Last week, there was a period of several hours when my cat, Harry “The Highlander,” acted in a manner most uncharacteristic of his normal behavior. It passed, and I forgot about it until this past Thursday, when he stopped eating and drinking, chose to sleep all day instead of exploring his territory outside, and rejected T-U-N-A. Chiropractic adjustments seemed to have no effect, though it had in the past. The tuna clinched it, and I took him to the vet after having no evidence of litter box use, after 24 hours.
Dr. Tzvi, the vet, immediately ran a battery of tests, took blood, and gave Harry an IV drip to deal with his dehydration. Every twenty minutes or so, Dr. Tzvi would check out the lifeless lump that used to be my very active and verbal cat, shake his head and say to me, “This is not good at all.” And yet, he refused to elaborate until all the data came in. Having been raised in the Jewish/Polish mother model, I was not supposed to freak out, hah!
The short version of the story: “most probably” a parasitic infection that is causing severe anemia and break down of his blood cells. If I had not brought him in for an exam and intervention, he “probably” would have died over the weekend. Then the vet casually mentioned cancer and FIV as alternative diagnoses, if no improvement appeared within the next four days.
The good news: the very same day, after receiving the IV plus antibiotics and steroids to avoid RBC break-down, Harry started to get ornery, used the litter box, and tried to eat something. Today, one day later, he is more active and asking to go outside; which he can’t until his 21-day course of antibiotics is completed.
When I told my mother about the stress this caused me, she did not hide her feelings. There is some part of her that fears that I am falling into the Crazy Cat Lady stereotype, and that having a cat means I will die alone and single. Her immediate response to my sadness was, “Oh well, your cat is dying. Pets die you know.” Thanks for the sympathy and support, Mom, all the more surprising because she grew up all her life with cats as pets.
The aspect of this episode that continues to bother me concerns the overly clinical (though professional) approach my feelings and fears. Never mind the fact that I am paying the veterinarian’s bill, as Harry does not earn money at the moment, even when helping me in my clinic. Pets, as with children, reflect the environment created by the parents, in their home. Animal shrinks actually provide therapy for the owner of the cat or dog who is peeing on the carpet or destroying furniture, as the animals themselves cannot communicate their angst in English. I simply wish that Dr. Tzvi had exhibited a better bedside manner towards the human in the equation.
As we say here in Israel, may Harry live in health to 120!
Dr. Leah Leeder
Commonwealth Chiropractic Jerusalem
www.commchiro.com
It’s your future, be there healthy.
I said, turn the page!