Reflections on the Eighth Week of Fall – Don’t Underestimate Him

George Drinking from the Fountain

 

Shoulders hunched and head bent, the vet tech trudged into the exam room clutching the results of our cat’s November ninth blood test. “George’s numbers are up, and he lost one-point-two pounds.” She extended the paper toward my husband.

With his arms around George, so he couldn’t jump off the exam table, Spence said, “Show Janet. She’s the one for numbers.”

Taking a step toward me, the technician pointed to 4.1. “This is the previous test.” She slid her finger down to 7.2, and her face muscles drooped as if she’d aged thirty years in a second. “This is today’s.”

She stepped back to face Spence and me. “Give him fluids daily, not just three times a week. Up the dosage from one hundred fifty to two hundred milliliters or as close to that as you can before he squirms.” She moved her hands and the bad report behind her back. “And you’ll want to make an appointment with the vet next week.”

Spence’s eyes met mine. I didn’t need words to confirm he’d also concluded we’d get the end of life discussion from the vet.

I’d observed signs that George’s kidney failure had worsened. He needed more time to stand after napping because his muscle tone had weakened. He also scavenged for water like a mushroom hunter searching for morels. He licked the shower stall after someone showered, lapped up rinse water when I scrubbed the bathroom floor, and emptied rain puddles on the deck. Then he peed rivers. And when I scooped him off the floor, George felt like a hairy skeleton―the result of losing over a pound since his check up two months ago.

“We’ll make the appointment for a month from now to give the fluids time to work,” I told the waiting vet tech. “Please get us enough fluid bags, supply lines, and needles to last that long.”

After she pushed the door open with her fanny and left, I said, “George still has quality of life―pestering his sister.”

Spence scratched George’s chin. “Licking everyone.”

“Exploring the deck.” I pressed my lips together and glared at the door separating the exam room from the lab. “Fluids helped before when he hardly moved. Fluids will work again.”

Spence scooped George into his arms. “The medics always underestimate George.”

At home, Spence concentrated on enticing George to eat. Spence shook George’s food bowl by the sliding glass door in the great room. “You could have a snack, George.”

George yawned and plodded to his water fountain in the kitchen.

A half hour later, Spence tried again. When George licked water from his ceramic dish by the sliding glass door, Spence got on his hands and knees, pulled the cat over to the food bowl, and stroked his back. “Take some nourishment, George.”

George Eating

George ate one kibble then jumped into the Adirondack chair for a nap.

The next morning while I brushed my teeth, Spence called from the kitchen. “Do you remember teaching Charlie to poop?”

Teaching our son to poop? Where did that question come from? I spit out toothpaste, put the toothbrush away, and walked to the kitchen where Spence cooked breakfast at the stove. “No. I don’t remember that. I do remember teaching him to pee in his potty chair.”

“Yeah. Didn’t you use Fonzie? We could do that with George.”

“Tell George that Fonzie doesn’t like wet pants?” Spence really didn’t expect me to teach George to use the toilet, did he?

Spence set his spatula on the counter and walked to George drinking at the fountain. “George, Fonzie likes cats that eat their food.”

I stiffed a giggle. “Wouldn’t it work better if you used a model George knows? Maybe―Charlie likes cats that eat their food.”

Spence petted George on the head. “George, Charlie likes cats that eat their food.”

George kept drinking.

Spence walked back to the stove and lifted a slice of chicken breast out of the cast iron skillet. He cut a few pea sized pieces and took them to George. “Here’s some Big Bird, George.” Spence set the chicken on the floor beside the fountain. “Warm and tasty.”

George sniffed the chicken, ate one piece, and ambled away.

Was chicken good for George? The vet tech had emphasized giving George the prescription kidney food. I reached for my laptop for answers. George’s 7.2 blood test measured phosphate levels. A healthy cat has 2.6. So, I checked for foods high in phosphates. All three lists I read included chicken, and breast meat had more phosphorus than dark meat. “Spence, chicken is high in phosphorus.”

“Really?” He picked the chicken pieces off the floor. “No more Big Bird for you, George.”

Unlike Spence, I didn’t kneel on the floor or remind George to eat. I figured he’d eat when he felt better, and getting more fluids into him would make him feel better. So I scheduled fluids for the first task each morning.

On the first morning, while Spence stretched his arms around George’s sides and held his front legs, I stuck the needle in George’s back. Then I flipped the valve to open the IV line and gently massaged the area around the needle to prevent him from flexing his muscles and pushing the needle out.

As soon as he’d received 150 milliliters, George’s ears twitched. He merrowed as if to say he’d had enough.

Spence released George’s legs, scratched his chin with one hand, and his head with the other. “You’re fine, George.”

George backed up. His left back paw reached beyond the edge of the table.

I let go of his back and grabbed his air-bound foot.

He flexed.

The needle popped.

And IV fluid squirted Spence’s arm. “He’s done for the day,” Spence said wiping his arm.

The next day George protested at 160. By the end of the week, he’d tolerated 200 milliliter doses three different mornings. Progress!

But Spence didn’t let up. He coached―“George, you could have a snack”―every time George woke from a nap or walked through the great room.

So Saturday, when Spence volunteered at a Cleveland conference for his crusade to stop poisoning children with lead, I emailed him a midday update.

George is having a snack―after a LONG nap.

An hour later I sent news on both cats.

Mr. G is having ANOTHER snack. Emma is sleeping on the sofa.

Spence responded.

All good news!

When Spence returned that night, he greeted the cats and me then dropped to his hands and knees. He crept to the food bowl, lowered his head to food level, and smacked his lips. He looked up long enough to say, “Take some nourishment, George,” then smacked his lips over the kibble again.

George stared at Spence, padded to his sister Emma, and licked her head.

I’m not worried.

Yesterday, George took ten steps in the deck snow before turning back. Then he wailed with the hairy-snake toy dangling from his mouth.

And every day, his sister Emma is the best diet enhancer a cat could have. She looks like a soccer ball but weighs as much as a bowling ball from all the rich prescription food she consumes. When she gobbles, George pushes her aside and eats in her place.

Don’t underestimate George.

George Licking Emma