I got up at 5 this morning with "a call" to write, but my muse had to be put on hold - due first to our coffee pot erupting watery grounds all over the kitchen counters, and second to the discovery that Sofia, quarantined in our upstairs bathroom for "observation", had gotten sick several more times during the night and would have to return to the vets again today. And Sofia LOATHES the vets.
We knew that one of our cats had been getting sick with greater and greater frequency and volume during the past few days, and my money was on either Oliver, who is constantly up in the attic scrounging through stuff, or Delilah, our hefty Maine Coon that one of our friends has dubbed "Delta Burke." Astrid, our sleek black cat, was an outside chance, but I never would have suspected Sofia since her energy hadn't shown any signs of flagging and her clawing leaps and moans for food had been as passionate as ever, if not moreso. Now her "moreso" made sense, for of course she would've been starving if she'd been throwing whatever we gave her right back up.
Having uncovered that Sofia was the sick one, yesterday morning I crated her into her sherpa carrier and headed for the vets. Did I mention that Sofia DESPISES the vets? As we pulled into the veterinary's gravel parking lot she began a low growl and her countenance darkened like a threatening storm front. I exaggerate slightly, for she really does become a split personality when we walk through those doors - angelic to me, infernal to them. "They" are the enemy; "they" prod her and stick thermometers up her butt; "they" take her away from me, her protector, into another room where "they" try to draw blood from her leg for tests. I happened to peer into the "operating room" window yesterday when the blood drawing was taking place just in time to see "them" - the doctor and her assistant - run for cover as Sofia swiped and screamed and bared her teeth, the syringe left dangling from her back leg. (Editorial comment - Sofia is a great cat, kind, kittenish, loving. Yes, she's a TOUCH feral - which I'll explain soon - but she is NOT devil spawn if you happened to talk to the veterinary receptionist with the claw marks down one side of her face. It's just that Sofia ABHORS ... you get the picture.)
"We didn't get enough blood," the doctor said, panting into the room a few moments later. She was untangling the long tube to the fluid bag she'd brought in the room with her. "Next time we try we'll have to sedate her, which I hate to do, but she just gets too traumatized by the experience."
I noticed her unfastening another needle for Sofia's fluid injection and thought 'Good luck.'
"I have to admit when you called this morning saying you were coming in, I was hoping it wasn't Sofia."
(Editorial reminder: She's a good cat!)
"Your other cats just take everything in stride, especially the black one."
'Astrid'
"Yes, Astrid. She just looks you in the eye like she's saying 'Just do what you have to do, I trust you."
'That sounds like Astrid,' I agreed. 'She's very maternal.'
The door opened and the assistant came in with Sofia. Her carrying case was open and when the assistant set it down on the table, Sofia crept out of the carrier and crawled up my sweater and as she did she fixed me with these large Velvet painting eyes that seemed to say "why did you even bring me here?!" She got to the side of my neck and clung to me with all her might. It was horrible; I felt like I'd betrayed her.
Earlier the doctor had done a quick physical examination of Sofia. She'd felt no obstruction or sign of discomfort in any particular area despite Sofia's continuous low growls throughout, but to be thorough she had suggested a whole slew of "next step" options, giving the pros and cons for each as she listed them - blood work, x-rays, "barium" x-rays, antibiotics, fluids injection, pepcid, keep her here for observation, take her home and observe her. I had opted for blood work, a pepcid and fluid injection, and then said that I wanted to take her home instead of leaving her here. I nixed antibiotics unless things got worse. Even though my dad's a (retired) pharmacist and drug salesman, there's something about "anti" (against) and "bio" (life) that makes me hold off, especially when prescribing them for a pint-sized cat. A STRONG and DETERMINED pint-sized cat who I was now trying to disentangle from my sweater - it was like getting unstuck from a briar patch - and get her back onto the table, into the hands of the "enemy" for her final 2 injections. Poor baby. By the time we made our way back home over bumpy roads which made her throw up again, Sofia was spent.
