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captainsblogThere were clues, if you look back over the past several weeks:
Day before Thanksgiving, about a month after they came home to us: Boz was a little off kilter the other day as we wrapped him in Baby Yoda swaddling clothes (but he seems fine now:) That's when I took the "Baby Yoda" photo that is now his icon.
Five days later: posted right before I left, bringing the kittens in for their final vaccinations and checkouts of their poop conditions. Both have had, um, issues over the past week, not that it's slowed the crazy boy down any, and Boz the cute orange one seems to be doing better, too.
Later that week, after I'd screwed up the appointment: Boz had put on virtually no weight since his first visit almost four weeks before, while Zini (in all black) now outweighs his brother by almost half his body weight. Z does look bigger overall, but the doctor said he's already developed a bit of a paunch that could have him into Fat Cat territory before long. (I wondered how he could be hogging his brother's food because they eat out of a two-station feeder, but Eleanor said she'd seen his boorish behavior- sticking his kisser in one side while pawing at Boz to keep him away from the other.)
And then just from Monday, not a sign in the words but in hindsight you can see it in the photo: Zini's definitely the more adventurous of the two, but his littler orange bro Boz is turning into the bigger lovebug. Eleanor had been hurting a bit from working most of Saturday on their kitty “castle,” so Mommy came up with this solution for cuddles with him.
That was over the weekend. By Monday, he was coming round for feedings, getting into bed and snuggling with his usual loud purr, and playfighting with his bro. But, again in hindsight, Eleanor noticed more than I did that Zini was being way more aggressive with him than before, and he was not close to giving as good as he got, as he had earlier. Yesterday morning, he came in to be fed, and per the Keep Em Separated edict, I put his out first before attending to the other three cat yaps. When I returned, he was away from his bowl, which was empty with a dog's guilty face looking up. In going on three years, Pepper has NEVER raided a cat's bowl while they're eating- she's scared to death of the older ones and has been a perfect big sister with the little ones. Boz retreated to a corner, and I thought the dog had just freaked him out.
Hindsight again, it was more likely the other way round. He just was not eating. Or moving around. Worst of all, he was not purring when either of us approached or picked him up, and he seemed distressed when we tried the latter. We both went to work at appointed times; Eleanor was the first home, and was very concerned that he hadn't moved or eaten, and had peed where he was lying down. I wanted to come home ASAP, but before I left I decided to call our vet. Some of the concern is from a few years ago: Emily and Cameron's second kitten, a goofy boy named Arthur, failed on them very quickly and it was diagnosed as FIP- a flareup condition of a fairly common coronavirus- what else might be behind this, 2020?- where, as the good vets at Cornell tell it,
mutations of the virus can alter its biological behavior, resulting in white blood cells becoming infected with virus and spreading it throughout the cat’s body. When this occurs, the virus is referred to as the FIPV. An intense inflammatory reaction to FIPV occurs around vessels in the tissues where these infected cells locate, often in the abdomen, kidney, or brain. It is this interaction between the body’s own immune system and the virus that is responsible for the development of FIP. Once a cat develops clinical FIP, the disease is usually progressive and almost always fatal without therapy....
which is experimental and expensive. Our vet listened to the condition, said there was nothing they could do that late in the day and not at all if hospitalization would be required, and referred us to one of the local emergency vets. We watched and waited through dinner and an episode and a half of a distractifying tv show, and then called them. Forty-five minute wait from when we got there, at least 20-30 minutes away. But another emergency vet was closer: an hour wait, but a shorter drive.
We chose closer, and took both cars to have more coming-and-going options.
----
Eleanor and the boykitty got there first and he got checked in right away once the initial walletectomy was performed. Somehow, in over 30 years of our ten different furbabies, with fractures and swallowings and multiple cancers among them, we'd always avoided this late-night ritual of petownership. We'd heard from many people that some emergency vets were impersonal and focused only on getting paid before they would say or do anything. This place, merged into an existing general vet practice a few years ago when one closer to our home closed, was better than that. Not great, but better. I'll save the nitpicks for the end.
Because of that OTHER coronavirus, everything was by phone with us in Eleanor's car- and our bluetooths kept not sending the calls to the car audio, so we wound up calling them back and then on hold for most of the three hours I/we were there, with endless repeating messages atop a bed of an instrumental version of "Sleighride Together." The initial exam revealed only that he was underweight, which we knew, and his body temp was very low, which we suspected from how he's been seeking out heat sources and blankies. Then came the ask to do a bunch of tests and x-rays. We said of course. More waiting. More reminders on the music-on-hold to not let your cats drive drunk. After about two hours, we agreed Eleanor would head home and I would continue the vigil, but would call her when the prognosis came through.
