It's been a week since I brought Fuzzy home. So far, so good.
He's been urinating on his own. Sometimes it's only a spot as
small as a dime, but I'll take it. I never thought I would be so
happy to see cat urine.
Here's the before and after:
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This is who I took to the
hospital...
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...and this is who I brought home.
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They shaved him, and he lost about 4 pounds. You can see his ribs.
He looks so tiny and pathetic. The only parts still fully furred are
his head, tail, and paws. It gives him an oddly misshapen look, like
some sort of post modern Gumby figure, or a Bratz pet melted in a
microwave. When he's crouched at his food bowl, he looks like a
spoiled frozen chicken someone glued a cat head and tail on as a
joke. Sometimes from the side he looks like a huge rat wearing a cat
mask. Suddenly I'm living on the Island of Dr. Moreau.
Bringing him home this time was a totally different experience
from the previous, disastrous time. This time he came in and went
right over to his food bowl to eat, even though it was that new
prescribed food. He drank without any complaints. He's restricted his
peeing to his litterbox. (Last time, he tried going
everywhere. It's as if he thought, "Well, I can't do it over
here, maybe I can do it over there." He strained so hard, I saw blood
drip from him.) He isn't peeing very much at a time, but he is
able to go. His little bladder has remained little.
By Friday he was feeling good enough to claw the couch, good
enough, in fact, to finally rip the fabric. (I guess the hospital
stay induced SPLA: Scratching Post Location Amnesia.) By Saturday
night he was climbing into forbidden territories. I'm letting him get
away with murder, and he's taking full advantage of it.
Watching him prowl around the house, it's hard to believe that a
week and a half ago people were pushing for euthanasia.
The good news: He's not good as new, yet, but he's a lot better
than when this ordeal started. (I wish I could say the same for me!)
The could be better news: He's occasionally crying for no obvious
reason, and frequently after getting out of his litterbox he whimpers
as if the effort was painful. (That's just heartbreaking.) So, the
quest for the $2,000 for the surgery continues. I will get it
somehow. It's just a matter of trying everything I can think of till the goal is
reached.
Continued thanks for your support. Fuzzy couldn't have gotten this
far without you, JoeUser. Prayers and good thoughts
are still needed, and still appreciated far more than you could know.