And Then There Was One
Aug. 9th, 2011 06:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rickvsI was awakened after 2am by the kvetching of our cat, Paris.
He's always been talkative to the point of melodrama, so it didn't surprise me much to see him reclining on the carpet as he complained. I skritched him for a bit, then picked him up and put him on my chest for further attention, but he immediately hooked himself back down to the floor, still yappin'.
I went to put down some canned food for him -- we'd been trying to fatten him up, to keep him from drying out in the recent Texas heat wave -- but he's a finicky eater, and didn't follow me to the kitchen. By the time I washed my hands, he was sprawled on the section of tile by our front door, presumably using it as a heat sink.
It took me much longer than it should have to realize that he couldn't move his hind legs.
They didn't appear to pain him -- he didn't squeal or nip at me when I handled them, but neither did he shut up about it; his continual yowling seemed to be the best way for him to express his frustration at the affront: Sent message to legs, no reply!
Petting didn't seem to comfort him, nor did water. So I called a 24-hour emergency vet, and was told that it sounded like it might be a saddle thrombus, and if it was that was not a good thing. I woke up Rachal and we headed in.
Nearly six hundred dollars later, we left again, sans cat. The shoot-from-the-hip phone diagnosis appears to have been correct, but they took some X-rays just to be sure, then told us as gently as possible that recovery was low-probability, and would be rough on Paris. We said our goodbyes, then petted him while they killed him.
Rachal's still coming down from an oversaturation of lithium, so she's been pretty fuzzy-headed. While she appeared to follow everything that went on, I suspect she'll have a second round of grieving in a day or two, after she shakes off the intoxication. We'll pick up Paris' ashes then, and I anticipate another quality-of-life discussion. I'll keep you folks posted.
He's always been talkative to the point of melodrama, so it didn't surprise me much to see him reclining on the carpet as he complained. I skritched him for a bit, then picked him up and put him on my chest for further attention, but he immediately hooked himself back down to the floor, still yappin'.
I went to put down some canned food for him -- we'd been trying to fatten him up, to keep him from drying out in the recent Texas heat wave -- but he's a finicky eater, and didn't follow me to the kitchen. By the time I washed my hands, he was sprawled on the section of tile by our front door, presumably using it as a heat sink.
It took me much longer than it should have to realize that he couldn't move his hind legs.
They didn't appear to pain him -- he didn't squeal or nip at me when I handled them, but neither did he shut up about it; his continual yowling seemed to be the best way for him to express his frustration at the affront: Sent message to legs, no reply!
Petting didn't seem to comfort him, nor did water. So I called a 24-hour emergency vet, and was told that it sounded like it might be a saddle thrombus, and if it was that was not a good thing. I woke up Rachal and we headed in.
Nearly six hundred dollars later, we left again, sans cat. The shoot-from-the-hip phone diagnosis appears to have been correct, but they took some X-rays just to be sure, then told us as gently as possible that recovery was low-probability, and would be rough on Paris. We said our goodbyes, then petted him while they killed him.
Rachal's still coming down from an oversaturation of lithium, so she's been pretty fuzzy-headed. While she appeared to follow everything that went on, I suspect she'll have a second round of grieving in a day or two, after she shakes off the intoxication. We'll pick up Paris' ashes then, and I anticipate another quality-of-life discussion. I'll keep you folks posted.
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-10 09:44 am (UTC)I've seen cats yell about paralysis and seem annoyed. One family cat, Andy, did that. Freya wasn't lucid enough to do much of it last year. She'd complain, then forget why she was complaining.
I do feel your pain. I'm crying too.