I discovered that Olivia is keeping a diary.
She just made this entry a few minutes ago.
I found it only because I had gone out to the kitchen and she followed me, thinking she was going to get morning food, without closing and locking her diary.
I would never break into and read someone else’s diary.
Olivia had her first vet visit yesterday. Picture below.
Said vet questioned the date of birth, provided by the El Cajon Animal Shelter, as November 21, 2017.
Said vet thought it more likely that it was November 21, 2018. That would make this little girl just 7 months old instead of 1 year & 7 months old. That certainly would explain her small size (7½ pounds) and her boundless energy.
Said vet approved of feeding her whenever she wanted to eat, as much as she wanted to eat, and we’ll see if she “puts on weight and grows up to be a full grown cat.”
Said vet approved of the food I was feeding her, which is not kitten food. Said vet said at her actual age or perceived age, adult food was fine.
If she is only 7 months old, she’s a very well trained and/or smart little 7-year-old. She has learned that she cannot go on the top of the piano, tables, and countertops. She’s not happy about being banished from the bathroom countertops, though. Oh, well.
Next visit to said vet is scheduled for January 3, 2020.
Zoey the Cool Cat came home at 12:16 p.m. on July 1, 2019.
I don’t know what all is in it because it’s so beautiful that I haven’t opened it. There’s an envelope on top from the Pet Emergency & Specialty Center, probably some sort of sympathy note.
Originally I was planning on creating a memorial in my reading garden because I wasn’t expecting something this beautiful. I’m going to leave this inside and create a different type of memorial in my reading garden. Jim and I haven’t decided yet when, or even if, we will open it.
Rest in peace, little girl, and thank you for twelve years of your love and antics. You’ll always be with us.
We got Zoey the Cool Cat (ZCC, but only for our purposes here) on September 21, 2007. Our agreement with the El Cajon Animal Shelter required us to take her to a veterinarian within seven days for a checkup. That was the first time I took her to a vet.
The second time was July 9, 2018 (picture at right).
Jim’s brother had a stroke on
March 19, 2018, relegating him to the hospital. He had a cat named Ninja, and since he lived about 120 miles from us, we went to get Ninja and bring her to live with us until Jim’s brother was out of the hospital.
Ninja was a severely overweight cat and was supposed to be on prescription food, which we did not know about. Nonetheless, Ninja stayed with us until April 12, 2018.
After we had taken Ninja home, ZCC proceeded to put on six pounds in six weeks. I was concerned that, perhaps, Ninja had some sort of virus or disease which ZCC had caught. So off to the vet we went. The results came back as a healthy cat.
I was having my own problems in July, having gone off on a (failed) suicide journey from July 23 to August 1, so ZCC was not at the top of my list of concerns. When I got back, though, I noticed that ZCC was not doing cat things anymore—playing with her strings, jumping up on chairs and beds, and playing fetch. She was just laying around. I chalked it up to her being depressed over me having gone missing for ten days.
It wasn’t until I started volunteering at a cat sanctuary housing about 300 cats that I realized something more serious might be ailing ZCC. I took her to the vet. I wasn’t satisfied with the diagnosis, so I took her to a pet hospital for a second opinion. They wanted to do blood work, urinalysis, and a poop smear. I authorized it. ZCC was not cooperative, though, so all they got was a blood sample and left it up to me to get the other two samples. I have problems getting samples of my own for the doctor, so I wasn’t keen on getting samples from ZCC.
And I didn’t.
Instead, I took her to another pet hospital that a friend recommended. Said friend fosters a few billion dogs each year, so I trusted her about the second pet hospital. They got blood, urine, and fecal samples. That was on August 13. The results came back on August 18. ZCC was “borderline diabetic,” but she was above the borderline. The vet prescribed Hill’s W/D weight control food, and scheduled a follow-up visit for six weeks later.
At the follow-up visit, the prescription diet was working. ZCC had lost 3½ pounds and was safely under the borderline. The vet, however, said to keep her on the prescription diet and bring her back for monthly monitoring.
I was happy with her weight loss and being safely under the borderline, so I didn’t see any reason for monthly monitoring. I did weigh her each week, though.
