10 February, 2004
I took my cat Miri to the vet today. She hasn’t been acting like she’s been feeling well – loosing weight and moving slow. I didn’t know if that was just her age (she’s 16) or if she was ill, so I took her in just to be safe. I was more than a bit disturbed at how little of a fight she made about going into the cat carrier. Getting her in there is often very difficult.
The vet took a look at her and wanted to do some tests. He said she was very dehydrated. He took a urine sample and left to run some tests. Miri started trying to jump off the table. While she’s never happy to be on the table at the vet, she’s never done that before. I pick her up to try and comfort her – that’s when a warm feeling down my front let me know why she was trying to get down. Yep, the vet’s poking around had made it really imperative that she pee.
The vet returns (with towels, bless him) and said he wanted to keep her for some blood work. Her urine didn’t show high glucose levels (which was good), but it also didn’t show a lot of anything else. He was worried that it seemed to be basically water. I gave her a hug and walked out.
I called back around noon and asked for an update. The assistant said I’d have to wait for the vet to get back from lunch. He called later while I was heading to a branch office to take some employee photos. The news left me sitting in the parking lot bawling my eyes out. He said her kidneys have failed and that, most probably, she’s beyond help. He said they could try hydrating her to see if that would help – that sometimes that “brings them back” for a few days or even a few months or longer. In my head, I knew I should probably say no, but my heart won. So, right now, Miri’s at the vet’s office on an IV. I’ve perhaps put off the inevitable a few days, maybe just one. She’s alone and scared in a strange place; I’m alone and feeling guilty at home.