elbales

My cat got horribly sick today.

I was in the bathroom, getting ready to get in the shower, when I heard the familiar sound of a cat beginning to throw up. By the sound, I could tell it was somewhere near the sofa. The volume wasn't loud enough for it to be Kiri, the bigger, younger cat, so I rolled my eyes and sighed and said, "Oh great, and we just had the sofa cover cleaned, too. " (Locke, the fifteen-year-old, smaller cat, likes to hang out on the back of the sofa. This means that if she gets sick while she's there, guess where it goes.) Any cat owner knows that it's a common occurrence, so I wasn't at all worried.

I rushed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels to clean up the mess before it set. As I moved, I heard a scrabble and a thump and figured that Locke had jumped off the back of the sofa to hide, afraid she was going to get in trouble, and had slipped and landed badly. I was saying something teasing to her as I came back out of the kitchen and started around the work table that sits pushed against the back of the sofa. I obviously dropped the paper towels when I saw her lying on the floor, because later I found the roll discarded on the carpet.

She lay on her side, very still, and terror struck me. For a horrible moment, I thought she was dead. "Oh my god," I cried, and ran to her. When I touched her, she yowled. Her eyes were dilated, only a little green showing around the huge black pupils. She seemed terrified, just like I was. I knew she had had a seizure. She is not a young cat, and she recently went through therapy for a hyperactive thyroid gland. She had to be away from home for a week, and I know it was stressful for her.

I ran to the bedroom, frantically changing bathrobe and night shirt for sweat pants, a T-shirt, socks, throwing clothes everywhere in my hurry. I stuck my feet into my tennis shoes, not taking the time to tie the laces, and ran into the office to drag Locke's carrier down from the shelf. I ran to her again, terrified that she had died in the few moments it took me to change clothes. She wailed again as I scooped her up and put her into the carrier. I was so grateful she was awake and alert enough to complain.

I ran for my cell phone, knowing I would want to call the vet on the way down, and nearly forgot my purse as I scooped up the carrier. The cat cried all the way to the car. I ran awkwardly in my shoes, which flopped, unlaced, around my feet. As I drove, speeding all the way, barely stopping at the stop signs, I talked to the cat, tapped her paw through the grille, even knocked on the top of the carrier, afraid that if I let her sleep, she would never wake up.

I was at the veterinarian's office for an hour and half, waiting as they ran tests and took X-rays to find out what was wrong with my cat. I called my husband and broke down crying on the phone. "I don't want my cat to die," I managed to say around the tears. I thought about the meeting with my friend Francis that I knew I would miss, and I felt bad and worried because I didn't have his pager number with me and couldn't call him to say what was wrong. The lab staff kindly brought Locke to me as they prepared for some of the tests. She was alert now, and the springiness was back in her muscles. She even purred a little as I petted her. The vet came and talked to me; they had no idea why my cat had had a seizure. They wanted to keep her for the day to observe her. I agreed, and after a while, they took her away to run more tests.

A little after noon, I came home alone. She is still there, under observation. When she comes home, she will have to have a new diet, probably new medication, perhaps even subcutaneous injections for a short while.

I have had this cat since I was fifteen years old. I can't imagine my life without her.