The weekend was great - weather was nice, lots of time with friends and Jeff and I were even getting along!
It all came to a crashing halt on Sunday night when my cat's leg stopped working. It was the strangest thing. She went to get in her hidey box and I heard this thunk. The ledge is only an inch or two, so it's not like she could have fallen. She looked ok to me and she curled up and went to sleep. Then she came out a little while later and she just laid there on the floor. She acted like she wanted to get up, but then she'd look back at her hind legs and nothing happened. I knew something was up.
She wasn't meowing or acting like she was in pain or anything but we tried to move her legs around and one of them just dangled there. She is 14 years old and she's been getting more and more arthritic. We didn't know if she had a stroke or what. We kept an eye on her and over an hour or so, the leg came back to life.
I took her to the vet first thing and the vet wasn't too terribly worried about the leg, but she was worried about her breathing. I hadn't noticed that it was strange, but I could see it. We did x-rays and ultrasound and then we got the diagnosis that she has a heart disease that carries a "poor prognosis". Her heart muscle is flacid, and they think that she had a blood clot and that's what caused her leg to go limp.
Me, I am a practical person. I can see the writing on the wall, and yet I spent over $1,000 to get this bad news. Ella and I haven't been the most physically affectionate of friends maybe, but we've been together for a very long time. I am responsible for her happiness and quality of life. I have always made sure that she gets everything she needs and she lives very comfortably, much more comfortably than billions of humans on Earth. I know that cats don't live as long as we do, but I guess I just took it for granted that she would always be around. I guess I'm in some degree of denial that the decision about how long she will live with this disease is on my shoulders. I don't like it one bit.
They prescribed 5 medicines for her that she will need to take for the remainder of her life. The whole time the vet is talking I am wondering "why?" and thinking about how impossible it is to get pills down the cat's throat. They gave her a prognosis of living days, maybe weeks WITH the medicines. I can't fathom that shoving pills down her throat when she's already feeling like hell is going to be a very good way of living, for either one of us.
And yet, I try. I crush them up and try to trick her into eating them with food. I'm not sure if she gets any of it. I'm not sure if she's getting better, or if she even can get better. What is better when you have a flacid, weak beating heart and fluid in your lungs? I don't mean to be insensitive but what's the point here? Is this just to make us feel like we're helping?
The reality is that my dear companion of 14 years is dying. I am going to give her medicines and I am going to get the results of her blood and urine tests in a couple of days. Maybe I'm a negative person who gives up to easily but I am not very optimistic. I know I will have to say goodbye to her sooner than I am ready to, and that I will have to decide no more pills or pretending - give her the final shot.
So no wonder I am feeling so funky and sad this week. Maybe this won't be as hard as I imagine it to be. I know it's for the best. I don't think I will be able to get another cat friend for a long time.
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