Griffin

I have not had a pleasant week. My youngest cat Griffin (he's 14 this summer) had a so-so week that got progressively worse. By Tuesday, he was eating small bites twice a day (he can usually polish a can of food in a day) and sleeping, waking only to have a dry heave attack or two, drink some water, and go back to sleep. By Thursday night, he stopped eating altogether.

Friday, June 19th, all he did was vomit. Food did not interest him and what little water he drank unfortunately came back up. I spent much of Friday night and Saturday morning awake, in tears, trying to get him to eat, watching him stare at me with his sad eyes hoping that I would figure out what was wrong with him. I slept downstairs, just to be near him because he had lost all desire to be social. By 8 a.m., Saturday morning, I resolved to take him to the vet. I tried to get an appointment with his regular vet but they were booked solid. So, I called an emergency hospital, showered and dressed, picked up Griffin (who seemed to weigh so much less than he did a week ago), put him in his carrier, and drove into Issaquah.

Spent the next three hours waiting while they ran all sorts of tests (CBC's, urinalysis, X-ray, etc.), whereupon the attending vet told me that there was a "soft tissue mass" around his stomach/intestines. "This could be anything from inflammatory bowel disease to pancreatitis to cancer." Of course, all I heard was "Griffin has inoperable cancer!" She wanted to keep him overnight, perform a procedure called an endoscopy, and perhaps do some exploratory surgery. I was adamant; I wanted to take him home. If my boy was nearing the end of his life, he was going to spend as much time of it where he always has = at home with me, my sister, and Sabine.

So, they pumped saline under his skin (giving him a floppy appearance), injected some anti-nausea meds into him to keep him from vomiting, gave me a couple of cans of prescription cat food and sent me and my kitty on our merry way. Of course, I get home, let Griffin out of his carrier and he rushes over to his food bowl, downs everything within, and then begs for more. (I complied.)

And, in my selfishness, all I could think is that I am not ready to lose him. Griffin and Sabine have been fixtures in my life since 1994 (Sabine is a year older than Griffin). Sabine has been moved from San Gabriel to Aliso Viejo to Issaquah to Maple Valley! She's like my rock. She's solid... Solid as Barack! Whenever Sabine is feeling under the weather, she will stop eating, drink some water, sleep all day and everything clears up by morning.

Griffin has been my like my baby. He sleeps on my feet in winter, sits on my ample bosom whenever I try to read on the sofa (because he wants to be a part of things, too), and watches me bathe sitting on the edge of the tub. Sometimes he even samples the warm bath water. And yes, he does have a fascination with bubbles. He also runs when I call him, his big blue eyes conveying a trust and devotion that I am not worthy of. I have often said that I strive to be the kind of person my cats think I am.

And I'm not ready to say goodbye to either of them. The question is will I be strong enough to say goodbye when they need me to? Because it is coming... maybe not tomorrow or this month or this year but it's down the road. I honestly don't know if I am strong enough. I have been in the past (fifteen years ago). Maybe I will be again.

But for now, I am going to continue pushing the steroids and monitor Griffin's intake and output, hoping that it is only inflammatory bowel disease and not something more serious. (The endoscopy will give us a better clue, of course.) One vet told me Griffin could live to be 20. I would love six more years with both of them. But no amount of time would ever be enough. No matter how much time, it's never enough. So, take advantage of it. I'm off to rub Griffin's belly as he basks in the sunshine of my bathroom.