Four days ago my boyfriend woke me up to tell me the worst thing I could imagine. My cat was struggling to breathe. I know many people will read that line and think, "It's just a cat" or "It could be worse, could have been a person". Both of theses are true but she was so much more than a pet to me.
A week and a half earlier I had come home from work to find her breathing heavily as though she were trying to get rid of a hairball. She settled and so I didn't think much of it until she began doing it again a few hours later. When we took her to the ER Vet clinic they found a large amount of fluid in her chest. It was compressing her lungs and her heart causing the pain and difficulty we had observed. They were able to sedate her and withdraw the fluid but there were questions that remained. Would it come back? Why did it accumulate in the first place? Was my sweet kitty going to be ok?
We brought her home and for the first few days she sulked and avoided us and the other cats. Her anti-social mood was not completely unnatural for her but it still concerned me. Eventually she forgave us. She rejoined the family as we watched tv. She slept next to me at night. She would even take the time to make sure the other cats still saw her as the dominant force. My baby was back to normal.
That feeling was short-lived. Six days after bringing her home she again retreated to quiet rooms like the office or the closest to separate herself from the rest of us. She was still eating and drinking, she did everything a regular cat does but there was just something different about her. Our regular vet told us Friday that the fluid may already be coming back and that we should keep a close eye on her. After work we checked on her but nothing had changed, good or bad. She was just still hiding away.
Saturday I spent time helping a friend with a craft project and when I got home she was in the office. I couldn't be sure if I was imagining it but she seemed a little weaker. I couldn't get that thought out of my head. I kept getting up all night to go check on her in the office. I laid with her, I pet her and told her I was there. I would periodically try to go to bed but I just couldn't sleep. Finally when I went to bed close to six in the morning she came in with me. She jumped up on the nightstand the way she used to and when I was lying down she crawled up next to me and purred. That is what finally put me to sleep.
A couple hours later my boyfriend woke me to tell me she wasn't doing well. We again rushed her to the vet but I knew what the prognosis would be. At 9:45am my beautiful baby girl passed away in my arms. She was my PTSD therapy animal, my loving family member, and the true love of my life. I have never had a bond like I did with her and now she is my guardian angel. The last day she felt like herself and I was writing I managed to get almost six thousand words down. I haven't written a word since. My heart is broken. She was my muse and my comfort. My heart goes out to all the fur baby muses of my fellow writers. They are our purest joy. I miss you baby girl, I love you.
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