Especially when it comes so fast, and unexpectedly. AND, edited to say, when your cat is not even two years old.
We lost a good house cat today. As I detailed in the previous post, I woke at 5 AM to see him on the floor writhing in agony, three of his legs paralyzed. I was frightened and confused; he had been just fine the night before. Mr. Attitude and I were sitting on the couch reading books together, and Puffball was stretched out next to us, perfectly content. I commented how he looked like roadkill. I now regret that statement.
I called the local veterinarian and left a message. She called back a few minutes later; I described the symptoms, and she said it sounded like a blood clot where his main artery splits to his hind legs. She said to bring him in when her office opened; it was a serious condition but there was no immediate emergency treatment that could be done, except maybe give him a quarter of an aspirin if we had any. We didn't, not that it would have mattered.
I brought him into the living room where it was warmer, then later put him into a box lined with bath towels. By that time, his hind legs were stiff and cold, and he was unresponsive.
A quick check at the vet's confirmed the worst. The vet said she's never seen a cat survive that condition for any length of time. I tearfully consented to euthanasia. Watching him die was actually more peaceful than helplessly watching him suffer at home.
When the ground thaws, he will be buried alongside Lady and Annie, the dogs, Lilith the cat, and Topper the horse. We're getting way too much of a pet cemetery going here.
I sure miss him.
Puffball's genetic material lives on, however, in his son Blue Flame. Blue, because his eyes are the most gorgeous sky blue I've ever seen in a cat, and Flame, because he is a flame point Siamese. I have a feeling he will be a specially spoiled cat these next few days.