The Blog Pound

Sunday, September 14, 2008 , early morning

Pinto at peace

As I posted on Friday, we were taking Pinto to the vet for an upper respiratory infection and general malaise. He’d been off both food and water since Thursday, and I didn’t want to leave it too long because he was a bit skinny. At the vet’s office he was surprisingly attentive and energetic in exploring the office and sitting with us, and during the car ride he sat up and looked out the windows. The checkup itself was inconclusive—normal temp, normal heartrate—so we just came home with the antibiotics in the hopes that when he could smell properly, he’d start to eat again.

When we brought him home, he immediately turned into “exhausted Pinto”, flopping out on the carpet and not moving. I gave him his pill and some nose drops, and then came back to gently force feed him about a tablespoon of A/D. He liked the food and was licking his lips, but needed me to put it on the roof of his mouth before he’d make the effort to swallow it. I also decided to give him some subq saline, in light of the fact he hadn’t been drinking, and that seemed to perk him up substantially. I felt a lot better about his condition when I left the room, but he was still weak enough that I lifted him up and placed him in a nice puffy bed and put him in a quiet spot under my desk so he could get some rest. My plan was to return in 4 to 6 hours to give him some more food and fluids.

Shockingly (and sadly), when I opened the door to the room six hours later I could see Pinto was in the exact place I had left him. I called him a couple of times but received no response, and I just couldn’t see any movement. So, I went over to touch him, and he was in rigor mortis and long gone. I cried, of course… cried that he died alone, cried that I perhaps should have insisted on blood work at the vet, and just cried because his former owners sucked and left him in lousy condition which led to a relatively short life. I like to think that he was happy during the nine months he spent with us, but I know he was frightened and confused for a few of them, and he only seemed to enjoy my company and to look forward to seeing me as of a few months ago. The atheist in me hopes there is a special place in hell for people who dump their senior cats at animal control because they’re an inconvenience.

I took Pinto’s body to the vet’s office early this morning so they could arrange to have him cremated. I doubt there will be a necropsy because the vet who treated him won’t be back in the office until Tuesday, but I would like to know what went wrong. The one very visible symptom Pinto had, other than the runny nose, was a terrible case of dental disease which caused his canine teeth to ooze pus. However, they didn’t seem to cause him pain, didn’t impede his eating of hard or soft food, and he didn’t have any infections causing a raised temperature, so no septicemia. I wanted to have his teeth pulled (this was the first time we’d been told he had more than just standard “dirty teeth”), but felt it was best to clear up his URI before attempting surgery. I wondered about a urinary blockage, but the vet didn’t mention him having a full bladder, and he didn’t act like he was in pain (nor did he act oddly around the litterbox). I’d have to think that sudden and complete renal failure could be a suspect, although I don’t know why a vet wouldn’t catch that. He didn’t vomit, didn’t have diarrhea, didn’t pant, was active up until a week and a half ago, and always had great litterbox habits. He was “old” (probably around 14 or 15), but he was in great condition until our air conditioning failed and then it was all downhill.

I feel increasingly sick about our lack of money. When we started to do rescue we had plenty of money and price was no object. Now that our finances are non-existent, our vet lets us run a big tab, but also tends to suggest the most conservative treatments and in this case, Pinto might have been saved by aggressive blood work and at least one or two overnight clinic stays. I know we could have done better by him at the very end, but I also hope that was counterbalanced by the excellent diet he ate during his time with us, and the affection he received from us. He had to have known that we loved him, and I know he trusted us. The one thing I feel I can guarantee is that he had a better death here than he would have had at animal control, 9 months ago. Goodbye, Beanie Boy #1… we’ll take good care of your brother!