Poor Kitty

Well, I promised to post about my cat last time. Unfortunately, the good news is followed by bad news, so I'll just take a deep breath and tell the whole tale of Titch.

Titch came to us about 9 years ago, as a stray who was living out in the country near a friend and being beaten up by other cats around the area. Our friend was afraid that he'd get really seriously hurt or killed, and asked if we'd take him in as an outdoor cat in our neighborhood. We're suckers, so we agreed, and for the summer and fall, he lived outdoors and was happy to come up and get attention whenever anyone went outside, always came up for food, and slept on the porch, under the bushes, or wherever else he felt safe.

During that winter, we took pity on him and started letting him indoors, and while he always spent as much time outside as in, he took to sleeping indoors, and taking shelter whenever the weather was bad. Over the years, he became as much a part of the family as our other cats. He defended us from the fearsome "invader cats" that roamed the neighborhood, and I'm sure he even got in a fight or two with the fat old raccoons around here.

Of course, he had some health issues. He was a male black-and-white cat, prone to urinary tract infections (cha-ching for the vet), and he also occasionally had seizures. They lasted a couple of minutes, were obviously painful, but afterwards he seemed to be dazed for a few minutes, and then he'd recover and go eat, and sleep. These happened a few times a year, or after a trauma like being stepped on (sorry, Titch!), or getting into the neighbor's lawn after they put down weed and feed. The vet didn't find anything that seemed likely to be the cause, and since they were infrequent, we didn't worry too much.

So, while he did rack up some vet bills with his UT infections and special foods, he lived a pretty happy life up until this June. Sometime in late May, early June, we noticed a few bumps on him that seemed peculiar. They didn't seem to bother him, but keeping an eye on them they started to grow and more of them showed up. He still didn't seem bothered by them, other than scratching a bit, but they got pretty large and cracked open. Normally, we'd have taken him to the vet, but with money being tight, we figured it might be some pox or something that would run its course over a few weeks.

In the last week of June, he stopped eating and started getting congested and stuffed up. We tried to keep him inside and gave him some decongestants and forced him to eat and drink for a few more days, but he eventually got nauseous and we had to let him be. I should point out that he never seemed to not WANT to eat, he just would get to the bowl and then (apparently) feel naseuous and wander off. At this point, a friend of ours told us about a country vet they knew that was reasonably priced and we decided to take him out there the next day. This was July 2nd.

For the last few days, we'd been letting him go out on the back porch since it seemed to help his congestion a little, and he seemd to enjoy sleeping back there in the fresh air and sunlight. On the morning of the 3rd, we let him out as usual, with the intent of bring him back in when Kim got him from work to take him out to the vet. Wandering outside, we discovered that he'd left. A good hour's calling and looking in all his usual spots didn't turn him up, and after another hour, we'd missed the office hours and had to give up for the day.

We searched for him, called him, and did everything we could to no avail for the rest of the week. After another week went by with no sign, we assumed he'd gone off to die as cats often do when they're sick enough. We gradually stopped looking for him and hoped that he hadn't sufferd too much more.

On Tuesday, July 21st, I woke up at 1am and wandered out to get a drink and go back to bed. I looked out the side door, intending to close it, and saw this shadow slink up from under the bench and stand in front of the door. It took me a few seconds to realize that Titch had come back! After 18 days, our poor sick cat returned to us, weak and frail, but alive and happy to be home again.

I was at a loss for words, and overjoyed that such a miracle could happen. We took him to that vet the next day, had a few tests run, got some vitamins shot into him, and started feeding him raw meat to help him recover. Each day, he looked a little better, and even though he still had his bumps, he started getting a little strength back and looking more like a cat again, instead of a sack of bones with fur.

This is the point at which I wanted to tell you all this last week, but was just too tired to put it all down. I wish I could stop the story here, but there's more.

For 4 days, our happy little cat showed improvement and seemed content to eat, sleep, and get attention from whomever wandered by. He tried going down the stairs, and I had to rescue him since he wasn't strong enough to make it back up. He even played a little bit.

On Friday night, he started sniffling, and on Saturday he had gotten the same kind of head congestion that had eventually made him stop eating before. Since he only weighed 4 pounds (as opposed to his healty weight of 12 pounds), we knew he couldn't go very long without eating now. On Monday, we carted him off to the vet again, he got some more vitamins and a strong antiobiotic, with the hopes that we could kill whatever was causing his problems, rather than trying to treat the symptoms forever. The vet also said that his system was so weakened, that trying to give him multiple drugs would probably be too much for him.

That night, he seemed a bit better but still wouldn't eat. On Tuesday, he was snuffling a bit, but still not as bad as before. He at a very tiny bit of tuna, and drank some water, and I took that to be a good sign. This morning, he seemed about the same... not interested in food or water, wanting to be left alone for the most part.

Around 1pm, he had a seizure while I was checking on him. Having seen this before over the years, I wasn't overly worried, but knew it would drain him since he was already weak. So, I held him down to keep him from hurting himself (as I did whenever I was nearby when he had one). The first thing I noticed was that his urine was slightly pink. Not good, but still not really worrisome yet. That meant he probably had another UT infection, but since he'd just gone on antibiotics, there wasn't much ELSE we could do... I hoped it was just an existing infection that would be cleared up by the antibiotics.

A few minutes after his seizure, he did something he'd never done before. He had another one.

This continued for a good two hours, some seizures being severe, others seeming fairly mild. Sometimes only a few minutes of rest, other times having 15 minutes or more. After 3pm, I called the vet, and their office hours for today were between 6pm and 7:30pm. I also noticed, at this point, that he was trying to stand up but his back legs weren't responding.

Poking his foot pads confirmed my fear, his back half was numb and unresponsive, muscles only reacting to involuntary seizures. At that point, Ian and I made the hard decision to drive him up the vet at 6pm and have him euthanized.

Perhaps in an ironic twist of fate, perhaps because the God who usually likes to toy with us and watch us suffer was satisfied, after 4pm he didn't have any further seizures. When we bundled him up and took him out to the car, he cried a bit, but after we started driving, he sat quietly in Ian's lap and really seemed to enjoy the ride.

The sun was out, it was 73 degrees and NOT humid, the windows were open so we had a nice breeze, and he would look out the front window at the world going by, look over at me, look up at Ian, and seemed to be happy and content. I'm really grateful for that.

Once we pulled into the parking lot and stopped, he cried a little as we got out of the car, and wanted a bit of reassurance. The vet (a very nice older guy) made sure we knew the options, but didn't try to talk us out of it. He suggested it was probably a brain tumor that had finally gotten large enough to become fatal. Once we agreed to do it, he injected Titch with a sedative which made him throw up a tiny bit, but otherwise didnt' bother him. He slipped a tournaquet around his leg, and as we said goodbye he injected him with something. A few seconds later he released the tournaquet and Titch died within 2 seconds.... the time it took to rush from his leg to his heart.

It seemed quite painless.

I'm crying a bit more as I type this and remember it all. But I think it's for the best. He had a nice ride with people he loved and then got to sleep. We should all be so lucky in the end.

Goodbye old friend!