The prescription food was $45 for 24 cans of wet food and another $45 for a five-pound sack of dry food. As I was buying the food for the first time, I thought to myself, “I could be buying fresh lobster at these prices.”
I continued the Hill’s food and weekly weighing. She got down to 11.6 pounds but she still looked like she weighed 18.6 pounds. I now know why, which I’ll get to shortly. Her weight loss, though, resulted in her becoming a very bony cat. I could feel and see the bones in her back, her legs, everywhere. I thought she was too skinny. Yet she still looked fat. So I started mixing four cans of prescription food with one can of regular food, and four cups of dry prescription food with one cup of regular dry food. I now know that was just one of many significant mistakes I made.
ZCC made one final attempt to jump up on chairs and beds, but after a week, she gave up completely and laid on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator. Along with that clue, the way she laid was concerning. No longer did she flop. Instead, it took her about ten seconds to lay down, and her rear legs always were stretched out. No more breadloafing. Still I did nothing, other than pick her up to give her love.
For ZCC to get to the catio, she had to go through a hole cut in a low kitchen window. The step up and down was about eight inches. When she was having problems doing that, I should have taken action. I didn’t.
One day when I was clipping her nails, I noticed a side nail that I had missed for some reason. From the look of the extreme curling growth, I had missed it many times, and I could see that it was digging into her paw. I tried for several days to clip that nail, but I couldn’t get to it. I could tell that it was affecting her, so I took her to Banfield Pet Hospital, located in Petsmart, which was where I bought her prescription food. The vet got the nail clipped and asked me to bring her back in three days to make sure the puncture wound in her paw was not infected.
Meanwhile, ZCC was not squatting anymore to pee or poop. She was walking and squatting on her hind legs instead of her hind paws, which started getting messy when she eliminated. I could see that her paw was not getting infected, but I kept the Banfield appointment to ask about her problem with her hind legs. The vet mentioned possible diabetes and arthritis.
Well, it couldn’t be diabetes because we had that under control. So I went with arthritis.
Since I had gone on a weekend, their specialist vets were not available. So I made another appointment for a week later, the earliest available, to meet with a specialist to determine what we could do for her arthritis. That appointment was for June 23, a Sunday. When I got to Banfield on June 23 at 3:10 p.m., the vet wanted to take the regular blood, pee, and poop samples, but the results would not be available until Thursday. I didn’t want to wait that long. Banfield recommended an emergency vet just a couple of blocks away that has its own lab and could provide immediate results, so that’s where we went. Said emergency vet was closed on Sundays.
I wanted to get help for both me and ZCC. All the vets and pet hospitals I normally go to are closed on Sundays, many on Mondays, too. Finally, on page 2 of a Google search for “emergency vets near me,” I found Pet Emergency & Specialty Center (PESC). I knew exactly where it was since I used to drive by it several times a day for ten years or so.
I called PESC and was told that they did not take appointments, were open 24/7, and could see ZCC. We got to PESC in about five minutes since they were about a mile from where I had parked to do Google searches.
PESC was busy. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a vet or pet hospital as busy as PESC was. Although they took ZCC from me immediately and had me sign various papers to authorize testing, shots, etc., it was almost three hours before they called me in. During that time, it got even busier. People bringing in dogs, cats, snakes, birds, even a bearded dragon. People walking out without their pets. I now know that many walked out because their pets were left behind for testing, but some walking out because they had to say goodbye to their pets.
The vet I met with, Dr. Dwan, was extraordinarily competent and compassionate. They had given ZCC a pain shot, and a preliminary examination indicated severe problems with her back legs.
Dr. Dwan asked me about her habits, how much she ate, how much she drink, how much she eliminated. Well, ZCC ate a lot, drank a lot, and eliminated a lot. Kind of. Her pee balls were the size of grapefruit, but very little fecal material in her litter box. Dr. Dwan told me the I was describing diabetes. Nope. I had diabetes under control. I mentioned arthritis. He said it was a possibility, but arthritis wouldn’t account for the excessive eating, drinking, and huge pee balls.
