My cat is dying. I’m watching him fade away, lose coordination, and stop playing. Six weeks ago I took him to the vet because he just wasn’t right and they diagnosed kidney failure. We weren’t sure if it was an acute issue, like an infection, or a chronic issue that would kill him. We did dialysis to the tune of $2000. He’s a young cat at 8 years old and if he was only halfway through his life it seemed worth it to try. He came home feeling better, and then he started sliding downhill again. The vet gave me a list of things to try: special food, anti-nausea drugs, fish oil supplements, subcutaneous fluids delivered at home or at the vet. He won’t eat the food. I don’t know how much Pepcid to give him to help with the nausea. He hates the fish oil, and and I can’t imagine giving him subcutaneous fluids (and I gave my last cat two insulin shots a day for her diabetes). So he’s dying.
We haven’t had him for long. He came into our life July 2, 2011. We adopted him from the shelter and the top of his head was shaved from the removal of something. My husband nicknamed him “Head-wound Harry” but his shelter name was “Hazel.” We kept it because he looked like the bunny from Watership Down, which is one of my husband’s favorite book. He quickly stole our hearts.
He’s a weirdly social cat. If you are a cat person or have had cats you know that cats kind of tolerate each other. Not Hazel. He has loved our other cats: both Neko, the diabetic, and Katie our kitten. We find Hazel and Katie in all kinds of compromising positions. They fight, slow fight, bathe each other, sleep together, and eat together.
Now he’s dying. I’ve come to terms with it. I don’t know how much longer he’ll have, but I’ve decided that his last days will be filled with walks in the garden (he’s too slow and fragile to run away) and tuna. I don’t want to torture him with the vet anymore. I don’t want him to have to eat yucky kidney diet food. I don’t want to try filling the area under his skin with fluids. I want him to enjoy the time he has left with us.
Don’t turn me into the ASPCA.