Please allow the Captain a moment of personal privilege. The
crew of the Banana Winds grieves today for the untimely death of our cat, Roxy.
It’s not really accurate to same “untimely” – she has been
with us 14 years now.
We picked up her and her brother, Izzy, at a shelter when
they were but 6 weeks old. Our golden retriever helped us raise them, so they
sometimes acted more like dogs than cats.
But Roxy was my girl. She slept with me at night and
preferred my lap in the evenings.
Unless the First Mate had her laptop computer out.
Cats are naturally drawn to technology.
Roxy and Izzy endured three moves, quickly finding their
place in each new house.
In recent months, Roxy began coughing. I was treating her
with an antibiotic the local vet prescribed for her. The cough was not
improving and we were planning to take her back to the vet for another look.
Then on Sunday evening, she began acting like she was in
pain. She ran out of the family room limping. She hid under our bed all night.
The next morning I coaxed her out, but she ran and hid in a
closet. Her left eye did not seem to be working in coordination with her right
eye.
Cats often run off and hide when they know the end is near.
Since she was an indoor cat, this was the best she could do.
We realized as well that the end was probably near. Since
Monday was Memorial Day, no vet offices were open.
The “emergency” number we
were given was useless. So we waited. That night we cried together as we
realized what Tuesday would bring.
On Tuesday morning, after the First Mate went off to work, I
worked at home so I could keep an eye on Roxy. Around 8 a.m., she came
strolling down the hallway, went to the litterbox and did her business. Then
she went to the food bowls and frowned when she realized hers was
empty. I opened a can of Tuna and she ate. Then she lay down next to me for the
next couple hours.
Routine.
At about 10:30 she hopped down from the sofa, got a drink of
water from her water fountain, then hopped up on her favorite box. She couldn’t
get comfortable there – still favoring her back end – so she hopped down, got
another drink of water, and returned to the back room and her favorite chair.
Now friends, the Captain has been down this road before with
humans. Several times a church member on the edge of dying will rally, raising
the hopes of everyone, then die the next day. So I was cautiously optimistic.
But I was beginning to wonder if the antibiotic I was giving her
was building up in her system and had become toxic to her. I’ve seen what
chemical imbalances do to people. Maybe the day in the closet helped clear it
out of her system…
With hopeful hearts, we took her to the vet as scheduled. But instead of asking
for her to be put to sleep – as we had assumed the night before – this time we
asked for answers.
This is where the Captain got angry.
The vet entered the room, looked at us and said, “Oops!
Wrong room.”
Then he entered again with the sign his assistant had put on
the door with Roxy’s information on it. He began asking us about her kidney
stones. Wrong cat.
He didn’t bring her chart with him. He didn’t hardly look at
her as we tried to explain what had transpired over the previous days. He left
to get a notebook to write it all down. Then he said, “I want to refer you.”
That quick!
Sensing our confusion, he said, “Wouldn’t you rather a
doctor refer you when he realizes this is over his head?”
At that point we should have left.
And we tried to.
But he followed us out into the waiting area, still trying
to get us to like him. As if we were going to receive a customer satisfaction survey
and he wanted to be sure we would mark him “Excellent” in every category.
That wasn’t going to happen.
So he finally pulled her chart. When he had seen Roxy last
time, he had charged us for a chem panel, but hadn’t actually done it. So he
offered to do that for us “for free”. We could take the results to the animal
hospital he was referring us to so they wouldn’t have to run those tests again.
And he offered to do x-rays, again for free.
We reluctantly agreed.
But to do this, he wanted to sedate her.
She had been sedated just a couple weeks ago for her teeth
cleaning, so we didn’t think anything about it. He gave her the shot and she
immediately went limp. He drew blood then took her to the x-ray machine. The
x-ray revealed some fluid build-up, possibly the onset of kidney failure.
The First Mate wanted to hold her drowsy kitty, but the vet
said he liked to keep an eye on them until they wake up. So we returned to the
exam room. A few minutes later, he came to the door and said rather bluntly, “She
just died.”
Oddly, just 24 hours before, this had been our intention.
But she had rallied. We had hoped.
Instead of trying to comfort an obviously distraught couple,
the vet immediately started making excuses to cover his own butt! He insisted
he had not overdosed her. We wrapped Roxy’s limp body in a towel and started to
leave. The vet followed us out, still looking for us to absolve him of this
death.
The Captain refused to give him that satisfaction.
We took Roxy home and, as we have done at several parsonages
with other cats, we dug a hole and buried her in a wooden wine case.
Cline Zinfandel 2011.
It was a very good year!
So now we grieve.
The vet called later with the results of the chem panel. He
said Roxy did have something (although not necessarily the cause of her
problems) that was contagious. So I will be taking Izzy to a DIFFERENT vet to
have him tested to see if he has it.
I am reminded of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ “Five Stages of
Grief”:
denial
anger
bargaining
depression
acceptance
Which is also the basis for one of my favorite movies.
I am afraid the Captain will be stuck at “anger” for quite
some time.
