Worry. Fear. Sorrow.
Apr. 21st, 2004 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ursangnomeIt has been a long time since I've had a week this bad.
One of our cats is not doing well. Tristan, our little wacko who's bright orange color goes right down into his heart and soul, has not eaten anything resembling a full meal since Saturday. When his intake at this point should be measured in cups of food, instead it's more measured in tens of individual kibbles.
The cause for his lack of appetite is unknown. His blood work is normal. Nothing of note shows on X-rays. I've had the honor of seeing a whole bunch of really good vets at work, and when it comes to diagnostics, my Lady beats 'em all. But even she cannot work her magic if there's nothing abnormal in the data to go on. "Doesn't eat" leaves a doctor darned little upon which to base a diagnosis.
In a house where the amount of available cat food outweighs the cat, Tristan is slowly starving. His overall condition doesn't seem too bad yet. He still roams around the house. He's affectionate. He had a little romp with Percy this morning. He did a dash up the stairs to bat at Jingle Mouse. He had a nice run in with the Blanket Monster a little while ago...
But if he doesn't eat more, and nothing shows up on tests again, about the only choice will be exploratory surgery. And if that doesn't find anything... Well, it all boils down to the fact that today may be my last day to play with my little buddy. Ever. He may never again be well enough. And there's jack I can do about it. And it's breaking my heart.
And for all the helplessness I feel, it has to be worse for my Lady. She's loved Tristan longer than I have. And she's a vet, it is her calling in life to fix these things, and she can't because there's no bloody sign of why. Until some sign comes she gives subcutaneous fluids, vitamins, acupuncture, the feline version of Tagamet. Anything she can think of until a diagnostic test shows something, or whatever the problem is clears up on it's own. And sure as hell that doesn't feel like enough to her.
So I sit and wait. I take some pictures of him. I coax him to eat a few kibbles now and then. I let him sleep because he needs to save every little ounce of energy he can save. When he wants to play, though, I play the absolute best I can for him. He's only five years old. The number of times I'll stroke him should be without number, the number of mornings he sleeps on my chest should be uncountable, the number times he should make a mad dash after Jingle Mouse, the number of his plaintive meows, the hours of catnaps all should be beyond measure. But it may all be gone tomorrow.
One of our cats is not doing well. Tristan, our little wacko who's bright orange color goes right down into his heart and soul, has not eaten anything resembling a full meal since Saturday. When his intake at this point should be measured in cups of food, instead it's more measured in tens of individual kibbles.
The cause for his lack of appetite is unknown. His blood work is normal. Nothing of note shows on X-rays. I've had the honor of seeing a whole bunch of really good vets at work, and when it comes to diagnostics, my Lady beats 'em all. But even she cannot work her magic if there's nothing abnormal in the data to go on. "Doesn't eat" leaves a doctor darned little upon which to base a diagnosis.
In a house where the amount of available cat food outweighs the cat, Tristan is slowly starving. His overall condition doesn't seem too bad yet. He still roams around the house. He's affectionate. He had a little romp with Percy this morning. He did a dash up the stairs to bat at Jingle Mouse. He had a nice run in with the Blanket Monster a little while ago...
But if he doesn't eat more, and nothing shows up on tests again, about the only choice will be exploratory surgery. And if that doesn't find anything... Well, it all boils down to the fact that today may be my last day to play with my little buddy. Ever. He may never again be well enough. And there's jack I can do about it. And it's breaking my heart.
And for all the helplessness I feel, it has to be worse for my Lady. She's loved Tristan longer than I have. And she's a vet, it is her calling in life to fix these things, and she can't because there's no bloody sign of why. Until some sign comes she gives subcutaneous fluids, vitamins, acupuncture, the feline version of Tagamet. Anything she can think of until a diagnostic test shows something, or whatever the problem is clears up on it's own. And sure as hell that doesn't feel like enough to her.
So I sit and wait. I take some pictures of him. I coax him to eat a few kibbles now and then. I let him sleep because he needs to save every little ounce of energy he can save. When he wants to play, though, I play the absolute best I can for him. He's only five years old. The number of times I'll stroke him should be without number, the number of mornings he sleeps on my chest should be uncountable, the number times he should make a mad dash after Jingle Mouse, the number of his plaintive meows, the hours of catnaps all should be beyond measure. But it may all be gone tomorrow.
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no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 11:15 am (UTC)I hope it ends up being something findable and easily treatable, both for his health and your peace of mind.
Sending positive thoughts his (and your) way...
no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 11:34 am (UTC)I truly hope for the best.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-21 10:51 pm (UTC)