Lost Without

It's funny how hard it is to lose a pet. We're used to having them around, even when we don't think about it, there's life and motion in a house with an animal. Dogs traditionally are more agressive while cats tend to wait for someone to pet them, assuming the person fits their rigid criteria. But as with people, animals have a range of personality and there are definite variations within that generalization.

Roughly 10 years ago, the Inimitable Mister Chirp came in to our lives. We had three cats at the time and didn't have room for a fourth, but there was snow on the ground and one day we opened the door, he strolled in, and made himself at home. He tested positive for feline Leukemia, at least as a carrier, so we kept him separate from the others. He had full reign of the basement, and only came upstairs when he figured out how to work the door handle. It became apparent that this was a smart creature.

One horrible year we lost Munchkin, our girl cat, and Sampson, our big black cat, within months of each other. I know this awful year to be 2002 because Munchkin died during the final episode of The X-Files. Mock if you will, but I was a wreck at the “funeral” the next morning. We had her for 19 years, and somewhere the first book I designed as a project in elementary school has her photo and a dedication in it. I don't know how I made it to work that day, or acted “normal”. People can't get that upset over an animal, and a guy definitely shouldn't be that upset over a cat, but it's hard to reconcile a sensitive soul with what's socially acceptible.

So, Chirp was promoted to upstairs cat. He quickly learned climbing. Once I found him near the ceiling in my room, clinging to a screen window like some spider-cat, and looking over his shoulder mouthing what I assumed was “little help?” in his language. He learned the top of the refridgerator was the best vantage point to look down on us, and that sitting on top of a television was the best way to get our attention. He learned that if he jumped in a box or a basket, we'd pick it up and carry him around while he looked around purring. He greets me every day when I come home from work. If I stand next to the kitchen table, he stands and places his front paws on my shoulder. The other day, he curled up in my lap while I was at the computer, looked up, and lightly nipped at my chest. Either he thought I was his mother or was pointing out that I could lose a few pounds, but I'm definitely sharing too much information right now.

“Watch where you walk; the cat threw up.” That's a common thing to hear my dad say first thing in the morning. Cat owners know that their pets sometimes eat something that disagrees with them, overeat, nip at plants, or have a hairball. I'm sure dog owners have similar experiences. Once in a while it does happen, but on Thursday morning Chirp was acting especially mopey, sitting in one spot, and occasionally coughing and sneezing. He threw up a few more times before I went to work, a clear frothy liquid. It seemed like a bad cold, and he'd been fine in the days prior, but I was still concerned.

On my lunch break, I phoned home to check on my little buddy. My dad told me he was still throwing up and my mom had an afternoon appointment with the vet. I felt my throat closing up, a common grief reaction for me. I got it when my girlfriend dumped me, when my favorite Aunt passed away, when my dad was hospitalized, and various times we've lost other cats. But I had to focus, and had a lot of work to get done. I had a 9:30 meeting on Friday to present something I still hadn't created, and another on Monday that hinged on presenting 7 layouts to someone on Friday. By 5:00 I was ready for Friday's meeting, but had only 5 of the 7 things I needed to get approved for Monday. I called home, and left a message on the answering machine.

When my Aunt Irene died, my dad didn't sugar coat it. It was the first thing he told me when I woke up that morning. So when he called back and tried to explain how our vet needed them to rush Chirp to another facility for oxygen, I feared the worst. “I'll let your mother explain it,” he said, handing her the phone while my insides twisted. She told me there was respiratory failure, and gave me the address in case I wanted to meet them and say goodbye if the worst happened. I later learned in her own state of concern that she had said “respiratory failure” when she meant to say “respiratory distress”.

I'm the guy who once ignored internal bleeding to make a meeting. I've only taken half days for funerals, and worked late to make up for missing a few hours in the morning. Yet somehow I dropped everything and told her not to delay any longer and that I was on my way. My dad was saying something in the background, and he called back to tell me to meet them in a supermarket parking lot so I could drive, because he doesn't see good at night. He explained this plan with the speed of the elderly, and all the while I pictured a frail animal with a heaving chest, his breathing slowing by the minute.

It was actually light out for a change when I left, but I found my vision impaired by tears. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered to myself in a broken voice. Sobbing like I haven't done in years overpowered me. Eventually I replaced the crying with praying, and lost count of all the Our Fathers. My mom called my cell phone when I was almost to the parking lot, and I worried that she was telling me there was no more reason to hurry. But it was the opposite. They were waiting, and we still had to hurry.

I parked my car and ran toward headlights as I listened to the voicemail explaining where they were. I leapt into the driver's seat while my dad hopped in the back. My mom held the cat carrier on her lap, and my friend was actually sitting up and more alert than I expected. He was still coughing and sneezing. We got to the facility where they took him in right away, and it was an hour before anyone told us anything. The vet was thorough in her questions, and explained the possibilities. His temperature was lower than it had been at our vets, and his breathing was normal enough that she didn't think oxygen was necessary. She pointed out that stress could have been a factor, and with what seemed to be an upper respiratory infection panic in a strange place could make him struggle more with his breathing. She ran through the various tests they could do, and even said he might not need to stay overnight. He did have particularly bad teeth, and signs of tonsilitis. They didn't have the equipment for dental x-rays at the time and he'd have to stay overnight for that, but she also didn't recommend it until his initial symptoms improved. Sedating a cat to take a picture of his teeth was a big risk, especially when he was having breathing trouble.

We agreed to blood tests and standard x-rays, neither of which would harm him but would give us more answers. It was another hour and change of pacing and taking advantage of a free coffee dispenser for me. Between French Vanilla and a Capucchino, I'm flying on caffeine right now. When she finally called us in, a lot more serious things had been ruled out. Blood tests and x-rays showed no blockage in the lungs or intestines, no mass that might suggest cancer. His blood had a few abnormalities that could be attributed to the infection. He was a little anemic and his white blood cell count was up. She prescribed an antibiotic and a painkiller for the teeth, though I advised my mom to use the latter sparingly if at all. Best of all, we were told we could take him home.

Despite the three hour towing or booting policy where I left my car, it was miraculously still there. It was a night of miracles, of a routine turned upside down and sweet relief. He's still sneezing and staying close to the radiator, and he hasn't eaten much food. The vet told us that if an animal can't smell, it won't eat, so it's normal. He definitely has perked up more. My mom managed to put a little baby food on his mouth which he licked away, and he's started drinking water on his own. Hopefully, and please throw some prayers his way, he'll continue to improve over the next few days as the antibiotics and his own defenses kick in. We don't know his exact age, but figure he's about 10, so I hope we have a few more years together. On the forms at the clinic, the highly recommended LIVS, they put down his date of birth as 1/31/08. So he got a birthday out of the experience.

I got home too late to watch Lost, which I didn't tape because I planned to watch it while my VCR was taping Smallville and Supernatural. What are the odds that our cat would have a health crisis on the one night three shows have new episodes in the midst of a writer's strike? It doesn't matter. I can find it online. Chances are they're reair it next week. My dad asked about the time more than once while we were in the waiting area, so I'll have to find the episode for him as well. I'm just glad my pal is still with us, at least for now. I dropped everything as if it was one of my folks, and I guess I'd be lost without him.