You know Max, that crazy, burly, fearless bundle of felineness that we inherited from my mother?
Yeah, him.
Heart disease. Big time.
I took the cats (two of them, no longer three, as the third one succumbed to her neurologic event and faded peacefully away last fall) in for their rabies shots a couple of weeks ago and the vet noticed a heart murmer in Max. That and weight loss - which we had ascribed to a larger house, more human and pet interaction and aggressive mousing - indicated either a benign condition or the possibility of a heart problem which, given his youth and activity level, seemed to call merely for a checkup in another month.
Ten days later we were back under emergency circumstances.
And now it's touch and go. The disease seems to have taken over and the medication is having a tough time keeping ahead of it.
Does this sound familiar?
My mother was relatively young and vital, and then bang, Stage IV cancer. Which was held at bay for a while and then roared to life and consumed her body; there was no stopping it.
This was her cat. She loved him. He was clearly attached to her, but for all I could tell, he didn't give a shit when she actually died. He didn't seem to notice; he doesn't care who's in his space. He harasses my dogs during the day and sleeps with my kids at night. But this is not his house, my kids are not his person, my dogs are not my mother's dog.
Is it possible this cat is dying of a broken heart?
No comments:
Post a Comment