I authorized him to do any and all tests, costing $672, that he thought necessary to get ZCC some help. I can afford the $672, but I was still of the mindset from decades earlier, “$672!??? It’s a cat! If it dies, I’ll get another one.”
They allowed me to leave while they did those tests. That’s when I realized that not all the people leaving were leaving because they had to let their pets go.
I went home, since that was only 2.9 miles away, and waited for a call, which came 90 minutes later. It was as Dr. Dwan suspected, diabetes, showing classic diabetes symptoms. Unfortunately, though, I had waited too long, and ZCC was permanently crippled from the diabetes having destroyed the muscles along her spine and back legs. He was surprised that she had any rear movement at all.
Her urinalysis showed a glucose level about four times the normal level. Dr. Dwan said that even with daily insulin injections, ZCC probably would be dead within a couple of weeks. She was too far gone. Additionally, with literally no hope for a full recovery, and with her glucose levels being so high in her urine, if I wanted to go with treatment, ZCC would get two double-dose insulin injections each day, and she would be in their pet hospital for probably seven days. I would not get to take her home until they got her diabetes under control.
Total cost for 7 days of treatment and hospitalization would be about $2,000. I can afford $2,000, but I was thinking more of ZCC not making a full recovery and not having long to live anyway.
I made the decision, without Jim’s input since he was at work, to let ZCC go in dignity rather than try to carry on to satisfy my own ego while knowing that she was suffering. I didn’t want any more pain and suffering for her.
After I made the decision, Dr. Dwan consoled me, had me sign papers, brought ZCC in to allow me to take as much time as I needed in order to say goodbye, and allowed me to hold her in my arms while he administered the three euthanasia drugs. ZCC was alert and active, but when that first drug took effect, ZCC’s head fell into the crook of my arm and her last breath came out as a soft, quiet snort. That was her last movement.
After administering the other two drugs and checking her heart, he softly said, “She has passed.”
He allowed me as much time as I wanted to grieve over my deceased little one. I cried for a couple of minutes, put ZCC down in the pet bed, took a picture of her, covered her with a towel, and left.
The people in the lobby that I had been talking to for several hours all knew that I was leaving without my little one and that I would never see her again.
The total cost for ZCC was $1,126, but $321 of that was for a private cremation with her remains being returned to me. I got word yesterday that her remains will arrive on Monday between 11 and 12:30. I am going to bury her in the side yard where I often sit and read. I’m hoping to put a little memorial stone there as well as some flowers, something like a hibiscus or a crown-of-thorns since they are ever-blooming in our climate.
Here’s the page from her test results showing the extraordinarily high glucose levels:
Additionally alarming were the two x-rays:
If you look closely, you can see balls of fecal matter in her intestines. That’s what was making her look fat. She was unable to eliminate all that because her rear muscles had atrophied so badly. Fecal matter does not weigh as much as bone, fat, fur, and muscle, so even though she weighed only 11.6 pounds, she looked like she weighed much more. A deadly illusion.
So what have I learned from this emotional and trying matter? Well, first and foremost, a cat IS NOT JUST A CAT!
Zoey the Cool Cat was not just a cat. She was a member of our family. She loved us and we loved her. The only thing I can do now is ensure that our new member, Olivia, gets regular checkups at the vet. She has her first visit this coming Wednesday. At PECS. I really liked everything about that place.
Second, although everyone hates to spend money needlessly, spending money on loved ones is not needless. When I look at the $1,600 I spent on vet bills during the past year and divide that by the 12 years Zoey the Cool Cat was with us, $150 or so per year is about the cost of an annual checkup, and the results are much easier to deal with. Olivia will be getting annual checkups at a minimum.
Lastly, pet insurance. We all hate insurance until we need it, and then we love it. Olivia will have pet insurance.
Here is the last video that I took of Zoey the Cool Cat from June 19:
Here is the last picture I took of Zoey the Cool Cat:
Zoey the Cool Cat died at 9:35 p.m. on June 23, 2019. I took that picture at 9:37 p.m.. I held her and cried for two minutes, trying to console myself by telling myself that she was not in pain anymore. I was in tremendous pain, though. Still am.