It finally did, and it was, at best, inconclusive and at worst, bad. Boz's white count was virtually nonexistent, which means that SOMETHING viral had likely gotten into a fight with his limited immune system and overpowered it. Feline Parvo was one possibility, and a nasty one, though not as nasty as FIP (which seems to have been ruled out because he's not presenting the inflammation). The only way to know would be to admit, to test, to hydrate and force nutrition, to bomb antibiotics in case it's bacterial, and to keep him there for at least two days. A call would follow with the estimate.
I phoned home, because I didn't want the decision to be financial. With no likelihood much less guarantee that it would work, and with all the invasiveness and isolation of the experience for him, us being shut out of seeing him now, we made the call to say no. The estimate would have been in the mid thousands, and I knew that they could go higher if he didn't recover quickly enough. They accepted the decision, offered pain meds (which he didn't seem to need), and they promised to let me collect him as soon as he'd been completely warmed up.
My car had been out facing the Boulevard, but there was a space right by the entrance which Eleanor's had been in, so I pulled in so I'd see him as soon as he was ready. I observed on Facebook, as the clock struck midnight:
Two cars either side of me, fur mommies on their phones, sad looks in their eyes, waiting for the same kind of news, or lack of news, that we got. At least inside, we would’ve had each other to talk to. I just hope this is the final kick in the pants that 2020 has in store for us. And speaking of kicks in the pants, one final fuck you Donald John Trump for making this moment, and the next moment, so cold and impersonal:P
----
We come, at last, to the bitching part of our program. I again missed the call that he was ready; by now, having moved the car to right outside their entrance, I saw someone in scrubs coming out and headed for the door, but not through it, seeing how it was covered with DO NOT ENTER signs. Not my kitty. Paced in frigid temperature. Finally, a tech came out with a a single piece of paper: the Against Medical Advice discharge form. More pacing, then a cat and another single piece of paper: the paid bill. Um, fine, but can you give me whatever other paperwork we discussed? Like, what you were proposing to do and the cost? Our own vet always sends us home with a "report card" with what they did, what they recommend and any take-home instructions. One more pace, and finally one last single piece of paper, which was the estimate. At this point, I just wanted me and the kitten to get home; we called our vet this morning and they are sending over the test results and other Vetspeak for us to discuss next steps, which will be heading toward what they euphemistically refer to on their bills as "FINAL SERVICES."
We're in no hurry for those. For one thing, we won't be able to attend them due to COVID. Also, who knows? I set him up on the bed with a heating pad and plenty of towels; he immediately hopped down in front of a heat register, so we covered him up and under. Smart move, because I was awakened a bit later by the fact he'd peed on the towel. Back on the bed he went on the towels over the heating pad, and back asleep we fell....
until about 7 this morning.
At some point, Pepper jumped up on the bed. When I woke up, nobody was in the towels. Boz had moved over to snuggle next to the dog's warm butt.
He was purring for the first time in 24 hours. And has been, pretty much, ever since.
We've gotten him to take some water through an eyedropper, and goosed him up with some CBD oil, which now seems to have him nicely stoned. Eleanor went into work, but got sent home as soon as the coordinator saw the state this had put her in. She's now reclining on the bed with the patient. And who comes along but his dumb brudda, trying a laying on ofhands paw?
It's not a miracle cure. But it's another day with him knowing love and giving it back.
We'll take it.
ETA. We'll also take this; but wait, there's more!
I had to go into the office, so I'll just repost what we saw, and then Eleanor saw and posted about:
Day before Thanksgiving, about a month after they came home to us: Boz was a little off kilter the other day as we wrapped him in Baby Yoda swaddling clothes (but he seems fine now:) That's when I took the "Baby Yoda" photo that is now his icon.
Five days later: posted right before I left, bringing the kittens in for their final vaccinations and checkouts of their poop conditions. Both have had, um, issues over the past week, not that it's slowed the crazy boy down any, and Boz the cute orange one seems to be doing better, too.
Later that week, after I'd screwed up the appointment: Boz had put on virtually no weight since his first visit almost four weeks before, while Zini (in all black) now outweighs his brother by almost half his body weight. Z does look bigger overall, but the doctor said he's already developed a bit of a paunch that could have him into Fat Cat territory before long. (I wondered how he could be hogging his brother's food because they eat out of a two-station feeder, but Eleanor said she'd seen his boorish behavior- sticking his kisser in one side while pawing at Boz to keep him away from the other.)
