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Aug. 18th, 2004 06:54 pmSo we got home day before yesterday, pretty late, and Chris's cat Fozzy was acting fairly listless. We didn't count it as any big deal-- figured it was just a Cat Mood due to our being gone for over a week.
Well, I got up the next morning and nearly tripped over him in the bathroom, and he almost scared me to pieces; he looked dead. I carefully picked him up, and he was completely limp and seemed to be having difficulty breathing. So Chris and I took him out to the vet (he lay still in my arms as we got him into the truck, which was a definite bad sign, Fozzy was well aware that truck = vet) and she examined him and told us that he had a blocked urethra, which prevented him from going to the bathroom-- basically, the human equivalent is kidney stones-- and that she'd have to operate right away, and even if she did do that he might not make it.
He didn't make it.
He died yesterday less than two hours after we brought him in. Chris thought that the vet had his cell phone, but she only had his home phone number, and since he was at work most of the day . . . yeah. So we found out this morning right after I got off work. We chose to bury him instead of having him cremated.
He was only three years old. Chris's other cat, Daisy, doesn't seem to have any idea what's going on right now. Guess time'll tell if she shows signs of missing him.
Oy. So that was a lovely way to start the morning. I promise tomorrow I'll have something cheerful to post-- or at least something nice and ranty instead of depressing. Meh.
Well, I got up the next morning and nearly tripped over him in the bathroom, and he almost scared me to pieces; he looked dead. I carefully picked him up, and he was completely limp and seemed to be having difficulty breathing. So Chris and I took him out to the vet (he lay still in my arms as we got him into the truck, which was a definite bad sign, Fozzy was well aware that truck = vet) and she examined him and told us that he had a blocked urethra, which prevented him from going to the bathroom-- basically, the human equivalent is kidney stones-- and that she'd have to operate right away, and even if she did do that he might not make it.
He didn't make it.
He died yesterday less than two hours after we brought him in. Chris thought that the vet had his cell phone, but she only had his home phone number, and since he was at work most of the day . . . yeah. So we found out this morning right after I got off work. We chose to bury him instead of having him cremated.
He was only three years old. Chris's other cat, Daisy, doesn't seem to have any idea what's going on right now. Guess time'll tell if she shows signs of missing him.
Oy. So that was a lovely way to start the morning. I promise tomorrow I'll have something cheerful to post-- or at least something nice and ranty instead of depressing. Meh.
