We had a scare with Charlie, the younger of my two cats, at fifteen and a half, about 75 to 80 years old, according to the chart at my local veterinarian's office. My daughter happened to be here for the week and she asked why he was not talking to me as he usually does. I did not think much of it, just thought he had little to say. But how silly. Charlie always has lots to say, like "Let me go outside!" or "It's time for treats!" or "Pay attention to me."
Only when he refused afternoon treats, did I stop and think about it. I had not seen him eating or drinking all day, and he looked sad. Checking it out online, I discovered that lethargy and not eating could be very serious for cats, so I bundled him into the cat carrier and headed for the clinic at the local university to see what was up.
Of course, there was a rush in the pet emergency room, and since he was not obviously in danger, we had to wait. I had lots of time to reflect on our lives for the past 15 years.
I brought him home as a companion for Cinci who was mourning the loss of a canine companion we had to send away because he bonded with her, not us, and threatened to bite some young child who rushed up to see such a cute dog. (Yes, the puppy has a cast. She was very quick and got in the door when someone closed it. She healed in no time.)
Cinci, however, was not amused by this little ball of fur who purred continuously for the first two weeks. We quarantined him in the laundry room on the scrap of red blanket I had left from my college days that was used by every animal we ever had, and gradually she decided to tolerate him.
So Charlie became a full member of the family, and we all came to love his playfulness and his joy for life. He was the one who came out to greet visitors, chased the feral cat out of the back yard and hunted birds from his hiding place in a tree under the bird feeder. He tried it from the bird bath but that was not a very good vantage point.
We rescued many a feathered visitor that he caught on the edge of the feeder. After I moved, he caught a baby bunny in the woods behind the house and proudly brought it inside to show me.
Charlie is a hit with every member of the family and always spreads his attention around. He has been like a kitten until very recently. If we are playing with Cinci, he stands on the sidelines and tries to stay out of it, until he loses control and flies across the room to attack the toy of the day. Lately he has not been ready to play very often.
Charlie also loves to find new places to sleep. He appropriates shoe boxes and paper bags and never understands why he can not easily fit in them. He especially liked to climb inside with the cover closed and pretend we could not see him.
For the past few years, Charlie has been sleeping in a cat bed. Then I found a very soft, deeply padded one and brought it home. Cinci turned her nose up so Charlie switched to it and she occasionally took the old one. Until this winter when she suddenly took over his soft green bed. He kept walking around howling in complaint, pouted and finally jumped in my lap to demand I do something. After trips to two different Meijer stores, I finally located another bed and peace was restored.
All of these memories and many more flashed through my mind as I sat at the pet hospital waiting to hear about Charlie. He was restless but tired, letting me hold him like a baby and falling asleep in my lap - something that has not happened since he was a small kitten.
The vet examined him and announced he should spend the night, have a huge battery of tests and talked about finding tumors, infections or even cancer. I quietly asked about less drastic measures, and stating my intention to take him home with me that night. We agreed he would get an infusion of liquid under the skin, and give blood and urine samples. I would get a call the next day with the preliminary results.
I got up a few times during the night to check on Charlie. He slept soundly. Throughout the morning, I poured a little extra water over canned cat food and offered it to him as he lay there. He never got up but he licked the fluid and took a few small bites.
The vet called in the early afternoon saying his kidneys and liver numbers were okay, but he had elevated calcium, was anemic and had a high number of white blood cells. Must be some kind of infection or inflammation. I cancelled our travel plans for the next day and lay next to him on the floor, watching him sleep and silently shedding a few tears, steeling myself for what might come.
I offered him wet food and he kept eating a little. My daughter came back and commented that he looked sad. We agreed that he would not want to live like that - our crazy, loud-mouthed friend who used to tear around the house, dashing up and down the furniture before flying out of the room again. It was hard to recognize him in this silent, listless form.
Imagine our surprise when we followed him downstairs a little later to see him interact with Cinci and then loudly respond when we spoke to him. He seemed so much better. A moment later he was sprawled out stretching his back. Surely this was progress?
We went to our neighborhood vet this morning. In a few weeks, they are going to check Charlie's thyroid level so we can adjust the medicine. My focus for the next few months will be on helping him gain weight. Which could be a challenge since Cinci is pretty big already and we will have to keep her out of Charlie's food. And he is still eating only the chicken broth that I pour on the cat food and leaving the rest. Oh, well. Off to the store for baby food. Maybe that will entice him.
My prayers were answered, at least for a while. Charlie seems happy and his personality is back! And I had a big reminder to count my blessings and savor each moment.
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