Well, I suppose I can’t say that life with Door isn’t an adventure. Though perhaps not in the way one might think. Or want.
By Monday, Door’s litterbox issues weren’t improving, so I bundled him up and we headed to the vet a day early to get him checked out. Dr. M. looked him over and we decided to treat the most likely culprit for his icky poo. He went home with some pill fragments and a liquid dewormer, to be taken for the next few days. If I didn’t see improvement, we’d try something else. If he got worse, I should bring him back immediately.
Monday night he was exhausted. I chalked most of that up to the general angst of going to the vet, plus the fact that he’d pulled an escape artist act and spent much of the overnight roaming the place with AllCats. He’d had a playdate with his Aunt S., too, so when he tuckered out in my lap and went to sleep it didn’t seem too strange.
By Tuesday evening, though, he was decidedly weird. He didn’t really want to play, and even rebuffed AllCats when she came over to check him out. He ate well, but seemed uncomfortable anytime he was moving around. He sat stiffly and moved slowly. When he fell asleep on my chest, I could feel the radiant heat on my face and neck. Wednesday morning I called the vet back and took him in for observation.
This time, it wasn’t as casual. He was running a fever and, once he was at the vet’s, refusing to eat. They pumped him full of antibiotics and fluids, and kept a close watch over him all day. I got several calls from the vet and got little to no work done, what with all the worrying. By 5 p.m., things hadn’t improved and even the vet was glum. His fever was still climbing, well into dangerous territory. We weighed on the one hand his needing to rest and be still; but on the other, he was refusing to eat while incarcerated. She opted to send him home overnight, in the hopes he’d get some grub on.
So Door came home, weak and pathetic and overheated as he was. He wouldn’t play. He cried and curled up against me, only to fall asleep and whimper with fevered kitty dreams. It was awful.
Around 9:30 or so, I fed him (the one positive being that he was eating just fine–gobbling even) and put him down for a nap in the quiet of the guest room. While he slept, I puttered around the house, listening for any sound of stirring. About an hour later, I heard the delicate jingle of his collar, so I opened the door.
He shot out like he was fired from a cannon. He made a beeline down the hall to find AllCats, and–though he wasn’t quite as enthuastic or energetic as before, there was certainly a huge difference from just an hour before. It was unreal.
We’re still not sure what happened, or what was (is?) wrong. Best the vet can figure from his test results and reactions is that he has some sort of infection–probably not respiratory (since he wasn’t snotty or sneezy), but possibly gastrointestinal in nature–and we simply had to wait until the drugs kicked in.
Which drugs? We don’t know. Thus Door is on an exhausting regimen that includes five daily doses of various potions and pills. Not his favorite thing. But I’m happy to do it if it means he’ll be well again soon.
After all this, of course, he still is having poop issues. Until he’s off antibiotics, it’s to be expected. Unless he’s losing weight (or not gaining weight, as kittens should), it’s probably ok for now. And, frankly, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal anymore.
However, the amount of money it took to fix door? Oif, that was a big deal. Sheesh. He better be one awesome cat.
Aye, what a week.