And then just from Monday, not a sign in the words but in hindsight you can see it in the photo: Zini's definitely the more adventurous of the two, but his littler orange bro Boz is turning into the bigger lovebug. Eleanor had been hurting a bit from working most of Saturday on their kitty “castle,” so Mommy came up with this solution for cuddles with him.
That was over the weekend. By Monday, he was coming round for feedings, getting into bed and snuggling with his usual loud purr, and playfighting with his bro. But, again in hindsight, Eleanor noticed more than I did that Zini was being way more aggressive with him than before, and he was not close to giving as good as he got, as he had earlier. Yesterday morning, he came in to be fed, and per the Keep Em Separated edict, I put his out first before attending to the other three cat yaps. When I returned, he was away from his bowl, which was empty with a dog's guilty face looking up. In going on three years, Pepper has NEVER raided a cat's bowl while they're eating- she's scared to death of the older ones and has been a perfect big sister with the little ones. Boz retreated to a corner, and I thought the dog had just freaked him out.
Hindsight again, it was more likely the other way round. He just was not eating. Or moving around. Worst of all, he was not purring when either of us approached or picked him up, and he seemed distressed when we tried the latter. We both went to work at appointed times; Eleanor was the first home, and was very concerned that he hadn't moved or eaten, and had peed where he was lying down. I wanted to come home ASAP, but before I left I decided to call our vet. Some of the concern is from a few years ago: Emily and Cameron's second kitten, a goofy boy named Arthur, failed on them very quickly and it was diagnosed as FIP- a flareup condition of a fairly common coronavirus- what else might be behind this, 2020?- where, as the good vets at Cornell tell it,
mutations of the virus can alter its biological behavior, resulting in white blood cells becoming infected with virus and spreading it throughout the cat’s body. When this occurs, the virus is referred to as the FIPV. An intense inflammatory reaction to FIPV occurs around vessels in the tissues where these infected cells locate, often in the abdomen, kidney, or brain. It is this interaction between the body’s own immune system and the virus that is responsible for the development of FIP. Once a cat develops clinical FIP, the disease is usually progressive and almost always fatal without therapy....
which is experimental and expensive. Our vet listened to the condition, said there was nothing they could do that late in the day and not at all if hospitalization would be required, and referred us to one of the local emergency vets. We watched and waited through dinner and an episode and a half of a distractifying tv show, and then called them. Forty-five minute wait from when we got there, at least 20-30 minutes away. But another emergency vet was closer: an hour wait, but a shorter drive.
We chose closer, and took both cars to have more coming-and-going options.
----
Eleanor and the boykitty got there first and he got checked in right away once the initial walletectomy was performed. Somehow, in over 30 years of our ten different furbabies, with fractures and swallowings and multiple cancers among them, we'd always avoided this late-night ritual of petownership. We'd heard from many people that some emergency vets were impersonal and focused only on getting paid before they would say or do anything. This place, merged into an existing general vet practice a few years ago when one closer to our home closed, was better than that. Not great, but better. I'll save the nitpicks for the end.
Because of that OTHER coronavirus, everything was by phone with us in Eleanor's car- and our bluetooths kept not sending the calls to the car audio, so we wound up calling them back and then on hold for most of the three hours I/we were there, with endless repeating messages atop a bed of an instrumental version of "Sleighride Together." The initial exam revealed only that he was underweight, which we knew, and his body temp was very low, which we suspected from how he's been seeking out heat sources and blankies. Then came the ask to do a bunch of tests and x-rays. We said of course. More waiting. More reminders on the music-on-hold to not let your cats drive drunk. After about two hours, we agreed Eleanor would head home and I would continue the vigil, but would call her when the prognosis came through.
It finally did, and it was, at best, inconclusive and at worst, bad. Boz's white count was virtually nonexistent, which means that SOMETHING viral had likely gotten into a fight with his limited immune system and overpowered it. Feline Parvo was one possibility, and a nasty one, though not as nasty as FIP (which seems to have been ruled out because he's not presenting the inflammation). The only way to know would be to admit, to test, to hydrate and force nutrition, to bomb antibiotics in case it's bacterial, and to keep him there for at least two days. A call would follow with the estimate.
I phoned home, because I didn't want the decision to be financial. With no likelihood much less guarantee that it would work, and with all the invasiveness and isolation of the experience for him, us being shut out of seeing him now, we made the call to say no. The estimate would have been in the mid thousands, and I knew that they could go higher if he didn't recover quickly enough. They accepted the decision, offered pain meds (which he didn't seem to need), and they promised to let me collect him as soon as he'd been completely warmed up.