Sofia's a survivor. She's the only one of our 4 cats who is a true Vermonter. All of our cats are rescues and each one has their own "incredible journey" saga, but Sofia, while still very young, survived an entire Vermont winter outside. She and 14 of her brothers and sisters had been abandoned when their owners, a local family unable to keep up house payments, had been forced to leave them. Hearing of this, Richard had "adopted" 2 of the orphans, named them Sofia and Buster, and surprised me with the news. I was REALLY surprised when Buster sprayed our bedroom. Sofia acclimated well, but Buster was just too skittish and wild and we finally had to take him to an animal shelter where he was successfully re-socialized and found a new home. In fact, most of the other orphaned cats had similar good fortune.
Sofia is a runt, very small for her age, which is probably 3. We think she's probably inbred. Richard also thinks she's mentally retarded and has been heard to call out "Tardo!" with politically-incorrect glee when Sofia has one of her mercurial mood changes. But mentally challenged or no, we love her. She's magical and loving; lively and erratic; happy and grateful. Okay, I'm being a bit Disney here, endowing animals with human attributes, but so what, I'm nuts about her. I'm not quite as bad as Richard, though, who has dubbed Sofia - "Sofia Maria Christina." Now that's just too gay.
I monitored Sofia throughout the rest of the day after returning home yesterday. Her energy was definitely lower than usual, but her purrs were loud and content, and she seemed to enjoy curling up on my lap when I sat down on the floor beside her for a visit. No, I did not read to her. She did get sick a couple times, clear bile. And this morning, the mess she made upstairs made a call to the vets mandatory. They said to bring her in to the hospital and I told them that I would defer to whatever the doctor suggested, even the antibiotics. ("GIVE MY DAUGHTER THE SHOT!!!). I dropped her off and returned home to await the call, and when it came, the doctor sounded weary. She said that she had managed to get 1 x-ray taken and an antibiotic shot given before a combative Sofia would have no more of it and retreated to her sherpa lair, victorious and content. 2 white objects had shown up on the x-ray, 1 in the colon and 1 in either the stomach or the upper intestine. Another x-ray would have to be taken to get the exact location and size of the objects since the single one taken was not definitive. The doctor wanted to do a barium x-ray, but knew Sofia would not let her near her without being sedated, and if Sofia were sedated, she wouldn't be able to take the barium which has to be administered orally. She was at an impasse. So I volunteered to come in and give Sofia the barium myself.
It was good to see Sofia, frazzled as she was. It felt as if I hadn't seen her in ages even though it had only been only a couple hours tops since I dropped her off. We sat around and caught up, spent some quality time together. She told me she would pay me if I broke her out of this place (I talk fluent "cat"). I said that, unfortunately, I couldn't do that. She growled, but then, having gotten it out of her system, she forgave me. I cradled her back in my arm and eased the barium syringe into the side of her mouth for 5 chalky doses with slight pauses inbetween. She choked them down like a trooper. I had been told that the barium soothes cat's stomachs; I hoped so. After she got it all down, she was mum for awhile and lay on my lap, warming herself, and calming down. The doctor peeked in and was kind enough to extend visiting hours. Finally, back in the case Sofia went, and she was whisked away to her overnight accomodations. I can only hope there's a pool and jacuzzi.
After Sofia was gone, the doctor ushered me into another room to show me the x-ray and I almost shit. Those white glowing obstructions were HUGE. And they GLOWED.
"They're probably bones," the doctor explained. "Maybe a mouse. This one in the colon looks as if it's on its way out. The other we don't know until we see it from another direction. We also can't really tell the size until we get another perspective. It's surprising. It might be much smaller. Or larger. We'll take a look, observe her, x-ray her again in the morning and see if there's been any further movement."
'Okay' I thanked her, and began to leave.
"And thank you for coming in. She wouldn't have let me do that, no way. Your check will be at the front counter."
