When I took Hunky in to the vet Tuesday about his ear (Profile tried to bite it off when they ran headlong into each other in the yard…), I also took my cat Zooey in b/c we found an ingrown claw on his front foot. While there, I expressed my concern to the vet that Zooey was thin and didn’t seem interested in grooming himself like he used to be. The vet ran a “senior” blood panel on him (a special service at my vet’s office, tests for things that are unique to animals past the age of 7) and sent us home with antibiotics and pain meds for the paw (after removing the ingrown bit).
The vet called. The bloodwork is bad. His kidneys aren’t working right, he has a UTI (urine drawn straight from the bladder), his BUN and phosphorus levels are high and his creatinine is high/normal. His thyroid is also high/normal.
Bless his heart, after spewing all this techinical stuff, Dr. Herold said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this…but numbers like this usually indicate a condition that’s going to get progressively worse.”
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I have had Zooey since he was three months old (along with his littermate Franny) and I remember when he was born in my parent’s storage building. I’ve watched him get his head stuck in my glass trying to drink my diet coke…I’ve laughed when he fell asleep sitting up and fell off the sofa…and I’ve purred back at him when he would curl up in my lap while I was clacking away at the computer.
I know I’m being prematurely freaked out…but this is my Zoe-Boy. Ten years is a long time to have with any animal, but he’s a cat, so I was expecting about 10 more.
Here are some images of the best cat a girl could ask for…
This is me holding Zooey about…8 years ago? Scott and I were still dating at the time and he was playing with his camera. Zooey was a wee baby of 2.5 then.
Hush, Mom, geez, don’t tell everything you know! (Zooey was about 5 months old here)
This taken right after I moved to WVa. Fran and Zoe were so little that they rode in my lap all the way there from Georgia.
Zoe and I will be okay, and when we’re not…we’ll still be okay.
(edited to add that while I refer to him as Zoe, that’s pronounced Zoh and not Zoh-ee. You wouldn’t believe how many vet techs and others have corrected me when I spell his name for them… Apparently they don’t read Salinger…)