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Saturday
I woke in the predawn darkness and opened my eyes. Cricket wasn't on her pillow next to me. I rolled over and found her on the floor. She was lying next to the space heater and purring to herself.
They say that cats will purr at times of stress and pain, that the vibrational frequency is conducive to healing. Cricket had barely made a sound since arriving home. I closed my eyes and let it take me back to sleep.
I brought Cricket home on Friday afternoon. She looked sort of awful. Parts of her had been shaved: her belly, her chest, a circumferential band on her front paw for the IV line. Her normally spotless coat was ratty and matted. She was tense and watchful. And she was, is, thinner than before.
Tempt Cricket to eat, advised the discharge note. Cricket looked blankly at the lactose-free milk I put in front of her yesterday. Usually, I can't have cereal without bribing her, but she was indifferent. Early this morning, I found her standing in a shaft of sunlight in the kitchen and drinking the milk I had left a few hours before. Today we broke the solid-food barrier with a forkful of hand-fed tuna. Baby steps.
She's on medication. It's easy enough to dose her, but she hates it. I've never seen a cat drool as heavily as Cricket does when she tastes something bad. She looks rabid. I wind up following her around and cleaning up the trail until she gets it under control. For today, I've skipped the meds. I want her to relax and stop waiting for something unpleasant to happen.
Despite a multitude of tests, the vet still has no firm diagnosis. Cricket's heart, we learned via echocardiogram, is not failing. On the contrary, it's healthy and strong. With the exception of her mildly ailing kidneys, Cricket's systems are go from nose to tail. The consensus among the vets is that Cricket has chylothorax, which is treatable. Unfortunately, she'll go through this again before a diagnosis can be made.
My family is gathered in Florida for Passover. I couldn't leave Cricket. I made the right choice, but it's hard. I imagine that this is what it feels like to be alone on Christmas.
Sunday
Cricket is much better today. She slept for hours yesterday; I'm sure she had a hard time sleeping in the hospital. She's putting in serious grooming time and her coat is becoming clean and shiny again. She's eating more and her eyes are brighter. Best of all, her breathing is slow and easy and comfortable.
She really needed to come home.
I woke in the predawn darkness and opened my eyes. Cricket wasn't on her pillow next to me. I rolled over and found her on the floor. She was lying next to the space heater and purring to herself.
They say that cats will purr at times of stress and pain, that the vibrational frequency is conducive to healing. Cricket had barely made a sound since arriving home. I closed my eyes and let it take me back to sleep.
I brought Cricket home on Friday afternoon. She looked sort of awful. Parts of her had been shaved: her belly, her chest, a circumferential band on her front paw for the IV line. Her normally spotless coat was ratty and matted. She was tense and watchful. And she was, is, thinner than before.
Tempt Cricket to eat, advised the discharge note. Cricket looked blankly at the lactose-free milk I put in front of her yesterday. Usually, I can't have cereal without bribing her, but she was indifferent. Early this morning, I found her standing in a shaft of sunlight in the kitchen and drinking the milk I had left a few hours before. Today we broke the solid-food barrier with a forkful of hand-fed tuna. Baby steps.
She's on medication. It's easy enough to dose her, but she hates it. I've never seen a cat drool as heavily as Cricket does when she tastes something bad. She looks rabid. I wind up following her around and cleaning up the trail until she gets it under control. For today, I've skipped the meds. I want her to relax and stop waiting for something unpleasant to happen.
Despite a multitude of tests, the vet still has no firm diagnosis. Cricket's heart, we learned via echocardiogram, is not failing. On the contrary, it's healthy and strong. With the exception of her mildly ailing kidneys, Cricket's systems are go from nose to tail. The consensus among the vets is that Cricket has chylothorax, which is treatable. Unfortunately, she'll go through this again before a diagnosis can be made.
My family is gathered in Florida for Passover. I couldn't leave Cricket. I made the right choice, but it's hard. I imagine that this is what it feels like to be alone on Christmas.
Sunday
Cricket is much better today. She slept for hours yesterday; I'm sure she had a hard time sleeping in the hospital. She's putting in serious grooming time and her coat is becoming clean and shiny again. She's eating more and her eyes are brighter. Best of all, her breathing is slow and easy and comfortable.
She really needed to come home.
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I still can't get over how much better she looked yesterday. :)