My car had been out facing the Boulevard, but there was a space right by the entrance which Eleanor's had been in, so I pulled in so I'd see him as soon as he was ready. I observed on Facebook, as the clock struck midnight:
Two cars either side of me, fur mommies on their phones, sad looks in their eyes, waiting for the same kind of news, or lack of news, that we got. At least inside, we would’ve had each other to talk to. I just hope this is the final kick in the pants that 2020 has in store for us. And speaking of kicks in the pants, one final fuck you Donald John Trump for making this moment, and the next moment, so cold and impersonal:P
----
We come, at last, to the bitching part of our program. I again missed the call that he was ready; by now, having moved the car to right outside their entrance, I saw someone in scrubs coming out and headed for the door, but not through it, seeing how it was covered with DO NOT ENTER signs. Not my kitty. Paced in frigid temperature. Finally, a tech came out with a a single piece of paper: the Against Medical Advice discharge form. More pacing, then a cat and another single piece of paper: the paid bill. Um, fine, but can you give me whatever other paperwork we discussed? Like, what you were proposing to do and the cost? Our own vet always sends us home with a "report card" with what they did, what they recommend and any take-home instructions. One more pace, and finally one last single piece of paper, which was the estimate. At this point, I just wanted me and the kitten to get home; we called our vet this morning and they are sending over the test results and other Vetspeak for us to discuss next steps, which will be heading toward what they euphemistically refer to on their bills as "FINAL SERVICES."
We're in no hurry for those. For one thing, we won't be able to attend them due to COVID. Also, who knows? I set him up on the bed with a heating pad and plenty of towels; he immediately hopped down in front of a heat register, so we covered him up and under. Smart move, because I was awakened a bit later by the fact he'd peed on the towel. Back on the bed he went on the towels over the heating pad, and back asleep we fell....
until about 7 this morning.
At some point, Pepper jumped up on the bed. When I woke up, nobody was in the towels. Boz had moved over to snuggle next to the dog's warm butt.
He was purring for the first time in 24 hours. And has been, pretty much, ever since.
We've gotten him to take some water through an eyedropper, and goosed him up with some CBD oil, which now seems to have him nicely stoned. Eleanor went into work, but got sent home as soon as the coordinator saw the state this had put her in. She's now reclining on the bed with the patient. And who comes along but his dumb brudda, trying a laying on of
It's not a miracle cure. But it's another day with him knowing love and giving it back.
We'll take it.
ETA. We'll also take this; but wait, there's more!
I had to go into the office, so I'll just repost what we saw, and then Eleanor saw and posted about:
I don’t know what to say.
I’ve been giving Boz water with an eyedropper, because he hadn’t been drinking, and he’d been peeing a lot for such a little guy.
I also gave him CBD oil, only a teeny drop on his lip, but it evidently got in his system because he acted stoned for a bit.
Around the time Ray left for work, Boz got up, and showed interest in eating. Before I tried that, I carried him to the litter box, and he peed there! Next, I gave him a teaspoon of gushy food. He ate that, right away quick, and I gave him another, then stopped cuz I can’t be sure how much he can tolerate, in the state he’s in.
He groomed himself, working on his paws and face. I was dumbfounded. Then Zini got into the act, and washed Boz’s belly thoroughly. They’re now sleeping sorta Boz on top of Zini on top of the heating pad.
Say what you will about people praying, sending healing thoughts and karma and juju or the Force or whatever your brand is. Get your miracles in any of 30 different December holiday flavors. But if they make US feel better, surely the kitty can feel that and be healed by it. It's only one hour of one day on a very long road, but we're incredibly encouraged by it- as is our vet, who I talked to just now. He's concerned about the white count, but he's seen worse. With a little of one or all of the above, hopefully we've seen the worst of it as well- and we're far better prepared if it goes the other way.
Say what you will about people praying, sending healing thoughts and karma and juju or the Force or whatever your brand is. Get your miracles in any of 30 different December holiday flavors. But if they make US feel better, surely the kitty can feel that and be healed by it. It's only one hour of one day on a very long road, but we're incredibly encouraged by it- as is our vet, who I talked to just now. He's concerned about the white count, but he's seen worse. With a little of one or all of the above, hopefully we've seen the worst of it as well- and we're far better prepared if it goes the other way.
no subject
Date: 2020-12-16 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-12-20 09:01 pm (UTC)Boy's doing better as of now, but not without issues. I'll be updating later.