I’m taking a short break from finishing the New Orleans story to talk about my beloved cat, Cleo. Cleo is 17 this month. She walked into my life 16 1/2 years ago and informed me that she was staying, and taking over. Coup complete. She is a beautiful dilute tortoiseshell and has always had a strong personality. She used to chase dogs out of the yard and growl at passing joggers from her sunny window post. She acts like a grouchy mom to our two younger cats. She loves a warm lap or a sunny window.
We took her to the vet today for tests because she has been showing signs of possible kidney and/or thyroid problems, which are quite common in cats her age. As usual, everybody at the vet exclaimed at how beautiful she is, and how sleek and bright-eyed she is for an ancient cat.
The vet looked her over and said she has an enlarged left kidney and a heart arrhythmia, indicating that both her kidneys and her thyroid may be involved. The tech took her in the back for blood tests and ultrasound. She showed them all her extreme displeasure with such “abuse,” but we could still hear the techs raving about how lovely she is. She was brought back to us sporting matching purple bandaid wraps on her front legs, and a neck damp with alcohol where they had tried to take her blood and she had said no.
We took her back home and fed her some kitty treats after removing her purple bandaids. After giving herself a bath to remove all traces of that “place,” she is now curled up on top of my computer, her favorite warm place to sleep. My husband sighed at the vet bill when he paid it but said she is worth every penny. We have to wait until tomorrow to get the test results.
We are taking her camping with us this coming weekend because she needs to be fed frequently to keep her weight on, plus she likes to sneak out the front door when my mom is trying to go out. My mom can’t move fast enough to chase her. I am no longer comfortable about leaving her home if we go anywhere, so she is becoming our new travel cat, the way my old fat diabetic cat, Skitters, was.
Here’s to you, Cleo. May you live long and prosper.
i’m sorry to hear about miss cleo.
those pictures are great!
She’s gorgeous! I found your blog accidentally, by Googling ‘physical manifestations of grief’ (my 5 year old cat had to be put to sleep recently and I’m not handling it well). Odd, hm? Aside from the pot and your love of the outdoors, I find that we have a curious number of similarities, including barbies. I’m enjoying the read thus far and it’s done wonders to take my mind off things, but I worry that Cleo’s blood tests don’t have a happy ending. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
Thank you for your comments. Grief is not linear. You will heal in your own time. If you like barbies, you might want to check out my very strange other blog, The Perils of Palins.