Anne and I took Felix to his vet on Monday for a blood panel. We hoped the results would let us know what our next step was.
Of course, the blood work came back yesterday that his red cell count is extremely low (17 or 19 or something like that) and his kidney values are very high. But his vet said that he’s not suffering unless he’s vomiting or some other stuff that I’ll spare you all. She told us that our options were to put Felix to sleep, or give him Epogen injections three times a week, sub-q fluids twice a day, liquid vitamins and an aluminum hydroxyde suspension each morning, and hope that all that helps him feel better.
It sounds like an awful lot, doesn’t it? Anne and I talked about it, and tried to figure out what was best. We are absolutely dedicated to doing what is best for Felix, and we’re not going to prolong his life simply because we don’t want to say goodbye . . . but if we can help him feel better, and have good quality of life then we want to do whatever we can afford to do. We asked his vet how she thought he’d respond to all this stuff, and she told us that she didn’t know. Apparently, it varies an awful lot from kitty to kitty. She told us what I’ve heard from hundreds of WWdN readers: “Your cat will let you know if he’s ready to go, or if he wants to stick around and try to feel better.”
The thing is, I’ve really felt like Felix has been telling us that he doesn’t feel well, and he’s really over it. He doesn’t want to be cuddled or scratched, or loved, and when I come near him he complains at me and slowly walks away.
Our choice should be pretty clear, right?
I wish it was.
We spent most of yesterday agonizing about it, and we eventually decided to let Felix tell us what we should do. The only question was . . . how?
About two weeks ago, Sketch had a couple of days where he seemed to really go downhill. His breathing was up to almost 50, and he had that freaked out look in his eyes that he had the weekend that we found out he had CHF. I made several frantic phone calls to his vet and his kitty cardiologist, and they advised me to give him extra medication to clear his lungs. After several hours, he was down to the low 40s, but was clearly still struggling. I worried that the medicine just wasn’t enough, and I hated seeing him in so much discomfort, so I sat down next to him on the floor in my bedroom and said, “I know that you’re feeling pretty lousy right now, and if you’re tired of medications and trips to the vet and feeling this way, I understand. I love you, and you’ve brought a lot to my life, but if you’re really suffering, I don’t want to force you to stay alive. But if you want to fight, we can help you feel better, and your doctors have told me what to do.” I scratched his little head and told him that he could let me know what he wanted me to do.
Okay, I realize how insane this sounds. Normally, I’m a pretty cold and rational person, and I would scoff at the idea of talking to my cat like he’s a person. I know, I know. It’s lame, right? But I don’t think it’s much different than praying, or asking the universe for help, or keeping someone in your thoughts, or anything like that. It’s just . . . it’s just putting a little bit of hope (or faith, or whatever) into Something Else. I’d never let it take the place of things like medication, trips to the doctor, or good solid science . . . but we humans have all these constructs in our minds, and sometimes we do some pretty silly things to stay comfortable. At times like this, I don’t care if I’m anthropomorphizing my pets. If I can assign some human qualities to their body language or behavior and feel a little closer to them, so be it.
I finished talking to Sketch, kissed the top of his head, and left him alone. I hoped the medicines would work, and I hoped that he’d “tell” me that he was feeling better. I walked out to the kitchen, called his vet, and had The Talk with her. She told me what my options were, and when I hung up the phone I just sat in there and stared at a blank AbiWord document for what seemed like hours.
It was actually closer to thirty minutes or so when I walked out into my living room, and saw Sketch. He was sitting up, eyes bright, in the middle of the floor.
“How you feeling, fatty?” I said.
He meowed at me. It was bright and clear. No gurgling. I crouched down, and he walked over to me, purring loudly. He rubbed his face against my hands, and walked little circles around me for a minute or so. Finally, he lay down on his side next to me and closed his eyes. He continued to purr.
I pet him for a bit, and he fell asleep. I counted his breaths: he was in the low 30s and he seemed to be doing fine. Clearly, the medication was working. Why it chose that particular moment to work rather than hours earlier when the vet said it should have is beyond me, and I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that I’d just had “The Talk” with my cat . . . and now I’m starting to realize how stupid I sound so I’ll just stop this right now. The bottom line is: whether it’s a coincidence or not, I asked Sketch to let me know what he wanted me to do, and I felt like he was telling me that he had some fight left in him. He continues to improve, and he’s been sleeping on my chest or on his back between me and Anne every night since then.
In fact, when I got home from What’s My Line tonight, Sketch hopped off my bed, walked with me into my office, and is currently on his back at my feet. I can hear him purring over the soft hum of my CPU’s fan.
