So to continue my story, everyone wants to unravel mysteries. They have to know the how, where, when, why I am on that fluffy pink cloud drifting around in Pet Heaven. I can only report on what I know, any other details must come through Higher Authority that I am NOT privy to.
All I remember the day before the pain struck, it was business as usual. I ate, I went out into the dark of the night, came in and Charlie and I slept in the basement on the big couch, with the Disney World blanket, the one that Momma is continually brushing down because of the gobs of fur that Charlie expels, like the breath of all living creatures. Sometime, somewhere this excruciating pain began, nothing like this 12-year-old cat ever felt before.
Now some would say, that is young for a cat to get sick to die, but not for a feral. All of Momma’s rescue felines died at 10 years or younger. She bragged about how long I had lived. But apparently this was where the rubber hit the road. I suddenly felt dizzy, rolled off the couch in the basement, crawled along in the direction of the stair case, hoping to be able to make it up to Momma. Too weak to carry on, I flopped over in front of some boxes. The next day, poor Charlie tried to alert Momma by limping up and down the stairs the staircase, even stepping into the kitchen, looking at Momma with worried eyes but Momma’s radar was down, her GPS tracker was out of commission.
As the sun fell and darkness descended and I did not come upstairs to ask for food, or to go out into the night, Momma started to wonder. She flipped on the basement light, went downstairs and there I was in plain sight, my head facing a box. As soon as I heard her, I started meowing plaintively. ‘Help Momma, help, put me out of this misery.’ Momma understood that cry. One time in the Emergency Room, she asked a nurse to hit her over the head with a two by four because the pain was so excruciating but the staff wouldn’t. Apparently it is not listed as a chargeable service in our Government run Health Care System .
Momma ran upstairs, calling for Wonder Boy who came down to the basement and confirmed her prognosis – whatever I had, it was not good and somehow, somewhere I needed the intervention of the Two Footed good critters.
The carrying case was brought forth, Wonder Boy gently put me in on the sheep skin padding, latched the door shut (hey, at this point, I wasn’t going anywhere on my own four paws) as Momma found the number and location of an After Hours Vet Clinic – you know, where clients are at their mercy and pay sometimes double for their services.
As soon as we arrived, Wonder Boy told the Receptionist, ‘We have got a dying cat here.’ Nevertheless, I was taken in to a room for a ‘vet consultation.’ Within a few minutes Wonder Boy and Momma were invited in to receive my prognosis – not good. My heart and liver were shutting down. Should they do some tests even knowing that long-term, this was not going to be a comeback miracle. Immediately Wonder Boy said, ‘No intervention, give her the dignity she lived with, just stop the pain.’
I was carried in to another room, an awesome little knit sleeve put on my tiny paw where the injection would be made. Momma and Wonder Boy stroked me and told me I was a good little brave Mandu Cat and where I was headed for there was no more pain. The next thing I knew a fluffy pink cloud floated towards me (see, there are blue ones for the boys) and I leaped on it. The panoramic view I have is ‘ to die for‘ but you have to wait till you get here to know the whole story.
So, when I left earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey ‘our Kingdom come’ 24/7. I am watching you, as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me.
PS: As my spirit passed, I was greatly amused when I heard the vet go over the charges for services rendered and Wonder Boy hit the nail on the head. The vet said, ‘$125 for consultation, $85 Cremation, $300 to euthanize.’ Quick as a whip Wonder Boy asked, ‘What consultation? We came in, I said, we have a dying cat here, no one had to consult to tell us that.’ The Vet had to admit Wonder Boy had a point so the Consultation ended up costing $75. instead of $125. plus HST taxes of course so that the federal and provincial government could benefit from my misfortune.
PPS: Although there is some mystery surrounding the circumstances I still have not met up with Mao Cat up here in Pet Heaven. You suppose she is in that Catholic Kitty Purgatory all those Protestants Cats don’t believe exist. I am keeping my eye out for her.
