Sketch is clearly feeling all the monkey (and monkey-kitty) mojo. I just talked with his vet, and he told me that Sketch is doing much, much better. He’s almost completely out of congestive heart faliure! His vet told me that Sketch ate food overnight (as far as we know, he hadn’t eaten all weekend), and that he was out of oxygen, sitting up, looking around, and being “very, very talkative.”
I talked with his vet yesterday evening, and he told me that Sketch’s lungs were about 2/3 less filled with fluid than they were on Saturday, so he was responding very well to the lasix, and his breathing was down to about 24 from as high as 50 or 80 (sorry, I can’t remember exactly what it was) when we brought him in yesterday morning. It was the news I was hoping to hear, and I burst into tears of relief when I hung up the phone. I made a bit of a spectacle of myself, but I didn’t (and don’t) care. My fat guy is getting better.
It was kind of surreal last night to sit in the theatre at ACME and pitch my sketches for the next show. The word “sketch” was said about a thousand times (duh) and each time I heard it, my eyes filled up. I think I’m going to write a sketch about it, though. It could be pretty funny, once I clean up the gallows humor.
He will get a cardiac ultrasound later today, or early tomorrow, depending on how he’s feeling, and then we’ll know what his heart disease is, and how to treat it. I know he’s not out of the woods yet, but there are rays of hope shining down all around us, and the path is very clear.
Thank you for all your comments and e-mails. This has been a rough few days for me and my family. Each time I’ve heard from someone who had a similar experience with their cat years ago, I feel a little more hopeful that Sketch will be another one of those cats who rang Death’s doorbell, then ran down the walkway laughing before He could open the door.

I just got home from the vet.
The whole drive down there, we sat in some of the worst LA traffic I’ve seen in years (at least it felt that way . . . my perception was obviously skewed by grief and worry) and Sketch howled and panted the entire way, so I scritched his little fang face, and told him how so many kitties and monkeys were pulling for him, and how we were getting closer to the doctor who would take care of him and help him feel better. The truthis, I was trying to convince myself more than him. By the time we got there, he was breathing so hard he wasn’t even holding his head up, and I was convinced that he was going to die before I could get him into the waiting room.
As soon as we walked in, a tech came over and put him into an oxygen cage to help him calm down and breathe, while Anne and I waited to talk with the doctor.
After a few tense minutes, the vet came in, and told us that Sketch has congestive heart failure, and that’s why his lungs are filling up with fluid. He said that this is a common condition in Maine Coon cats, and he’s treated it many times before. It was very reassuring to hear so much confidence from the vet. At least now we have an idea of how to proceed.
We still don’t know what brought it on, and until we perform the cardiac ultrasound, we won’t know for sure, or how to treat it. The vet told us that he can drain Sketch’s lungs with Lasix, and when Sketch calms down, he’ll be able to do the ultrasound. He’s pretty sure it’s hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, though, and he told us that he just saw a kitty this morning who he treated a year ago, who looked just like Sketch when she came in. I don’t want to have false hope, but Anne keeps saying, “I just don’t think it’s Sketch’s time to go,” and I desperately want to believe her.
The really sad news is that, even after his lungs are cleared out, we won’t ever be able to reverse the damage to his heart, and he will eventually die from it. If we *are* able to drain his lungs and figure out what’s wrong with his heart, he should have good quality of life, though he’ll spend the rest of it on medication.
The really encouraging news is that the vet knew right away what was wrong, and how to get Sketch comfortable and stabilized. He told us that once a cat is stabilized from this sort of thing, it’s very rare for them to worsen or die. So we’re hopeful, but prepared for the worst, as well.
You know that saying, “Prepare for the worst, hope for the best”? When you’re actually doing it, it’s a lot harder than it sounds.
The doctor wants to take things slowly with Sketch, so he doesn’t stress him out and make things worse, so right now we’re just focused on making him comfortable and getting his lungs clear. Once that’s done, we’ll do the ultrasound, and then we’ll get a better picture of what comes next. I doubt we’ll know anything for at least 24 hours.
I want to thank everyone who has kept Anne, me, and Sketch in your thoughts. Your comments and e-mails have meant a great deal to us (even Sketch, who only reads at a first grade level.)
I’ll post more when I know more.