Cat Woman
I swore that I would not be That Kind of Pet owner. Not just not the kind who talks baby talk and refers to myself as "mommy" to my "baby," but not the kind of pet owner who took extreme measures to preserve the life of an animal which has a short life span and is easily replaceable. I don't mean that cavalierly, but in reality, there are millions of unwanted cats and dogs put to sleep every year, so part of my pet health philosophy has been that I will give my pets a happy and healthy life (without letting them sleep with me or lick my plate or get called 'baby') and when their health declines, I will have them put to sleep humanely, and replace them with what would be an unwanted pet so I can repeat the cycle.
And then Jake got diabetes. And Jake isn't really my cat, he's Mary's cat.
I once had a vet (who I stopped seeing after this particular visit) who tried to talk me into getting some procedure done for my ancient shih tzu Maggie. "She can't advocate for herself, so I have to," he said. That really pissed me off. Who loved Maggie more than me? No one. I paid my bill, left his office, and never went back. Maggie lived another seven years without his stupid procedure.
Unlike having a greedy little vet advocate for him, Jake enlisted Mary's help. And hers are not hollow pleas of mercy, hers are research about the cost of insulin and pledges to help with his twice daily insulin shots. She recruited the neighbor, who is our usual cat sitter. Between them they convinced me that they, that we, could and should treat Jake's diabetes with insulin.
He's lost almost six pounds in the last two months. His bony hips sway as he makes his way to the extra water dish we set out. His litter box use is out of control and affecting the other cat's use of the litter box. Jake's meows pitifully as he hangs slackly in Mary's arms as she frets about his weight.
We tried modifying his diet, but he has continued to lose weight. His dandruff, aggravated by the diabetes, became too much for him to handle and Mary groomed him regularly.
So I found myself at the vet's office with Mary and her friend the cat sitter. The cat sitter is essential, because with this decision, we now have a cat who needs medical treatment every twelve hours. So we all learned how to inject insulin into the cat. We practiced with saline. Jake lay mutely on the table as we stuck him over and over. (He is the sweetest and most patient cat I have ever known - another point in his favor. I would not consider sticking Paco the Cat with a needle twice a day.) The practice and information became too much for the cat sitter and she had to go lie down because she felt faint.
"Are you going to be ok doing this when we're out of town?" I asked.
"I will if I have to to help Jake," the little fourteen year old girl said earnestly.
I am surrounded by advocates for this cat and somehow I have convinced myself that twelve hour insulin injections for a cat somehow make sense.
The vet is ok with any decision that I make. She made that clear when she diagnosed him. That's why I trust her and why I continue to take the pets there.
The receptionist referred to me as "Jake's Mommy" when we checked in and I did not correct her. I think that's ok as long as I don't refer to myself as mommy, right? Sigh.
Good grief. There's cat insulin and a syringe in my frig. Who am I if not Cat Woman?
And then Jake got diabetes. And Jake isn't really my cat, he's Mary's cat.
I once had a vet (who I stopped seeing after this particular visit) who tried to talk me into getting some procedure done for my ancient shih tzu Maggie. "She can't advocate for herself, so I have to," he said. That really pissed me off. Who loved Maggie more than me? No one. I paid my bill, left his office, and never went back. Maggie lived another seven years without his stupid procedure.
Unlike having a greedy little vet advocate for him, Jake enlisted Mary's help. And hers are not hollow pleas of mercy, hers are research about the cost of insulin and pledges to help with his twice daily insulin shots. She recruited the neighbor, who is our usual cat sitter. Between them they convinced me that they, that we, could and should treat Jake's diabetes with insulin.
He's lost almost six pounds in the last two months. His bony hips sway as he makes his way to the extra water dish we set out. His litter box use is out of control and affecting the other cat's use of the litter box. Jake's meows pitifully as he hangs slackly in Mary's arms as she frets about his weight.
We tried modifying his diet, but he has continued to lose weight. His dandruff, aggravated by the diabetes, became too much for him to handle and Mary groomed him regularly.
So I found myself at the vet's office with Mary and her friend the cat sitter. The cat sitter is essential, because with this decision, we now have a cat who needs medical treatment every twelve hours. So we all learned how to inject insulin into the cat. We practiced with saline. Jake lay mutely on the table as we stuck him over and over. (He is the sweetest and most patient cat I have ever known - another point in his favor. I would not consider sticking Paco the Cat with a needle twice a day.) The practice and information became too much for the cat sitter and she had to go lie down because she felt faint.
"Are you going to be ok doing this when we're out of town?" I asked.
"I will if I have to to help Jake," the little fourteen year old girl said earnestly.
I am surrounded by advocates for this cat and somehow I have convinced myself that twelve hour insulin injections for a cat somehow make sense.
The vet is ok with any decision that I make. She made that clear when she diagnosed him. That's why I trust her and why I continue to take the pets there.
The receptionist referred to me as "Jake's Mommy" when we checked in and I did not correct her. I think that's ok as long as I don't refer to myself as mommy, right? Sigh.
Good grief. There's cat insulin and a syringe in my frig. Who am I if not Cat Woman?
posted by Lea at 7:59 PM
2 Comments:
You're a good pet owner either way. When we adopted Marbles (he was 12), we told ourselves that he might not live a heck of a lot longer, but at least his last few years would be very happy, if we had anything to say about it.
And now? I dunno...we cried when we were leaving him for two weeks on vacation (we had a cat sitter). We love this cat more than I ever thiought we would or could. It's really strange.
Pet ownership is messy.
You are a cat mommy. There's no shame in that.
We decided on dogs as we are just not cat people. One by one they wiggled and squirm their way into our hearts and the next thing you know, I'm calling my husband 'daddy' when I talk to the damn dog. It seems normal to me now.
However, I am with you on the extensive life-saving measures. I would probably not give my dogs insulin. Unless Mary came to me and begged that is. :)
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