Habanero

Yesterday we took Habanero to the vet. He hasn’t been feeling well for a few days. Think of the most fun you had in the past week. The part where you were laughing so hard you couldn’t stop, but it was okay because you didn’t want to. Do you have that picture in your mind? Okay. I had more fun than you, hauling Habanero and Paul through a bus, a subway train, another subway train, then another bus. Especially the part where whenever Habanero opened his mouth the people around me cringed away, because he has terrible teeth and gum problems and smells awful. I haven’t asked anyone if that’s what I smelled like just before I got my dentures, because I don’t want to know.

Habanero is an old man. He’s twelve now, and the vet said that he was severely dehydrated and needed to stay overnight, maybe even two nights, just to be rehydrated. I felt terrible. Jay and Cilantro died of a disease that the vets couldn’t help with at all. Anita and Claire died because we were unbelievably, irredeemably stupid and put flea powder from Wal-Mart on their little damaged bodies. And now I’m wondering if the vet in the big city could have helped them. The local country vet couldn’t, but maybe I should have tried harder.

I just feel so sad and full of regrets that I didn’t do more for them. And now to find out that Habanero - who seemed just sick - was at death’s door is doubly hard. The vet assured me that cats hide their sickness as long as they can, that it’s an instinct, because predators always go after the sick animals in the herd, and that he sees this all the time. It didn’t really help.

Yesterday when we got home Shelly came over and wanted to be picked up. I don’t think I put her back down for another hour. Todd says that he thinks the dog he had as a boy was reincarnated in Shelly’s body, and I’m inclined to believe it. She always seems to know when Todd and I are in physical pain, or feeling sad, and she’s always there to help.

I called to find out how Habanero was doing last night. They said that he has an IV and he’s gradually getting rehydrated, and that the blood tests came back with evidence of kidney damage. The kidneys are supposed to be excreting, but instead everything is backed up in there. They’re going to flush him out, which will give him some relief.

I don’t know what the long-term prognosis is. I don’t know if he has another five years, or if this is only a temporary measure that will give him a month at the most. I have never believed in “putting a cat to sleep”. Claire and I spent her last evening together, and she died that night. Anita went off by herself for two days, then came home and died. I think both of those endings were better than a sterile vet’s office and a needle.