How far would you go to help a friend?

I woke up Monday morning expecting to do my usual morning routine.  Grab a beverage, a quick cigarette outside, check e-mail, take a shower,  all the usual things I would do before starting the late shift at work.  Something was different today.  Normally the cat follows me to the door for a quick trip outside.   They crawl into my lap while I check e-mail.  They wind their way around my legs as I'm getting them food and water.  Monday there was no cat.  It was my cat, Koobee, who was running the house that morning.  He wasn't anywhere to be seen, and he didn't come when I called him.

I went looking for him and found him laying on the carpeting in the cool of the basement.  I thought it's warm and humid even for this time of the morning, maybe he's trying to keep cool.  I picked him up and brought him upstairs with me for a drink of fresh water.  He laid down by the water bowl without any interest.  Strange, he must not be feeling well.  He sat up, then threw up on the floor.  Nothing much, just some water.  Then he crawled down the steps back into the basement to lay down.  Maybe he just wanted to be by himself.  He is a cat, he does things at his convenience, not mine.

I went through my routine thinking I would keep an eye on him.  I thought about when I was feeling sick.  I wanted my own bed, my bathroom, my things.  There is nothing more uncomfortable than being somewhere other than home when you aren't feeling well.  I went down to the basement to gather Koobee and put him in our room where he would be most comfortable.  Then I headed off to work distracted by my cat's condition.  I called The Teen in the afternoon to see how the cat was doing.  Koobee was sleeping.  I called Honey when he got home from work, still no change.  I asked Honey to call the vet that Sparky visits for an appointment, then I went back to work.

By the time I got home at 11:30 pm, I was sufficiently scared because Koobee was really lethargic, and I noticed he hadn't touched his food or water all day.  I grabbed the phone book looking for someplace that had emergency animal treatment.  I got through to one of the larger vet centers not too far from where we live.  They asked about symptoms, bathroom habits, and had me check his gums, which looked pink but on the dry side.  They gave me my options.  Observe him through the night, or spend the $100 dollar emergency fee and bring him in.  I found it annoying that we were already talking about money when I was concerned about the health of my furry friend.  I loaded him gently into the carrier and drove to the emergency room.

The doctor did a quick exam feeling his stomach from the front to the back.  He had a urinary blockage.  The doctor left the room to draw up a treatment plan and costs.  Again with the money.

I looked at my little friend laying on the stainless steel table so helpless.  I touched his head and whispered in his ear that I was sorry for not seeing he was in trouble earlier.  I started to cry as I remembered that back in the forest at my most desperate moments he would crawl into my lap, purring mightily and rubbing his face against mine, telling me, willing me to hang in there just one more day.  The thoughts of being able to face one more day as my hand curled around his furry little body and I drifted off to sleep at night.  I had to get up the next morning to take care of my friend, my savior.  And when I finally couldn't take being in that place another day, the only worldly possessions I could think to put in my car with me was a few changes of clothing and my friend Koobee.  I could face the world and the future knowing he would be with me.

The doctor came back with a list of treatments.  He would have to be catheterized and fed fluids intravenously.  He would have to spend a few days at the hospital.  He would have to be on a special diet for the rest of his life.  If there weren't any complications he would recover and be able to lead a normal life.  Low end treatment would run about $300, high end would be $600.  He was only five years old and he could lead a normal life.  There wasn't any choice in my mind, cost was not a factor.  I watched them carry him out of the room with the promise I could visit him before I went home.

It was 2:00 am, July 11th.  The technician came into the room to tell me Honey was on the phone.  He was worried about me and the cat.  He kept apologizing that he didn't find a vet sooner, that he didn't realize it was as bad as it was.  I told him it would be OK.  He wished me a happy birthday.  I mumbled a thank you and told him I would be home soon.  Just a little bit longer and the anesthesia would wear off so I could see him.  This would be my only thought the next two days.  How is he doing and can I see him?

Work started at 8 am, Tuesday the 11th.  I had three hours of sleep and I was very emotional.  I only had to wait an hour before I could call the vet and see how Koobee was doing.  I ignored the cracks about my not being a morning person.  The few people who did remember it was my birthday were kind of surprised at my absent minded thank you's.  I was still too worried to be bothered with the date.  At 9 am I got my update.  He was awake and passing urine.  I could call back at 4 to see how he was doing and make arrangements to visit.  The day wouldn't go by fast enough.  It seemed like counting seconds waiting for 4 o'clock.  When it did arrive, he was eating and drinking a little, and I could visit him between 5:30 and 6.

I flew home to change clothes.  Honey was taking me out to dinner but all I was really concerned about was seeing my cat.  He was still sleepy and not moving much, but then he had tubes going into his arm and taped to his back leg.  I felt better seeing that he was in better shape than the night before.  One more night in the hospital and I could take him home.  One more day of work to get through.  I was exhausted. 

I still didn't sleep as well as if he would have been home.  I'm used to him doing a couple of laps around the bed, kneading the covers as he marches along.  I don't know why he does that.  He eventually gets to my pillow where he positions himself between the headboard and my head.  He circles around that spot a couple of times before he lays down with his head on top of mine, like a cat turban, or Daniel Boone's coonskin cap.  That is the routine.  I don't sleep well when the routine is out of whack.

I bumble through Wednesday and get to the vets before 6pm.  They give me his medication, and new food.  We make an appointment for a check up on Friday.  They bring out the carrier and set it on the bench seat.  I fall to my knees and press my head against the door.  He's alert and meows.  He presses his head against mine through the grate.  We spend minutes in that mysterious connected way.   I tell him how much I missed him.  He's so beautiful and alive.  This is the only thing I can think of wanting for my birthday.  My fuzzy little friend.  The world is right again.

It's Thursday, 11 am.  I just got a call from Dr. Tiffany, Koobee's Doctor.  She wants to know how he is doing.  I find it strange that my cat's doctor shows so much concern for him, but no one from the hospital or doctors office bothered to call after my little fiasco.  I wonder if Dr. Tiffany would like to branch out into humans?

tags: family  cats  veterinarian  friends  catty's corner  

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