Mom called me today to tell me that Paco was really not doing well. He is horribly thin, mostly unresponsive, and won't blink. He won't even track with his eyes, I think he's blind. He has a terrible time with his balance, won't eat and won't drink. Mom thinks he won't last the night, and we have an appointment with the vet to euthanize him tomorrow anyway. I miss him already.
My cat Paco, from whom I constructed the screen name I usually go by, has a large build-up of fluids in his abdomen. The fluid is being tested, but the vet says that only happens for cancer or heart failure.
| Puccini and window |
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Some time yesterday, our cat Puccini suffered a major stroke which appears to have disabled her ability to use her rear legs effectively. This follows prolonged kidney trouble and some dehydration issues, and is not really unexpected; it’s still unpleasant. Mom is having her put down tomorrow; I got to see her tonight, and while she’s aware of the world her quality of life is not really particularly good. Mom has been dreading having to make this decision, but the stroke made more than half of it for her.
Puccini was a common photographic subject of mine for a while. She has always been fairly regal and aloof, which made for an entertaining contrast with her sometimes desperate need for attention and affection.
As near as I can tell, she was born sometime in 1988, and we got her in 1991. 20 years is off the charts for cat life expectancy; it’s in the same league as a 110 year old man. She’s had a good run, but I still don’t like thinking about her not being around when I come home.
Addendum: when Mom went to the vet to have her put down, apparently the vet said the heart murmur they found earlier was much louder and may have contributed to the whole problem. Basically it was her time.
 Puccini sleeping |