It's 8 pm now. I'm home. The other 3 cats are around me. It's quiet here; I'm waiting for Richard to get home from Hanover. The vets checked in about an hour ago with an update. Sofia's sedated, no temperature, comfortable, well, as comfortable as she can be with what she's been going through today. The obstruction in the colon is no problem and should work its way out; the other, though, is large and in the stomach. The barium didn't move it at all. So in the morning they'll feed her and if she's able to keep it down without throwing up, good; if not, if she does throw the food up, they may have to go in and take the obstruction out. The doctor hasn't made a decision yet.
"We didn't get enough blood," the doctor said, panting into the room a few moments later. She was untangling the long tube to the fluid bag she'd brought in the room with her. "Next time we try we'll have to sedate her, which I hate to do, but she just gets too traumatized by the experience."
I noticed her unfastening another needle for Sofia's fluid injection and thought 'Good luck.'
"I have to admit when you called this morning saying you were coming in, I was hoping it wasn't Sofia."
(Editorial reminder: She's a good cat!)
"Your other cats just take everything in stride, especially the black one."
'Astrid'
"Yes, Astrid. She just looks you in the eye like she's saying 'Just do what you have to do, I trust you."
'That sounds like Astrid,' I agreed. 'She's very maternal.'
The door opened and the assistant came in with Sofia. Her carrying case was open and when the assistant set it down on the table, Sofia crept out of the carrier and crawled up my sweater and as she did she fixed me with these large Velvet painting eyes that seemed to say "why did you even bring me here?!" She got to the side of my neck and clung to me with all her might. It was horrible; I felt like I'd betrayed her.
Earlier the doctor had done a quick physical examination of Sofia. She'd felt no obstruction or sign of discomfort in any particular area despite Sofia's continuous low growls throughout, but to be thorough she had suggested a whole slew of "next step" options, giving the pros and cons for each as she listed them - blood work, x-rays, "barium" x-rays, antibiotics, fluids injection, pepcid, keep her here for observation, take her home and observe her. I had opted for blood work, a pepcid and fluid injection, and then said that I wanted to take her home instead of leaving her here. I nixed antibiotics unless things got worse. Even though my dad's a (retired) pharmacist and drug salesman, there's something about "anti" (against) and "bio" (life) that makes me hold off, especially when prescribing them for a pint-sized cat. A STRONG and DETERMINED pint-sized cat who I was now trying to disentangle from my sweater - it was like getting unstuck from a briar patch - and get her back onto the table, into the hands of the "enemy" for her final 2 injections. Poor baby. By the time we made our way back home over bumpy roads which made her throw up again, Sofia was spent.
Sofia's a survivor. She's the only one of our 4 cats who is a true Vermonter. All of our cats are rescues and each one has their own "incredible journey" saga, but Sofia, while still very young, survived an entire Vermont winter outside. She and 14 of her brothers and sisters had been abandoned when their owners, a local family unable to keep up house payments, had been forced to leave them. Hearing of this, Richard had "adopted" 2 of the orphans, named them Sofia and Buster, and surprised me with the news. I was REALLY surprised when Buster sprayed our bedroom. Sofia acclimated well, but Buster was just too skittish and wild and we finally had to take him to an animal shelter where he was successfully re-socialized and found a new home. In fact, most of the other orphaned cats had similar good fortune.
Sofia is a runt, very small for her age, which is probably 3. We think she's probably inbred. Richard also thinks she's mentally retarded and has been heard to call out "Tardo!" with politically-incorrect glee when Sofia has one of her mercurial mood changes. But mentally challenged or no, we love her. She's magical and loving; lively and erratic; happy and grateful. Okay, I'm being a bit Disney here, endowing animals with human attributes, but so what, I'm nuts about her. I'm not quite as bad as Richard, though, who has dubbed Sofia - "Sofia Maria Christina." Now that's just too gay.
