Ninety-nine lives

Our cat who was so very near to death's door just a month ago, for whom we contacted the mobile veterinarian to come to our house to humanely put her to sleep, is eating and drinking happily as if nothing is or was ever wrong. We on the other hand are left scratching our heads, trying to figure out if she is a witch or a devil or if we are just bad, bad people to have even considered her euthanization.

Before I continue, in our defense, we consulted our tender-hearted middle son who saw her at her worst and agreed it was time. He was not burdened by the fatigue of taking care of her or the task of cleaning up after her, so his suggestion that we go ahead and put her down was out of pure concern for her welfare. We also had concern for her welfare, but with all of the other tasks and troubles factoring into our decision, I wasn't really sure. When he said it was time, I knew it was time.

But....when R made the call to the mobile vet, he was booked up for the week. R also didn't want to do it when we had carpenters at the house because we felt her final moments should be peaceful and not interrupted by the sound of a table saw or hammer. So he told the vet he would call back the next week. After making the call, we also decided to bathe her because she was just awful smelling and even more awful looking. We didn't want the vet to think we had not been taking care of her, but the truth is she is not and never has been a cat that needed or wanted a bath. However, when a cat is sick or when they get old, they sometimes lose their ability to groom themselves properly and that made her look really greasy and dirty, like a homeless, skinny old wino.

So we assembled what was needed to bathe her, and we worked together with R holding her still and me giving her a warm shower with a spray nozzle in the utility sink. We didn't scrub hard because she couldn't take it but we gently washed her and patted her dry with soft clean towels. We then removed the pile of old rug pieces and something wrapped in plastic where she had been holed up and replaced it with a comfortable piece of carpet that was a little easier for her to climb onto.

When bathing her we noticed she had some drainage from her abscess on her cheek which was really disgusting. Still, we took care of her and cleaned her up then left her downstairs in the basement to warm up and dry off.

Later that day I went to the basement to move laundry and found blood all over. Apparently our efforts to clean her up resulted in opening a wound that was still fresh. We cleaned her up a bit more and spent quite a while scrubbing blood off of our basement floor. Gad.

At that point we were convinced that she was in her last days. We fed her warmed milk and kept her comfortable. Her fur dried and she looked better but still a bit unkempt. We looked to see if her eyes were open or closed every time we went into the basement. If they were closed, we looked closer to see if she was breathing. If she was breathing, we looked closer to see if it was shallow and infrequent.

And then she began to improve. She started by eating a bit of wet cat food and then a bowl of it. Then before we knew it she was back to a mix of wet and dry food which helped her regain her strength. R brushed her and she looked better. The next day he brushed her again, and she looked more like her old self. She began to put a little weight back on to her starved frame and now she is 18, normal, and our old, loud cat again.

I mentioned to R and our tender-hearted son the other day that if the carpenters had not been at our house, we would no longer have a cat. We cannot figure out how she survived her own malady, but she did and she is no worse for the wear. At one point in her illness R found her behind the washing machine, lying on her side, and he fully expected to have to figure out how to retrieve her lifeless body from behind a large appliance. She managed to find her own way out, so on we go.

On we go.