Thank you, Zoey the Cool Cat, for all your love and antics, for being a part of our lives for twelve years. I’m so sorry that my ignorance, stupidity, and irresponsibility did not allow me to do more for you.
Rest in peace, little girl.
I love you and will always remember you.
This three-part post has been very therapeutic for me, and if you’ve made it all the way through, I thank you. I also did this because I know my blog posts get a lot of love from the search engines, so with appropriate keywords as well, perhaps my experience here can save someone else the same experience.
Read part one.
Although I have had many dozens of pets throughout my life, I never made it a practice to take my pets to the veterinarian for a regular checkup. My attitude was, “It’s a dog!” or “It’s a cat!” or “It’s a bird!” If it gets sick and dies, I’ll get another one.
Even though I loved all of my pets, I never had any one of them long enough to get emotionally attached to them, probably because I was too involved in doing people things— working, traveling, partying, going to concerts, eating out….
It wasn’t until Thanksgiving Day 2006 when something happened.
Jim and I had been together since May 26, 1994, and I had been without a pet of any kind since April 15, 1993, when I left Penney & Sugar behind in Texas and went off to do a little bit of euthanasia on myself.
On November 23, 2006, a stray black cat showed up at our house out in the boondocks. I gave it food and water. It ate, drank, and left. I never expected to see it again, figuring it was just passing through.
On Christmas Eve 2006, it showed up again. I’m thinking, “Hmmmm. A cat that knows human holidays….” I gave it food and water (picture at left). It ate, drank, and stayed….
Jim had grown up with cats. I had cats, but they were outdoor cats, so I would only see them when their hunting expedition had been unsuccessful on any night and they came home for food.
We both got emotionally attached to that little black cat. We named her Sophie and tried to make an indoor cat out of her. When dusk arrived each evening, though, Sophie would howl like a coyote until we let her out.
I think what I liked most about Sophie is that she would follow us around, just like a dog, and I always had been pretty much a dog person. When I was in the gardens, she was right there with me. She would follow us down the street to the mailbox and to the upper part of the lot to pull weeds. She was comfortable in the house…. until the sun went down.
When we decided to move out of the boondocks and into a condominium in an East San Diego County suburb, we took Sophie with us. She used to follow us around on the walkways, and while we were in the hot tub or swimming pool, she was in the trees checking out everything to make sure we were safe.
We had been in our condominium for only five months when I got a phone call at 6:00 on the morning of September 20, 2007. It was a neighbor a street over calling to tell me that she had found Sophie’s body in the street, had moved the body up to a curb, and had placed a towel over the body. I thanked her for her compassion, jumped in the car, and went to get Sophie.
I uncovered Sophie to make sure it was her. I never should have done that—it’s an image that is with me to this day. Her little body, including her head, was smashed flat. I spent a couple of minutes crying before I put her in the car, took her to our old home in the boondocks, which we had not sold yet, and buried her, still crying. I marked her grave with a little cat face and whiskers made out of little stones (picture above).
I cried for several hours, and when Jim got up, I told him what had happened. We hugged each other, and cried together.
I told Jim that I wanted to go to the animal shelter and get a cat, an indoor cat, because I didn’t ever want to see a pet’s body again that had been crushed and killed by a car.
We got Zoey the Cool Cat on September 21, 2007. We saw her on September 20, but she wasn’t available for adoption until September 21, and they would not put her on hold. It was first come, first serve. We got to the animal shelter 15 minutes before they opened on September 21 so that we would first in line and could get Zoey.
Zoey was her name when we adopted her, but after just a few hours in our home, I snapped this picture of her:
She looks a little relaxed, probably happy to be out of that animal shelter. I thought it so cool the way she just took over my office chair. I pictured her daydreaming, “I like this place. It’s cool. I’ll stay.” That was when I added “the Cool Cat” to her name. I always referred to her as Zoey the Cool Cat, never just Zoey. Jim and other people would shorten her name to just Zoey, but never me.