I monitored Sofia throughout the rest of the day after returning home yesterday. Her energy was definitely lower than usual, but her purrs were loud and content, and she seemed to enjoy curling up on my lap when I sat down on the floor beside her for a visit. No, I did not read to her. She did get sick a couple times, clear bile. And this morning, the mess she made upstairs made a call to the vets mandatory. They said to bring her in to the hospital and I told them that I would defer to whatever the doctor suggested, even the antibiotics. ("GIVE MY DAUGHTER THE SHOT!!!). I dropped her off and returned home to await the call, and when it came, the doctor sounded weary. She said that she had managed to get 1 x-ray taken and an antibiotic shot given before a combative Sofia would have no more of it and retreated to her sherpa lair, victorious and content. 2 white objects had shown up on the x-ray, 1 in the colon and 1 in either the stomach or the upper intestine. Another x-ray would have to be taken to get the exact location and size of the objects since the single one taken was not definitive. The doctor wanted to do a barium x-ray, but knew Sofia would not let her near her without being sedated, and if Sofia were sedated, she wouldn't be able to take the barium which has to be administered orally. She was at an impasse. So I volunteered to come in and give Sofia the barium myself.
It was good to see Sofia, frazzled as she was. It felt as if I hadn't seen her in ages even though it had only been only a couple hours tops since I dropped her off. We sat around and caught up, spent some quality time together. She told me she would pay me if I broke her out of this place (I talk fluent "cat"). I said that, unfortunately, I couldn't do that. She growled, but then, having gotten it out of her system, she forgave me. I cradled her back in my arm and eased the barium syringe into the side of her mouth for 5 chalky doses with slight pauses inbetween. She choked them down like a trooper. I had been told that the barium soothes cat's stomachs; I hoped so. After she got it all down, she was mum for awhile and lay on my lap, warming herself, and calming down. The doctor peeked in and was kind enough to extend visiting hours. Finally, back in the case Sofia went, and she was whisked away to her overnight accomodations. I can only hope there's a pool and jacuzzi.
After Sofia was gone, the doctor ushered me into another room to show me the x-ray and I almost shit. Those white glowing obstructions were HUGE. And they GLOWED.
"They're probably bones," the doctor explained. "Maybe a mouse. This one in the colon looks as if it's on its way out. The other we don't know until we see it from another direction. We also can't really tell the size until we get another perspective. It's surprising. It might be much smaller. Or larger. We'll take a look, observe her, x-ray her again in the morning and see if there's been any further movement."
'Okay' I thanked her, and began to leave.
"And thank you for coming in. She wouldn't have let me do that, no way. Your check will be at the front counter."
It's 8 pm now. I'm home. The other 3 cats are around me. It's quiet here; I'm waiting for Richard to get home from Hanover. The vets checked in about an hour ago with an update. Sofia's sedated, no temperature, comfortable, well, as comfortable as she can be with what she's been going through today. The obstruction in the colon is no problem and should work its way out; the other, though, is large and in the stomach. The barium didn't move it at all. So in the morning they'll feed her and if she's able to keep it down without throwing up, good; if not, if she does throw the food up, they may have to go in and take the obstruction out. The doctor hasn't made a decision yet.
And that's the way that is. (I sound like Walter Cronkite ... which really dates me.)
Tonight, think some good thoughts for a tough little girl.
Oh, and PS as I was driving home and saw some gorgeous new calves in amongst a herd of cattle I like checking out. And along the hillside of the family that has 2 beautiful brown goats are some babies!! What do you call baby goats? Kids? Billy goats? There were 3 of them, frolocking and lively, white and brown and black. Adorable.
Tonight, think some good thoughts for a tough little girl.
Oh, and PS as I was driving home and saw some gorgeous new calves in amongst a herd of cattle I like checking out. And along the hillside of the family that has 2 beautiful brown goats are some babies!! What do you call baby goats? Kids? Billy goats? There were 3 of them, frolocking and lively, white and brown and black. Adorable.
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