Again, I’m really struggling with the . . . uh . . . metaphysical(?) aspect of this whole thing, but to get back to my point:
I walked out onto my patio this afternoon, and found Felix sleeping in this blanket I got from Think Geek that we call “The Geek Blanket.” It’s all fleecy and soft and snuggly, and all my animals love to sleep in it. (We put it on the patio near the spot Felix’s been spending most of his time, and stuck one of his catnip mice in it, because we thought it would help him feel more comfortable.) I was on the phone with my manager, telling him how Felix was doing.
“So we’re going to see what Felix wants us to do,” I said. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’m going to talk with him, and take the advice of our vet: Felix will tell us what he wants us to do.”
While I was talking about him, Felix looked up at me, walked over to where I was on the patio, and did the same thing Sketch did: the walk, the meowing, the nuzzling, the whole thing. I hung up the phone, and had “The Talk” with him. Yes, I know how stupid this sounds, and believe me it sounds insane to me to write it down . . . but it’s what I did. While I talked to him, he was more affectionate and vocal than he’d been in days.
I hung up the phone and called the vet. I told her that we’d try the vitamins and shots. When I hung up with her, Anne called.
“I thought about it, and I want to at least try to help Felix for a week. If he’s not feeling better, and if he’s got no quality of life, we’ll say goodbye to him and put him to sleep . . . but I couldn’t live with myself if we just gave up on him.”
I told her about him walking around me, just like Sketch. I told her how stupid it feels to talk about this like I had some kind of mystical conversation with my cats, but the bottom line is that we both really know what’s going on, and we know the odds are against us. But Felix’s vet says that he’s not in pain, and there’s a chance that he may respond positively to this treatment. It’s not too expensive, and we’ll see what happens in the next three to five days.
I’m exhausted, and I don’t know if this makes much sense. I started writing it before I left for ACME tonight, and I just don’t have the energy to edit or rewrite it. But people are e-mailing about Felix and Sketch, and I figure that if I’m going to share my concerns, at least I should share their progress.
Thanks for your comments and e-mails, and for keeping us in your thoughts.
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Hey Wil,
I already have said this, but your cats and dogs are very lucky to have you! You are NOT stupid for talking to your pets. That is what gives you comfort. I think about Felix and Sketch and all of you guys everyday. I am praying hard for Felix and Sketch!! I am so sorry that you and your family have been going though so much. I wish I could help out some how. I can pray, and I will for all of you, everyday!! I wish you ALL the very best!
Here’s hoping both your guys make a full recovery. Talking to your pets is perfectly normal as far as I’m concerned; beats the hell out of talking to yourself. Take care!
I think that if I lost my cat, it would be a world less startling and inexplicable. It sounds so sappy for me to say this, but I wouldn’t know what to do without Kitters (I nicknamed her Catzilla) my cat of the last 14 some odd years. It’s a long story, and I apologize in advance for boring you to tears with the details, but I have to share my times of being an owner and a traveler of life with a cat.
Wil, I know what you must have felt when you sat down and had the “Talk” with kitty, cause I’ve been there too and it’s a gut wrenching, bawl your fuckin eyes out, shreak out loud kinda emotion. I don’t have any kids but I know that this would be the same if I had to go thru losing one of them.
Kitters is just this little Russian Blue kitty. You’d not know from looking at her that she’s a smart as hell little kitty, but she can figure out some stuff that would amaze the best of us.
Around 1992, my friend got married and was moving to Hawaii. She asked me to take over her Apt and lease. Along with this came Kitters because she said that they keep cats and dogs in quarantine for six months to determine if they are infected with something. We both knew that this would be a torture on both owner and pet, so I said that I would be willing to take care of the little thing.
I had no idea that she would become such a part of me and my life. Just a quick background; former US Marine, got out of the service in 1992 after the first Gulf War. Went to college, got a degree, now work in North County San Diego as a Computer Network Tech for a BioTech. Anyway, kitty can be a handful and I have always induldged her, she gets the best food, the rubbing and petting of a Royal Egyptian cat if that is possible and I look forward to seeing her everyday when I get home from work.
Are pets a member of the Family? Yes. Do they have a soul or as scientists say, they just mimic things that they have learned? Well, I know that Kitters has a personality and she knows that I am coming down the hallway outside the condo we share and meets me with a meow and wants to be fed. If anyone says that they have no feelings, no emotions or no soul has never had a cat as a roommate.
Wil, my heart goes out to you and your family during this time. I know that Felix and Sketch will be out of danger soon and that you will enjoy many years together as a family and I wish you well during this time. As they say, cats have nine lives and they always make it thru somehow.
