- Joined
- Jul 23, 2017
- Messages
- 8
- Purraise
- 6
Yesterday, I had to make the decision on whether or not to say goodbye to my much-loved 3 and a half year old cat. Although I do have people I can talk too, I'm not ready to do that and I'm hoping that writing things down will help. Whether or not anyone responds, knowing that somewhere out there, people who love cats are listening, might help.
I waited seven years after my last cat passed before I adopted Cocoa. There were obstacles - namely, a husband who hadn't grown up with pets in the household, "didn't like cats", and didn't understand how much joy an animal can bring. I knew it wouldn't take long before he would understand - I just had to convince him to try. Well, about 3 days after she came home with me, I heard a whispered "I love you" from the other room and peeked around the corner to see him kissing her furry little head.
In March of 2015, a year after we adopted her, she stopped eating. Something was off, but I wasn't sure what. I noticed her lifting her back paws and shaking them while she walked. Her pads were dry and cracked, but it was the lack of appetite that made me take her to the vet. The vet had suggestions for her inappetance, but no answers as it is a vague symptom. Just before we were to leave, I asked her to look at her paws. At that point, she noticed that they were not just dry, but flaking. She took her into the back, cleaned off the flaking tissue, and brought Cocoa back into the room with four, raw, oozing paws. I burst into tears, she looked so miserable. All of her nail beds were infected. The vet also noticed that one of her ears was flaking. Cocoa was so fluffy, I hadn't noticed. The Vet thought it was likely a burn - heat or chemical. My husband and I wracked our brains trying to come up with an explanation for how it had happened, but couldn't. Guilt guilt guilt! 3 days into the regimen of antibiotics, I noticed a small divot in the centre of her nose. It was so small, I wasn't sure it hadn't always been there. By the time I got home from work that day, it was noticeably larger. Back to the Vet that evening where they kept her overnight and took biopsies of her nose, ear, and a couple of paw pads. They came back with a diagnosis of Pemphigus foliaceous.
The Vet told me it was treatable with steroids, that she would most likely be on them for the rest of her life, and that the treatment would shorten her life span. Things went well, she recovered from her wounds, and the pemphigous was mostly held in check. Then, in January of 2017, her blood work showed that her liver enzymes (which had been mildly elevated from the prednisolone) were markedly higher and that she had a dangerously low platelet count. The Vet felt that the thrombocytopenia was most likely immune mediated, given her history, and the plan was to get Cocoa onto Cyclosporine and wean her off of the steroids due to the liver damage. Dropping her steroid dose caused nose lesions that raged out of control. The doses of both immunosuppressants were raised to try to deal with them, but to no avail.
Over the last two weeks, Cocoa stopped eating. She seemed hungry, but wouldn't eat. I could get her to eat a bit by sitting with her and coaxing, but not nearly enough. Friday, she vomited what was probably the amount she'd eaten over the previous three days. She was hiding out - not a good sign for a cat that followed me around the house and always wanted to be near. Saturday morning, my husband shook me awake in a panic. Cocoa was laying with her head half in her water dish looking miserable. She had defecated nearby - black, tarry stool. Not good. Off to the Vet, who told me Cocoa would need hospitalization, a feeding tube, and no guarantee we could get her through this crisis and strong enough to try to deal with the pemphigous, which was so clearly not under control. I couldn't put her through any more to satisfy my need to keep her here.
From the moment I first held her, when she crawled up and snuggled into my neck and purred, she was my girl. She slept with me, sat with me, talked to me. For all I put her through trying to help her, she never turned away. She was so tiny, but took up so much space in my heart. Still does. I'm wrecked. I don't know when or if I'll be alright.
I waited seven years after my last cat passed before I adopted Cocoa. There were obstacles - namely, a husband who hadn't grown up with pets in the household, "didn't like cats", and didn't understand how much joy an animal can bring. I knew it wouldn't take long before he would understand - I just had to convince him to try. Well, about 3 days after she came home with me, I heard a whispered "I love you" from the other room and peeked around the corner to see him kissing her furry little head.
In March of 2015, a year after we adopted her, she stopped eating. Something was off, but I wasn't sure what. I noticed her lifting her back paws and shaking them while she walked. Her pads were dry and cracked, but it was the lack of appetite that made me take her to the vet. The vet had suggestions for her inappetance, but no answers as it is a vague symptom. Just before we were to leave, I asked her to look at her paws. At that point, she noticed that they were not just dry, but flaking. She took her into the back, cleaned off the flaking tissue, and brought Cocoa back into the room with four, raw, oozing paws. I burst into tears, she looked so miserable. All of her nail beds were infected. The vet also noticed that one of her ears was flaking. Cocoa was so fluffy, I hadn't noticed. The Vet thought it was likely a burn - heat or chemical. My husband and I wracked our brains trying to come up with an explanation for how it had happened, but couldn't. Guilt guilt guilt! 3 days into the regimen of antibiotics, I noticed a small divot in the centre of her nose. It was so small, I wasn't sure it hadn't always been there. By the time I got home from work that day, it was noticeably larger. Back to the Vet that evening where they kept her overnight and took biopsies of her nose, ear, and a couple of paw pads. They came back with a diagnosis of Pemphigus foliaceous.
The Vet told me it was treatable with steroids, that she would most likely be on them for the rest of her life, and that the treatment would shorten her life span. Things went well, she recovered from her wounds, and the pemphigous was mostly held in check. Then, in January of 2017, her blood work showed that her liver enzymes (which had been mildly elevated from the prednisolone) were markedly higher and that she had a dangerously low platelet count. The Vet felt that the thrombocytopenia was most likely immune mediated, given her history, and the plan was to get Cocoa onto Cyclosporine and wean her off of the steroids due to the liver damage. Dropping her steroid dose caused nose lesions that raged out of control. The doses of both immunosuppressants were raised to try to deal with them, but to no avail.
Over the last two weeks, Cocoa stopped eating. She seemed hungry, but wouldn't eat. I could get her to eat a bit by sitting with her and coaxing, but not nearly enough. Friday, she vomited what was probably the amount she'd eaten over the previous three days. She was hiding out - not a good sign for a cat that followed me around the house and always wanted to be near. Saturday morning, my husband shook me awake in a panic. Cocoa was laying with her head half in her water dish looking miserable. She had defecated nearby - black, tarry stool. Not good. Off to the Vet, who told me Cocoa would need hospitalization, a feeding tube, and no guarantee we could get her through this crisis and strong enough to try to deal with the pemphigous, which was so clearly not under control. I couldn't put her through any more to satisfy my need to keep her here.
From the moment I first held her, when she crawled up and snuggled into my neck and purred, she was my girl. She slept with me, sat with me, talked to me. For all I put her through trying to help her, she never turned away. She was so tiny, but took up so much space in my heart. Still does. I'm wrecked. I don't know when or if I'll be alright.
Condolences on your loss - bless you for doing the right thing. Sometimes, True Love is letting go - and it was True Love that gave you the strength to end Cocoa's suffering even though it meant the beginning of yours. It is especially sad to lose the babies and the young ones in the prime of life, although it is always difficult, no matter the age.
