Just about time for bed, I poured myself a glass of milk and, as usual, remembered that I hadn't given Buddy his evening pills. Now, Buddy is officially a miracle cat, twice over. More than a year ago, I visited my grandma and called her vet to come take a look at Buddy. Buddy adored my grandma and had appeared on her doorstep without any front claws four years before she had to move into assisted living. It was a miracle he'd survived the coyotes that hung around her place back then. My grandma and the rest of us had agreed that when Buddy needed a place to go, he could come live with us. We only had one cat, Seth, and a hamster. I wanted the vet to give Buddy sedatives for the airplane and the shots he needed to be allowed to fly. Plus, I wanted to know why Buddy bled now and then. I couldn't believe that no one had tried to figure out that problem.
This very nice vet came to my grandma's apartment and looked Buddy over. He told me that Buddy had a heart murmur and might not survive the trip home. He also said that it was likely that the poor guy had cancer in his lower intestine, that caused his bleeding. He gave him his shots, wrote a prescription for tranquilizers, and signed a certificate. He petted Buddy as he lay in my arms and before he left, the man looked me in the eye, and said, "Good luck. I hope he makes the trip. He really seems to like you."
Buddy wasn't happy, but he survived the trip home. Fur was all over my clothes and baggage, even in my mouth, by the time we made it home. I wish I could say that poor Buddy could relax then. Seth, our other cat, made those next three weeks miserable by growling and blindly clawing under doors. It was three weeks before I let them meet face to face. By then, Mike and my friend, also a vet, was telling me to let them work it out together.
Just as things were beginning to get settled down, Buddy started bleeding again. I took him to see my friend who said that since he was so young, she'd like to see and echo cardiogram about the murmur. After three more trips, all very upsetting for Buddy, a specialist told me that he had a congenital heart problem that had caused his heart to enlarge, fluid to build in his lungs, and he probably had colon cancer though they hadn't done tests for that. This vet said that Buddy wouldn't live much longer than six months and would be lucky to make it to a year. In the meantime, my friend fiddled around with his food and Buddy finally stopped bleeding.
That was thirteen months ago. The joke around our house is that Buddy has lived past his expiration date, his second miracle. We all love him. He has the biggest heart, emotionally as well as physically. He jumps up to join anyone who goes into the toilet, just to say hi. I suppose that since he lived with a fragile old woman for seven years, he learned that she could reach down to pet him easier from the toilet. Buddy plays with the boys with his toys, lying on his belly to grab what is being whipped past him. His favorite thing to do is for me to recline on the couch with a blanket over me and his pillow in my lap. Then, he'll lie on his back on his pillow and stretch his paws up to my face to pat me whenever I stop rubbing him with two hands. God forbid I want to read my book with one hand while I'm petting him. He likes to have his head and chest rubbed in a way that annoys Seth when I try it on him. His eyes dilate as we stare at each other during these love-fests. Then he'll jump off, walk around a bit, and do it all over again. Sometimes, I brush him with this rubber Zoom Groom thing that he loves. His fur has gotten very sleek.
This past weekend, I thought it was the end for Buddy, that his digestive problems had finally beat out his heart problems. He'd started vomiting more. It got to where it was just foam coming up two or three times an hour. Poor Buddy cried out sometimes just before it happened. What could I do? It was only going to upset him more to be trundled off to my friend's office to get more tests. She and I agreed that we only wanted to manage his comfort and anything that might be solved that was simple. Mike told me there wasn't anything simple about this.
Buddy wasn't eating. He wasn't drinking. In between bouts of vomiting, he'd lay flaccid on the floor. He didn't want to be in his little bed. He didn't want to lie on his pillow on my lap. I found myself lying on the floor with one hand near him sometimes. Touching him seemed to hurt too much, but I didn't want him to die alone.
I sat with him for the whole weekend. I slept in the recliner, hoping to hear him if he cried out in the night. I tried to prepare myself to find him dead under the coffee table when I woke up. I hardly slept. I didn't accomplish anything. It was awful. I was a mess.
On Sunday, I'd finally missed so much sleep that I caught a cold. I sleep through my colds and while I was lying there, Buddy came to sit on my lap for a bit. When I woke up, he was there. His fur looked pretty ratty. I could see where he'd lost weight. His face was pinched and thin. He jumped off before I could pet him. On Monday, I noticed that he was drinking a little. On Tuesday, he ate a little and kept it down. On Wednesday, he played with my ear buds as I wound them up to put them away. (I still can't find them.) That same afternoon, he put his paws on Seth's head and fell over with a thump to wrestle. Seth wouldn't wrestle with him.
Tonight, I was looking for Buddy to give him his pills. Both cats were missing. Seth had gone back to wrestling with Buddy, but I wondered if something was wrong. I looked on the beds. No cats. The nest in the middle of the fabric on my sewing table was empty. There were no cats under the coffee table or on the washing machine. I went downstairs, calling, "Buddy, here kitty baby." Nothing. The fear rose in my chest again. Would I go downstairs to find Seth standing over Buddy's lifeless body?
