And yes, I understand that by posting the following, I will risk becoming known as one of those people, but here it is:
I’m very upset and crushed because our cat, Hazel, is near death. And I have authorized ridiculously expensive veterinary treatment at a feline specialty practice to save her life. She has, essentially, a form of protest anorexia from the new kitten joining our family. She used to be loud and full of attitude, but after Christmas when Flower joined the family, she was unseated as the queen and went into a steady decline.
I got home from work this evening and found her collapsed at the foot of the basement stairs on the cold tiles, unable to lift her head. She went from 11 pounds to 4.5 lbs, which was shocking to me. I rushed her to the vet’s office just minutes before they closed at 6:00 fully expecting they would euthanize Hazel, but the vet felt that she has an 80% chance of recovering and I’m attached to the old lady, so I said try it for 24 hours to see if she improves. With no treatment, they told me, she wouldn’t last through the night.
While I was waiting for the vet to come out and talk to me, a quiet white cat jumped up on the chair next to me and leaned on my arm, shedding white fur all over my black coat. She scarcely opened her eyes and just stood there next to me, not demanding any attention, just absorbing things. The vet attendant came in and smiled. “Oh, I see you’ve met Lily. She’s 19 years old. She’s our comforter.” I looked up, questioningly, mascara all over my face like Tammy Faye at a telethon.
“Lily knows when people are upset. She likes to just stand next to them. She helps.” The woman patted my hand and walked away.
She was right. It did help.
I was able to see Hazel in her little cage, on warming pads, before they started her IV. She was woozy and wobbly, and yowled when she saw me. I stroked her tatty fur and started crying again. And even though the money might be better spent donated to charity or paying the gas bill, I feel good knowing these people are looking after that crabby old bitchy cat, so she can go back to hearing all my sorrows every day and repeating them to the household at large, marching from room to room kvetching and shouting.
oh friend – i’m sorry. i hope she’s better tomorrow (and ongoing)
We told Molly that her sister Hazel was ill and in the hospital. I remember when we adopted our girls from that trashy,cigarette-smoke filled house. I picked up the kitten destined to be Hazel, and you picked up Molly-to-be, and we cuddled them and coo-ed baby talk to them. Hazel started yowling, so I said to you , “Let me look at THAT one”, and quickly swapped kittens with you while you were distracted by conversation with the owner. I had a feeling that the Yowler would always be vocal, and I was right. Molly is dainty (except when she does her mambo head-jive), mews like a kitten, and shy; your garden variety cat. Hazel is loud, forthright and owns the house. A very impressively bossy cat, unforgetable. I can’t wait to hear her yowl again.
Oh! I hope Hazel makes a full recovery.