UPDATE: Pink died this evening (Sept. 6). For more information, please read this blog post.
After revealing Pink’s new svelt figure last week, she took a sudden and stunning turn for the worse.
Her appetite quickly slowed, and she withdrew. Instead of holding court atop her cat tree, Pink hid in the basement. And she didn’t move a whisker when I almost stepped on her.
When she did surface, her affect was flat. No expression in those sweet green eyes.
A couple days ago there was the projectile vomiting in the kitchen.
Then she flat out stopped eating.
I rushed her to the vet this morning. In the last two months Pink has lost more than 2 pounds, which is a lot for a cat. Honestly, we praised the weight loss at first, since we were trying to slim her down. Then it didn’t make sense. This morning, her hips were jutting out from beneath her mussed up black fur. Matt dropped a cat treat in front of her. She lowered her head, and swayed back and forth trying to find it.
The vet said she was in bad shape. Severely dehydrated. Since the onset was so sudden, she was guessing her kidneys may have shut down or she could have a liver problem. Either way, she said Pink is very sick.
She suggested hospitalizing her overnight, but since her hospital doesn’t have an overnight staff she thought we might bring her home with us.
The vet wasn’t sure if Pink will make it through the night.
She ordered blood work, a chemical panel … a bunch of tests I can’t remember. She gave Pink IV fluids and an anti-nausea shot in hopes of bringing comfort.
The test results will be in by 11 a.m. Thursday.
We brought Pink home, and squeezed the juice from a can of albacore tuna into a bowl. Pink struggled to get up, then gratefully took a few laps. Then we put a few chunks into a bowl, and she licked them but didn’t eat. We passed the tuna on to Lexie, who gobbled it down. (As an aside, the vet said Lex was in amazing shape compared to the last time she was there. We attributed it to the new medication regimen and the human food we now share with her at mealtime.)
The irony of worrying about losing Lexie while Pink is slipping away is not lost on me. Death is cruel and unpredictable. As we waited for the vet to return to our room, Matt asked out loud: “Could you imagine us going from a three pet family down to one?”
Sadly, I have no room to ponder his as a rhetorical.
Now Pink sleeps atop a thin pile of leave bags on the kitchen floor. Charlie has kept close tabs on her, often curling up by her side, silently watching as she sleeps.
Sleep well, baby girl.
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