I went down and turned on the light in the den and both cats looked up at me as if they were boys who'd been caught with the key to the gun cabinet. This was not a cat who looked like he was dying. I stood quietly for a minute and they both went back to their game. They'd cornered a mouse.
I moved something, the mouse ran out, and we all chased and grabbed. Over and over. At one point, this poor mouse stood panting as the three of us had it cornered and stared at it. He was cute, with big soft eyes. Seth patted him on his head. Buddy stood ready for him to bolt, his tail twitching. After I yelled a bit, Mike came down with a bucket to throw over him. That didn't work. We lost him and he ran behind the futon. It was Laurel and Hardy meeting Tom and Tom and Jerry. I finally got a small clay pot over him by the wood stove, a nice hand thrown pot that a friend of ours had made. Mike got a paper plate and flattened it. I slid it under and picked it up the whole thing, carrying it like it was a turkey in a roasting pan. I almost made it to Mike. I had told him he was going to have killing duties. All of a sudden, the mouse popped out of the tiny hole in the top of the upturned pot. I threw the whole thing in the air and it came crashing down. Mike did a soccer shuffle to keep the mouse from running upstairs. The cats were on him again. By this time, the poor guy was stunned and it was easy to put another clay pot over him, this one without an escape hatch. The poor guy was ready to accept any refuge. Another paper plate slid under, the whole thing dropped into a little aquarium we'd used for tadpoles, and he was caught and in Mike's killing hands.
Mike ran some water into the aquarium, got it part way full. I couldn't watch so I went back into the den. The water stopped running and Mike came in and handed me an aquarium with a wet mouse, a clay pot, and a soggy paper plate in it. "I can't do it," he said.
"I'll take him down the road," I said.
I took him to a wide place in the road, got out, and opened the lid. He looked up at me. He wouldn't budge. No, I was not going to keep a wild mouse in a cage in the house, cute or not. I had enough cute pets. And who knew if he had any diseases? I tipped the aquarium and he reluctantly stepped into the grass and stood watching me.
When I got home, Buddy and Seth were racing up and down the stairs and alternately stalking quietly over to the corner of the den where they'd had the most fun with their mouse. They still haven't settled down. I even had to go make sure there weren't more mice. No more mice. Thankfully. Buddy took a break for a large snack and a drink and rumbled back down the stairs. I think he's gained all his weight back. As I write, he's been up and down the stairs three times, sounding more like a 50 pound dog than a dying cat. Each of them has taken turns looking in the fun corner and crying loudly, as if I'd taken their toy away. Miracle number three. Buddy's not dead yet.
Thank you for listening, jb
This very nice vet came to my grandma's apartment and looked Buddy over. He told me that Buddy had a heart murmur and might not survive the trip home. He also said that it was likely that the poor guy had cancer in his lower intestine, that caused his bleeding. He gave him his shots, wrote a prescription for tranquilizers, and signed a certificate. He petted Buddy as he lay in my arms and before he left, the man looked me in the eye, and said, "Good luck. I hope he makes the trip. He really seems to like you."
Buddy wasn't happy, but he survived the trip home. Fur was all over my clothes and baggage, even in my mouth, by the time we made it home. I wish I could say that poor Buddy could relax then. Seth, our other cat, made those next three weeks miserable by growling and blindly clawing under doors. It was three weeks before I let them meet face to face. By then, Mike and my friend, also a vet, was telling me to let them work it out together.
Just as things were beginning to get settled down, Buddy started bleeding again. I took him to see my friend who said that since he was so young, she'd like to see and echo cardiogram about the murmur. After three more trips, all very upsetting for Buddy, a specialist told me that he had a congenital heart problem that had caused his heart to enlarge, fluid to build in his lungs, and he probably had colon cancer though they hadn't done tests for that. This vet said that Buddy wouldn't live much longer than six months and would be lucky to make it to a year. In the meantime, my friend fiddled around with his food and Buddy finally stopped bleeding.
That was thirteen months ago. The joke around our house is that Buddy has lived past his expiration date, his second miracle. We all love him. He has the biggest heart, emotionally as well as physically. He jumps up to join anyone who goes into the toilet, just to say hi. I suppose that since he lived with a fragile old woman for seven years, he learned that she could reach down to pet him easier from the toilet. Buddy plays with the boys with his toys, lying on his belly to grab what is being whipped past him. His favorite thing to do is for me to recline on the couch with a blanket over me and his pillow in my lap. Then, he'll lie on his back on his pillow and stretch his paws up to my face to pat me whenever I stop rubbing him with two hands. God forbid I want to read my book with one hand while I'm petting him. He likes to have his head and chest rubbed in a way that annoys Seth when I try it on him. His eyes dilate as we stare at each other during these love-fests. Then he'll jump off, walk around a bit, and do it all over again. Sometimes, I brush him with this rubber Zoom Groom thing that he loves. His fur has gotten very sleek.
