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No Longer a Terror to Mice or to Voles
Dec. 26th, 2008 11:24 pmThis is my old cat, the one that slept on my bed when I was in high school. Dad has been saying she's 20, but I recently found a sketch I did of Galena in '87 when she was full grown.
She's so old. She nearly died last year after her marrow stopped making red blood cells, but managed to hang on with a blood transfusion and expensive shots every few days now that supply an enzyme her kidneys don't make anymore that is needed to trigger RBC production. She's got a few small bumps of skin cancer on her ears, her kidneys don't work so well, she's got nasty arthritis, and she limps from an old injury suffered while fighting off a coyote. She apparently had a stroke a few years back and suddenly went deaf. She can't groom herself very well, so Mom has to brush her.
Yet she still purrs and shows a lively interest in the world for the few hours she's awake. Despite the stiffness and the yowls of pain sometimes when she sits down, she's got a good appetite and she seems content. I've been sitting with her all evening with her paws on me. She remembers me.
I don't think I'll see her again after this winter. But I'm so glad to have a little more time with the old girl. She's had a long, rich life for a cat, fought with Samhain in years past, kept a squirrel tail trophy rack back in Pennsylvania, where she was a champion hunter. She's been around for more than half my life.
And who knows. A year ago, I steeled myself to the fact that I probably wouldn't see her again.
But now it's time to go to bed and give Samhain some human-all-to-myself time. She's been sulking in the dining room all evening.
She's so old. She nearly died last year after her marrow stopped making red blood cells, but managed to hang on with a blood transfusion and expensive shots every few days now that supply an enzyme her kidneys don't make anymore that is needed to trigger RBC production. She's got a few small bumps of skin cancer on her ears, her kidneys don't work so well, she's got nasty arthritis, and she limps from an old injury suffered while fighting off a coyote. She apparently had a stroke a few years back and suddenly went deaf. She can't groom herself very well, so Mom has to brush her.
Yet she still purrs and shows a lively interest in the world for the few hours she's awake. Despite the stiffness and the yowls of pain sometimes when she sits down, she's got a good appetite and she seems content. I've been sitting with her all evening with her paws on me. She remembers me.
I don't think I'll see her again after this winter. But I'm so glad to have a little more time with the old girl. She's had a long, rich life for a cat, fought with Samhain in years past, kept a squirrel tail trophy rack back in Pennsylvania, where she was a champion hunter. She's been around for more than half my life.
And who knows. A year ago, I steeled myself to the fact that I probably wouldn't see her again.
But now it's time to go to bed and give Samhain some human-all-to-myself time. She's been sulking in the dining room all evening.
