.   I decided to see what would happen if I just didn’t do anything.

What happened was, he lay around, and started looking really pitiful.   His coat has really deteriorated in the last couple of days.   When he walked, he walked stiff and hunched.  If I petted him he seemed to be in pain.   

I called the vet, and we talked about ending Mike’s life.   I felt it was better for all concerned if he did not have to waste away, lingering long and painfully,  and putting my dear friends through the trauma of his death.    And so, we made an appointment for 11 a.m. this morning.  

Oh, last night was traumatic.   Jim and I both cried and cried.   I felt so awful, I love this cat so much.   He is my familiar, really, and I really wanted to be sure that I was doing the right thing by this being that I am so close to.  I couldn’t sleep until well after 2 a.m.

When I woke up, Mike seemed much the same, only even more lethargic.   He checked the food bowl, but was not interested.   Same when I showed him the water bowl.   He urinated.   Then he just hunkered down on his afghan and looked sickly at me.

I went out to transplant some stuff, planted some peas.   I came back in the house at 10 a.m.   He was the same.   No, he did not want water.   No he did not want food.  No, he did not care to do anything at all, thank you very much.   He snarled at me as I pulled him out from under the coffee table.  Against his will, I took him out to the gazebo for some fresh air and sunshine.   We were sitting there, he was rather limp in my lap.   I was absolutely sure that I was making the right decision, that he would die cleanly and painlessly and be at rest at last.

A little breeze sprang up from the west.   It washed over us, ruffled his fur.   He lifted his head, sniffed it, and demanded to be let go.   He hopped down out of my arms, and immediately headed for the back door.   “I don’t want to be out here, damn it,” he communicated clearly.   He went to the back door, and sat in front of the cat door.   “Open the door.   You know I hate going through this cat flap, it is so demeaning.”  So of course, being a pussy whipped person, I opened the door for him.

He walked into the kitchen, and sat down by his food bowl.   He looked at me.   “I require kibble,” he indicated.   I thought, “What the hell.   Why not?   I’ll put food in his bowl.  I’ve been doing it for weeks now, if he doesn’t eat it, Smokey will.”   So I did.   And Mike ate, not much, but he did eat, and all on his own.  Then he proceeded over to his water bowl and had a good long drink.   

Jim and I looked at each other, absolutely gobsmacked.  One hour before his appointment with Death and he decides to eat and drink?  Was this a real recovery, or just fate and karma playing a horrible trick on us?   What to do?

Being a sort of weirdo about this stuff, I decided to pull a Tarot card and ask for guidance.   I got the 8 of Swords, Interference.   The card description in my Tarot book said this:

Two strong central swords are crossed by six crooked sabers.   You find yourself having to choose between two alterantives of apparently equal merit.  You will not come to a decision by reflecting analytically.   Your doubt, or fears of making the wrong choice, constantly destroy your inner clarity.   You are also lacking endurance, which you will need if you are to clarify this confused situation.   No matter where you turn, no satisfactory solution seems to exist.   The more you try to unravel the tangled ball of yarn, the tighter the knots become.

Indications:  Let things rest and develop on their own for a while.   As long as doubt concerning these decisions remains, don’t go for anything new.   Jupiter is harbinger of unforeseen and unexpected change for the better.   The problem which seems unsolvable now will find its own solution in its own way.

Well, that sure struck me as totally amazing, to get that card out of the 78 cards available to me.   About the time we had both finished reading that entry, Mike decided to have a little more to eat, and then a little more water.

Well, we kept the appointment at the vet.   But, we told him that we were only there for a checkup and what had been going on.  He was extremely relieved.   No good vet likes to have to euthanize a pet, but they understand the necessity when things get dire.

There Mike was at the clinic, cursing and complaining.  His eyes were bright and clear, there was no sign of jaundice.  We thought we would take some blood from his arm for a series of blood tests.   It took four people to hold Mike down to make the attempt, and then we were not able to get any blood to flow into the syringe.   We decided perhaps that we would not do the blood tests right then.   However, we did trespass on his personage some more and take his temperature.   He had a little fever, but considering everything that he has been through in the past few weeks, it is not surprising that he may have a little infection going.   So antibiotic was adminstered to help him with that. 

We had a long talk about the whole situation as it had transpired and what was going on.   My vet apologized to me for not being straight with me three weeks ago.  At that time, he was pretty sure that Mike was going to die quite soon, and that we probably should have euthanizd him then and get it over with, stop the suffering.   That was why he indicated that I should not worry about feeding and watering Mike after the teeth cleaning.   Mike  did need antibiotic then, to combat the infection from the bad teeth that was going on.    That is probably the source of his minor infection that he has now.   We aren’t out of the woods yet, of course, but things are looking way up! 

I was severely lectured about Mike’s weight too.   Now that he is back down to his proper weight (what a hell of a way to diet!), it is important that I do not let him get fat again.   He will be susceptible to the fatty liver disease now that he has had a bout of it.   You can bet I won’t be letting his teeth get dirty again either! 

Mike came home from the Little Shop of Horrors  veterinarian’s office, and had another drink, another bit of food, and has been washing the dirt of the place off himself assiduosly.

And this is why you do not dig the grave until the being actually needs it.   (We were wandering around early this morning, mourning, and talking about where we should bury him.    I wondered if we should dig the hole, and Jim told me that he didn’t think it was good form to dig a grave before you actually need it.)  

Well, if we had dug a grave before 10 a.m. this morning, I have a shrub I could have planted there.