This past weekend, I thought it was the end for Buddy, that his digestive problems had finally beat out his heart problems. He'd started vomiting more. It got to where it was just foam coming up two or three times an hour. Poor Buddy cried out sometimes just before it happened. What could I do? It was only going to upset him more to be trundled off to my friend's office to get more tests. She and I agreed that we only wanted to manage his comfort and anything that might be solved that was simple. Mike told me there wasn't anything simple about this.
Buddy wasn't eating. He wasn't drinking. In between bouts of vomiting, he'd lay flaccid on the floor. He didn't want to be in his little bed. He didn't want to lie on his pillow on my lap. I found myself lying on the floor with one hand near him sometimes. Touching him seemed to hurt too much, but I didn't want him to die alone.
I sat with him for the whole weekend. I slept in the recliner, hoping to hear him if he cried out in the night. I tried to prepare myself to find him dead under the coffee table when I woke up. I hardly slept. I didn't accomplish anything. It was awful. I was a mess.
On Sunday, I'd finally missed so much sleep that I caught a cold. I sleep through my colds and while I was lying there, Buddy came to sit on my lap for a bit. When I woke up, he was there. His fur looked pretty ratty. I could see where he'd lost weight. His face was pinched and thin. He jumped off before I could pet him. On Monday, I noticed that he was drinking a little. On Tuesday, he ate a little and kept it down. On Wednesday, he played with my ear buds as I wound them up to put them away. (I still can't find them.) That same afternoon, he put his paws on Seth's head and fell over with a thump to wrestle. Seth wouldn't wrestle with him.
Tonight, I was looking for Buddy to give him his pills. Both cats were missing. Seth had gone back to wrestling with Buddy, but I wondered if something was wrong. I looked on the beds. No cats. The nest in the middle of the fabric on my sewing table was empty. There were no cats under the coffee table or on the washing machine. I went downstairs, calling, "Buddy, here kitty baby." Nothing. The fear rose in my chest again. Would I go downstairs to find Seth standing over Buddy's lifeless body?
I went down and turned on the light in the den and both cats looked up at me as if they were boys who'd been caught with the key to the gun cabinet. This was not a cat who looked like he was dying. I stood quietly for a minute and they both went back to their game. They'd cornered a mouse.
I moved something, the mouse ran out, and we all chased and grabbed. Over and over. At one point, this poor mouse stood panting as the three of us had it cornered and stared at it. He was cute, with big soft eyes. Seth patted him on his head. Buddy stood ready for him to bolt, his tail twitching. After I yelled a bit, Mike came down with a bucket to throw over him. That didn't work. We lost him and he ran behind the futon. It was Laurel and Hardy meeting Tom and Tom and Jerry. I finally got a small clay pot over him by the wood stove, a nice hand thrown pot that a friend of ours had made. Mike got a paper plate and flattened it. I slid it under and picked it up the whole thing, carrying it like it was a turkey in a roasting pan. I almost made it to Mike. I had told him he was going to have killing duties. All of a sudden, the mouse popped out of the tiny hole in the top of the upturned pot. I threw the whole thing in the air and it came crashing down. Mike did a soccer shuffle to keep the mouse from running upstairs. The cats were on him again. By this time, the poor guy was stunned and it was easy to put another clay pot over him, this one without an escape hatch. The poor guy was ready to accept any refuge. Another paper plate slid under, the whole thing dropped into a little aquarium we'd used for tadpoles, and he was caught and in Mike's killing hands.
Mike ran some water into the aquarium, got it part way full. I couldn't watch so I went back into the den. The water stopped running and Mike came in and handed me an aquarium with a wet mouse, a clay pot, and a soggy paper plate in it. "I can't do it," he said.
"I'll take him down the road," I said.
I took him to a wide place in the road, got out, and opened the lid. He looked up at me. He wouldn't budge. No, I was not going to keep a wild mouse in a cage in the house, cute or not. I had enough cute pets. And who knew if he had any diseases? I tipped the aquarium and he reluctantly stepped into the grass and stood watching me.
When I got home, Buddy and Seth were racing up and down the stairs and alternately stalking quietly over to the corner of the den where they'd had the most fun with their mouse. They still haven't settled down. I even had to go make sure there weren't more mice. No more mice. Thankfully. Buddy took a break for a large snack and a drink and rumbled back down the stairs. I think he's gained all his weight back. As I write, he's been up and down the stairs three times, sounding more like a 50 pound dog than a dying cat. Each of them has taken turns looking in the fun corner and crying loudly, as if I'd taken their toy away. Miracle number three. Buddy's not dead yet.
Thank you for listening, jb
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