All My Best
Catzilla and GeekBoyMatt
Wil,
As a cat person, I see nothing wrong in your logic that the cats, Sketch and Felix, are telling you something. I believe ALL animals communicate to us in their own special ways.
I know all five of my cats’ voices and when they are telling me different things. To me they are my children. I call the boys my sons, and the girl my daughter. (Now do YOU feel so crazy?) I have no children of my own at this time as I’m too young, at least I think so at 22, to have them. However, when I get home I can tell you who out of: Chip, Junior, Reverend, Tiger, or Samantha is calling me. I could even tell you if actually it was none of them and it was my mom’s cat, Callie.
I believe that Sketch has told you he’s a fighter and will not give up anytime soon. Felix is telling you to give it chance with the meds b/c he’s willing to fight to stay with you and yours.
I think you and Anne have made a great choice in getting the medication for Felix. I wish him and Sketch a full recovery and fulfill the rest of their 9 lives.
And cheer up, you know the old saying when one is glum everyone else knows it … so do it for your boys, Nolan and Ryan, and Felix and Sketch, and most of all Anne. She’s gonna need you to be strong for the both of you b/c she’s soo close to Felix it seems.
Well, I must get goin.
The very best of mojo to your kitties and you and your family. When she was ready, my beloved Smokey Cat died in my arms. I hope I get the same chance with my Jonathan and Daisy Cats.
‘Heaven will not Heaven ever be, unless my cats (and everyone I care about) are there to welcome me.’
Wil, the post was probably made the better by being your raw, shared feelings, left unedited.
I am so very sorry that you have to go through this with both Sketch and Felix. Your writing about this is beautiful and captures the love and affection that so many owners have for their feline family members. Don’t be ashamed of that bond, or feel that it’s strange.
As for understanding them, that’s not odd, either. I have a wonderfully affectionate cat (and rascal) named Charlie, and although we obviously aren’t understanding each other’s language, he definitely picks up on the emotional tone of my voice, as well as my body language — as do I, with him.
That is not metaphysical or mystical — that’s probably been proven by a scientist in some lab somewhere, but has been proved practically by millions of pet owners everywhere already.
When I think of them, I will keep your cats and your family in my thoughts, WIl.
Wil, on an entirely unrelated note (and perhaps it’s crass of me to ask this here), any idea when you’ll be responding to the second slate of questions from Slashdot?
I’ve started reading your blog to keep up on how Sketch and Felix are doing. I’m pulling for all of you.
Wil, I think in this matter you’ve got quite a bit more strength than I.
It wasn’t not too long ago that my cat, which I had since early childhood, was put to sleep. I had that cat since I was 6 years old, and I was 22 years old when that day came. He lived with us in our house, then when we moved we kept him with grandma, and I visited her (and my kitty) at least once a week.
There’s two kickers to this though. When grandma’s health necessitated moving her into a nursing home, my father decided that it would be best to put “Checkers” to sleep (he wouldn’t allow pets in the new house). He didn’t feel that a cat of that age would adjust to new owners, plus he said he had kitty arthritis or something, which I think is BS because my cat showed NO signs of any discomfort. Of any kind. He didn’t jump onto couches much anymore, but he was still happily purring and craving attention. But… I really didn’t have much say.
So, I had decided that if my father was going to put Checkers to sleep then I should be by his side in the last hour of his life since he was beside mine for almost every hour that mattered.
…But I didn’t have the strength to say to my dad, “I want to be there when it’s time.” And I’ve never forgiven myself for it.
My father simply walked in the door one day with a floppy disc in his hand. The disc contained a photos of my cat, thankfully not at the vet’s office but at home.
I felt like such a damned coward.
Well… I don’t know why I’m sharing this since I don’t really see how it helps much in your situation. Maybe it’s a catharsis thing in telling people who might understand, or maybe it’s a misery-loves-company kind of thing. In any case, Wil, if it’s absolutely necessary that you’ve got to let him go, make sure he goes in the arms of his friend. You.
I’m a little late in posting this, but Wil, you need to know that talking to your animals socializes them and creates an intimacy with them. And yes, Sketch will tell you when he has had enough. My 20-year old cat, Osgood, let me know in an unmistakeable way last September that it was time to let him go. He, too, had failing kidneys and experienced the same thing Sketch is going through now. He lived for 5 years after diagnosis, then one day, AFTER I ASKED HIM, he went into the kitchen in the corner and did something totally out of character, letting me know it was time. It helped immensely. Without that little act of his, I am sure I would be still self-flagellating–don’t worry. Both of your babies will let you know. BUT, ya gotta ask, ya know?