End of days

A few months ago I shared a brief history and some pictures of how we acquired our two cats, Thelma and Louise. In that post, I commented on how our kitties have made our home so cozy and warm, especially after a long hard day. Spending time with them is always a treat, especially when they're doing quirky, funny things, (like climbing among boxes and wrapping paper from Taylor's birthday celebration, seen here).

But there are times when spending time with them isn't so great. Like now.

About 3 days ago, Louise seemingly lost her appetite. This isn't particularly uncommon for her. When we adopted Louise, we knew she was 15 years old with an enlarged, diseased liver that has been increasingly encroaching on her stomach. Sometimes there just isn't enough room for her food to digest and she has a few days of sickness and finicky eating. After a day or two, she usually bounces back and even ends up taking over Thelma's food bowl in the process. But when she started coughing up bile and becoming more lethargic, we knew something else was wrong.

We called our veterinarian yesterday morning and got an appointment for the afternoon. Louise has been to the vet a few times over the past 8 months, so we're used to the routine. She is so sweet and small that everyone likes to say hello and take turns holding her; she has made fast friends with the doctors and techs who work there, just like everyone else she meets.

During these past visits, the doctor optimistically suggests a manageable treatment regimen, confident she will be just fine. And so far he's been right. But this time after poking around a little and taking a closer look at our kitty, he said the words every pet owner dreads:
"We have some options to keep her comfortable, but I think we need to start thinking about the end for her."

The mass in her liver had grown significantly since our last visit, and there isn't anything we can do to reverse it. The vet took some basic tests, and fortunately they revealed normal kidney functions, normal liver enzyme levels, and a normal body temperature. Still, she is sick and dehydrated, with a poor prognosis for recovery. He decided to have us administer subcutaneous fluids, give her special food if she'll eat it, and keep her comfortable.

If you've ever loved a pet, you know how hard this time is for us. We can't bear the thought of losing our beloved kitty, but we don't want to selfishly prolong her suffering. Most people say that we'll just know when it's time, but right now we're caught in a limbo. Louise has regained her appetite and has voraciously eaten each regular serving of food (and a few extras) that hits her bowl. She has been able to make it to the food bowl and the litter box, and has responded warmly to petting and cuddles just like normal. But she has a bit of a wobble when she walks, no longer climbs the stairs to our bed, and isn't able to fully clean herself after some messy trips to the litter box. She certainly isn't herself, but I don't think she's gone. Not yet.

Our vet agreed to call us every day to check on her and discuss our options. We appreciate that he has been honest and straightforward with us, and that he hasn't suggested any unnecessary, pricey operations or tests at the end of her life. We hope we can keep her happy and comfortable at least through Monday so that our friend (her original owner) can come visit and say good bye.

We're taking it one day at a time, and I'll be the first to admit it hasn't been easy. How do you spend your last few days with a beloved friend? Taylor and I have managed to alternately be home with her at all times so we can keep an eye on her and make sure she is doing okay. There have been a lot of tears (mostly from me), and a lot of desperate hugs and cuddles. Her purrs and meows show us she's still here with us, but we dread the day when she stops responding.

Until then we will keep talking to her, keep petting her, keep loving her, just like always.