[attachment=0:156hbbjj]Zane.JPG[/attachment:156hbbjj]Zane was my late father's cat. He was a fat, grey tabby. (That is why he was called "Zane"--because he was grey. He was 'fifty shades of grey before it was fashionable.')
After Father died, I took him. That was in 2007. He was such a sweet cat. Very affectionate, very playful, very smart. A sweet cat. Sometimes I get bad back spasms; when that happens, he would curl up right where the pain was the worst; perhaps because the inflamed tissues were warmer--but for whatever reason it was great. I called it 'taking feline therapy.'
Yesterday (June 19) he seemed quite as usual. I bought a supermarket rotisserie chicken for dinner, and when I gave him some he Hoovered it up.
However, at about eleven when I was getting ready for bed, I found him in the bathroom, and when I said his name he didn't react. When I touched him he let out a little yelp. His tongue was lolling out and his eyes were fixed. Something was VERY wrong. I knew I was in no condition to drive, so I called a friend and he came. By the time I found Zane's carrier, there was a reddish gel coming out of his mouth. I got him in the carrier and we rushed him to the emergency animal clinic. The vet shoved him in an oxygen chamber, and determined that he was in the feline equivalent of what in a human would be called 'congestive heart failure. The vet said that anything they could do would be only palletive, and could only delay the inevitable.
I therefore performed the last duty of a responsible pet owner.
St. Francis hold him.
I have cried about nonstop ever since. Every time I feel cried out, something reminds me of him and gets me started again.
After Father died, I took him. That was in 2007. He was such a sweet cat. Very affectionate, very playful, very smart. A sweet cat. Sometimes I get bad back spasms; when that happens, he would curl up right where the pain was the worst; perhaps because the inflamed tissues were warmer--but for whatever reason it was great. I called it 'taking feline therapy.'
Yesterday (June 19) he seemed quite as usual. I bought a supermarket rotisserie chicken for dinner, and when I gave him some he Hoovered it up.
However, at about eleven when I was getting ready for bed, I found him in the bathroom, and when I said his name he didn't react. When I touched him he let out a little yelp. His tongue was lolling out and his eyes were fixed. Something was VERY wrong. I knew I was in no condition to drive, so I called a friend and he came. By the time I found Zane's carrier, there was a reddish gel coming out of his mouth. I got him in the carrier and we rushed him to the emergency animal clinic. The vet shoved him in an oxygen chamber, and determined that he was in the feline equivalent of what in a human would be called 'congestive heart failure. The vet said that anything they could do would be only palletive, and could only delay the inevitable.
I therefore performed the last duty of a responsible pet owner.
St. Francis hold him.
I have cried about nonstop ever since. Every time I feel cried out, something reminds me of him and gets me started again.