I thought there only was going to be a part 2, but after writing about Sophie and seeing her pictures again, I need to take a break. I have tears in my eyes, heartbroken about how these two cats left us. I’ll finish this tomorrow with part 3 about why Zoey the Cool Cat’s death is completely my fault. She should have been able to live several more years if not for my own ignorance, stupidity, and stubbornness.
Rest in peace my two precious little ones.
I feel very guilty about the death of Zoey the Cool Cat.
Let me explain.
I grew up in Brigham City, Utah, and Kingsville, Texas, both agricultural rural areas then, and now.
Because of their rural nature, I had many “pets” during my youth, everything from ducks, dogs, ponies, and horses in Utah to fish, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, hamsters, rats, mice, opossums, raccoons, birds, cows, pigs, horses, a 7-foot blue indigo snake, and even a monkey. Sadly, though, I never had any of those creatures for longer than a couple of years. It’s the nature of a farm and youth ignorance.
When I went off to college at Texas A&M University, the only pets I had were those at the animal shelter and those belonging to friends. I missed having a companion and promised myself that I would have a pet when I graduated.
I kept that promise. In April 1978, I got two Beagle puppies, Union and Pacific, named after my infatuation with the Union Pacific Railroad. That was the same time that I got the first job that I truly enjoyed, working for Grocer’s Supply International in Houston. My job was to represent the company at national and international food and export conventions. I was going to be doing a lot of traveling, for days and weeks at a time. I gave Union and Pacific to a friend, who promised I would get them back when I “settled down.”
I never settled down.
I thought I had settled down in April 1983 when I moved from Houston back to College Station, hoping to get a job with Texas A&M University. When I finally got that job in June 1984, I was taking weekends off and traveling here and there to concerts. Saw everyone except The Beatles and The Who.
It wasn’t until October 1987, after I had seen all the major groups that I wanted to see (and that were still groups—that’s why I never saw The Beatles and The Who), I got two dogs. One was a rescue dog from the neighbors of friends in Houston. It was a female dachshund named “Puppy Doggy.” Those people in Houston were immigrants from China. They had a momma dachshund and her puppies tied up behind the washer and dryer in the garage. They were planning on eating them for Thanksgiving and Christmas meals.
Eventually the SPCA got involved and took the dogs from them; I got one of them.
Puppy Doggy was only with me for a few short months. Since she was supposed to be a meal, apparently one can fatten up dogs by neutering them way too early, feeding them a lot, and not letting them exercise. Unfortunately, one of the problems with neutering a dog too early is that they can become incontinent. Puppy Doggy became incontinent at about six months of age. It was too much for me to handle, so I donated her to the Texas A&M University Veterinary School so that they could give her the love and care she needed while doing critical but compassionate research on incontinence. I visited Puppy Doggy every month for several years until she died. She was only four years old, but her horrible start in life didn’t bode well for a long life.
Immediately after letting Puppy Doggy go to the vet school, I got two dogs, a long-haired dachshund, Penney, and a chow chow/basenji mix, Sugar.
I had both dogs until April 15, 1993, when I abandoned my life in Texas, intent on going to sleep permanently in Canada by the end of April (see A suicide journey ends in failure). I confided in only one person, Eric. He had been a close friend, roommate, and employee until, searching for his own life, he joined the United States Army. He was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, just 90 miles away. He came and got Penney and Sugar, promising to find them good homes since he couldn’t have pets on the army base. I found out several years later that his girlfriend took both dogs. He did marry that girlfriend and they had both dogs for many years.
Because my own life was in turmoil, I did not get another pet. I didn’t even consider such until 2003 or so when my life settled down. A big part of that settling was due to my husband, Jim. We have been together since May 26, 1994, but from 1994 to 2003 I was either traveling for work or starting my own companies. Both took too much time from me. Then a stray black cat visited our house on Thanksgiving day in 2006 (see Cats—How it started).
Tomorrow I’ll explain why I feel so guilty about how and why Zoey the Cool Cat died.
Rest in peace, Zoey the Cool Cat. I loved you dearly, and you’ll always be a part of my heart and life. I’m so sorry that I didn’t take better care of you.