The grey-smoke twins are rewriting their script. Quokka no longer rears up with paws on the cupboard, meowing, trying to help me dish out his dinner more quickly, and
The new blocking has been evident for a while; the doctor confirmed that Quokka’s kidneys were probably failing. The bigger, darker of the twins showed less coordination in the catbox…a previously fastidious if uncovered practice. Now he spends much time playing the Sphynx in one of his two box-lids. In fact, the most Quokka says is a heavy purr while I stroke him. I carried him off to the back room to sit in the arm chair the other day, held him in my lap, talked to him and petted him. Further lap sessions were curtailed by Quokka, who insisted on being put down on the floor, where he wobbled gamely back to his box lid, or sat tummy to floor on the cool tiles.
Under the old book, the twins both joined us when we went up to bed. Quokka took his place on the bathroom rug. Aquila waited outside the bedroom door until Phil came up, then climbed the graduated boxes and chest to the bed itself, where she took her command post on the MIT sweatshirt square in Phil’s footspace. After a week of Quokka staying downstairs at night, he surprised me two mornings ago, lolling on the bathroom rug again.
But lately, Quokka has drowsed in his box lid, happy to have dinner brought to him, though not so interested really in the water or the milk. Though his tummy is full, his spine bony, and his spare haunches showing his bright white undercoat, he goes at his wet food with purpose.
But vocal Quokka has not said a word in a while, and I miss his voice.
6 comments:
sad.
Midnite's getting to be quite the geriatric cat herself. Those "senior checkups" and blood work (for a cat!) and medicines are not inexpensive. At least she's eating - she's decided she likes Newman's Own cat food.
Midnite has officially entered the late stage of renal failure. The task now is to keep her as comfortable as possible. Fortunately, she should remain stable until the final precipitous decline.
The vet has charged Nate and me with the task of giving her 150 ml of fluid subcutaneously, twice a week. We attach a fresh, large bore IV needle to the fluid bag and inject the fluids in the pocket above her shoulder blades (the slack skin behind the neck momma cats use to move their kittens.) We have done it 3 times now, twice with a lot of seepage, once effortlessly. I NEVER thought I’d be doing this for a cat. Nevertheless, it does seem to help her feel better.
The things we do for love…
We are managing to keep Aquila, the surviving 'twin' pretty comfortable. She did find her voice, or at least part of it, after Quokka died. Now Aquila is in charge...checking to make sure we 1. feed her (she's on a short schedule ~3 hrs sometimes) 2. feed ourselves 3. watch tv. She doesn't tell us what to watch, but you do think she would check out the broadcast schedule so we don't waste our time watching reruns!
She's developed some kind of tumor, and though we have now spent nearly as much on her health care this year as I have spent on mine (next to nothing for me...no insurance), diagnosing a tumor that isn't actually bothering her is way out of our price range, coming in at slightly over $1k.
But sometimes when she comes 'round, meowing, she just wants to get picked up. Most of the time, she sits looking out the back window, or sleeping next to it on top of Herman and a couple of blankets and pillow. Even at night, she gets us to turn on the outside lights, so she can keep watch. Much appreciated, kitty-cat.
Vow! You write beautifully Beth. I quite enjoyed reading it. But so sad and poignant- life!
Charu
You write beautifully and so poignantly Beth.
Charu
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