Never Say Never

My friend Miranda recently had to put her cat down.

It was a very difficult decision for her, I know, and an emotional one for me also. Miranda got her kitty the same day I got Puck, from the same pet store, and for the first year we raised them together, in the same third floor apartment.

But her kitty had many many health issues. I'm not sure what they all were, but there was always something. The cat had problems with his kidney disease and his thyroid. I remembered thinking about how much Miranda was doing for her cat, the time and the expense, and I told myself I would never be able to do anything like that. I mean, who gives their cats injections? You'd have to be a little crazy. It's a cat.

Ahem.

So, recently Puck has started acting like a lunatic. I'm not sure when it started, exactly, but one day Steve commented on how Puck was always on the counter, always knocking things to the floor, always underfoot or sticking his head into used dishes. Puck has never been a very agressive cat, and even though he would do all of these things on occasion, he was now doing them ALL THE TIME, and not even trying to be sneaky about it anymore. When I was cooking I couldn't measure yogurt or milk out ahead of time. I couldn't place butter on the counter. I couldn't put the meat out and then rush to the bathroom while the pan heated. Puck would be there when I turned around, nibbling or licking or sniffing as if he was just about to. When I shooed him away, he didn't run out of the room, he'd scamper around under my feet, trying to kill me.

Death by cat.

He was also looking funny. He wasn't the fat puffy thing he used to be. His coat was scraggly. It was uneven because in August I cut clumps of matted fur off and it just never grew back. He started collecting ticks, despite the frontline I administered each month, and the sores he got from scratching around his neck never healed. He had sores on his tail covered by matted fur. His bones were sticking through his skin - something you had to pet him to feel, due to his long fur. He also had permanent pink around his ears from repeatedly sticking his head into empty jars of pasta sauce.

So I took him to the vet.

They ran tests.

I took him back to the vet.

They did some more tests.

And then the vet confirmed it.

Puck is diabetic.

Diabetes in cats is treated with insulin injections twice a day. Very very tiny amounts on insulin. Administered with a very very shard needle. By me. And you have to be careful, because if you don't give enough, then the job isn't getting done and the cat will keep getting sick and eventually die. But if you give too much the cat will go into insulin shock, he'll DIE. The vet actually told me what to do if the cat seems drunk - Karo syrup. If he's unconscious, I get to rub it on his gums.

Aside from the injections, Puck is still on thyroid meds. He also gets a new diet of perscription (expensive) cat food. The vet recommends wet food. Which smells. Frank loves the wet food. Unfortunately, the food isn't for him. I'm probably going to have to start him on wet food, too, just to even things out.

All in all, this is presently causing a lot of upheaval. I'm putting a lot of energy into caring for my pets right now. More than I want to. And I know things will get easier, and this may even become second nature, but still. Ugh.

I know I rolled my eyes when people would talk about doing these things for their pets. I still do, even though I'm one of them (the people, not the pets). It's just crazy to do these things, to take these measures, to spend this much time and effort and money and stress on a pet! It's just... better than the alternative. Right? My Lord, we must all be insane.