I went to the second day of my new job, and tried to keep myself quiet about it. I rpmoised myself I wouldn't walk around talking about it. But my officemate engaged me in conversation, apparently to see what was so obviously bothering me. And it, inevitably, came spilling out of my mouth... "I had to put my cat to sleep yesterday."
"Feline infectious peritonitis is a very devastating disease in cats caused by a corona virus. There are two forms of the disease: the wet form (with accumulation of massive amounts of fluid in the abdomen or chest) and the dry form (with no fluid accumulation). Cats of any age can be affected, but the disease occurs most often in young cats from six months to five years of age."
Its been about a week since I noticed Salome had a cough. I thought it was a hairball, but it kept happening without the appearance of any hairballs. Come yesterday morning, it all got a bit more suspicious.
My cat adored me. She never needed much provocation to get into my lap. If it looked like I was even slightly interested in petting her, she was under my hand. Yesterday, seeing her looking a little down, I invited her into my lap. Once she got comfortable, however, she immediately got down. And once she got down, she stayed down. She wouldn't come near me. She was breathing hard. She leered at me if I came near her and she shrank from my hand. It was completely atypical behavior.
So I got on the net and described the symptoms to Google. Google optimistically diagnosed feline asthma, but strongly urged me to take her to a vet. I called around, found the best price, and took her into get the asthma diagnosed. Once it was diagnosed, it would be medicated. Once it was medicated, it would be fixed.
No such luck.
The doctor noted her breathing as high. Listened to her heart (very good). He took her temperature (two degrees over normal). He listened to her lungs with a stethascope. He then produced a syringe and a couple of containers, and extracted about a cup of fluid from inside her body, outside of the lungs. The weight of it, pressing against her lungs had been causing her heavy breath.
"If the fluid accumulation is in the chest, then difficulty breathing may be the only sign...Diagnosis is very often made by analysis of the characteristic fluid drawn from the abdomen or chest coupled with the development of the characteristic signs of the disease."
I asked what could be done, and the doctor started navigating the response. Even though he wasn't saying it, I knew what was coming.
"Once the cat is showing clinical signs, there is no cure. FIP typically runs a course of a few days to a few weeks before the cat succumbs to the disease...Despite supportive care, all cats that develop clinical signs of the FIP virus will die or will need to be humanely euthanized."
He suggested options, but when he said there was no real way around it, I knew there was only one option. Salome's suffering was to end, and in trade, mine was to begin.
With the fluid extracted from her body, she had sat up and started nuzzling me, burying her nose in my arm. She was always an extremely intuitive cat and seemed extremely grateful for the ease she was feeling. I felt terrible because I knew there wasn't much time left for her. It seemed so quixotic that she was happy and affectionate, yet had a disease that meant her inevitable death.
The doctor asked me if I wanted to take her home and consider other options. I asked him to be frank and tell me honestly the odds of his being wrong. He told me that the odds of his being right were very, very good. I told him that I needed to be strong for her and make the decision authoritatively. To do it without second guessing or allowing myself to be weak. Because being weak meant her continued suffering. I meant to say it, but I knew I was merely stammering out a weepy mess of words. He seemed to know immediately what I was saying because he got up to prepare her injection, asking only, "Do you want to be in the room?"
Of course I did. I wouldn't abandon her now, allowing her to be scared witless for her last moments. I had to be there. To see her off as a friend. To comfort her into peace.
The injection dispensed into her arm, gravity seemed to steal her life right out of my hands as she sank to the table. She went with her tongue out and her eyes wide open. The doctor checked her pulse and solmenly told me she was gone.
She was right upon her birthday. Two years old. I know to some it would seem strange to be so wrecked over the passing of an animal. But in her two years she was more of friend to me than anyone I've ever known. She woke me up when I was too long asleep. She intuitively comforted me when I was down. She scolded me when I stayed up too late. She greeted me at the door when I came home and walked me to the door when I left. In this strange town with all of its disorientation, she kept me grounded and made my house a home.
When I lost Gracie two years ago to a sudden heart attack, I made the observation that deeply suffering the loss of the animal only points out the depth of our humanity, and subsequently the humanity in animals. Animals are not uniquely without empathy and attachment, and such traits are the measure of our humanity. If you've ever been close to an animal you know this. That she is gone now, and that I suffer only resounds the truth in this. For if she were a shell, without a spirit or soul, I wouldn't mourn her as I do.
But she is gone. And I do miss her.
Salome
2003-2005
) allthough supposedly lacking in nutrition according to the vet he seems to keep it down alot better than anything else. i guess it must show you what trash they put into dog(happy) + cat(turns nose up) food. he had blood + kidney tests and all sorts even at one point suggestion of feline leukemia but he seems fine. still fights with neighbouring cats leaving me with a $100+ vet bill 
. he also seems to think i like sitting with him during "songs of praise" when the remote is too far out of reach.
