Loki
Update below!
My wife and I got married in 1999. In 2000 or so, our little family grew by 1. We got a new kitten, named Loki. That's about the earliest picture of him that I can easily get to right now.
Loki was my cat. That fall, when we got him, I got a nasty sinus infection. I was up all night coughing feeling miserable and keeping Amy awake. So I slept in another room, where Loki, as a young kitten, was recuperating from his own vet trips for neutering and declawing. He curled up beside me, and we both felt miserable together. Ever since then, whenever I've been sick, I've always noticed that Loki will end up laying beside me. He's always been my cat.
Loki isn't dead. But he is dying. He has kidney failure, and this weekend, it seems as though it's kicked into overdrive. He's sluggish. He's lethargic. He eats and drinks still, but it's pretty clear that he's losing this fight. We've known that he couldn't win, and it's about time for us to let him go. Nicodemus was the cat that was the ambassador. After our initial, uneasy, truce, Nick taught me how to deal with cats. Loki taught me why.
Loki is the cat who came when I whistled, often meowing softly at me to greet me. He's the cat who sat on command for a treat. He's the cat who, though he'd never let you pick him up, or would sit on your lap, would always stretch out beside you. Nick welcomed him, and the two were a pair. Nick let Loki have the honor of warming him as they'd nap. And then, when Nick passed away, and we got Little Miss, our current orange cat, Loki gave her the same consideration - letting her have the honor of warming his back as the napped.
Loki was the cat who was the first to let Teddy pet him. He was the one who would sit, patiently, while this new, little, loud thing would reach soft fingers out and curl them around an ear or a tail. And the entire time, thought he was terrified, he'd sit and purr and hold still, until Teddy inevitably squealed a little too loudly for sensitive feline ears, and he had to run away.
I expect that I'll have to say goodbye to Loki soon, probably this week. I will miss the little furball. He's been my quiet friend for 17 years now. I remember the kitten who sang to the birds every day. I remember the vital cat who would jump as high as my shoulder. I remember the sleeping giant cat who would curl next to me to sleep. I will try not to remember him in his last days, gaunt, slow, and sad. I'll try to remember him as he lived.
UPDATE: the vet ran some tests. Loki still has kidney failure and is still dying slowly, but for now, he is out of the woods. It looks like an infection made his kidneys decompensate. Some IV fluids and some antibiotics, and he will be with us for another few months. Its not much, but it is something.
Tomorrow (Friday) we're going to try subcutaneous fluids with him. If he responds well (i.e., if they're not so stressful that they just make him go nuts) then they'll help to prolong his life and comfort.If he doesn't respond so well, then that's sort of the last step before we watch him, manage his comfort, and try to keep him feeling as good as we can for as long as we can. Kidney disease is basically the top killer of cats over the age of 5, and Loki's lived long enough to be in the 90th percentile. Now it's more or less a matter of us trying to do what's best for him, not us.
Loki in better times
My wife and I got married in 1999. In 2000 or so, our little family grew by 1. We got a new kitten, named Loki. That's about the earliest picture of him that I can easily get to right now.Loki was my cat. That fall, when we got him, I got a nasty sinus infection. I was up all night coughing feeling miserable and keeping Amy awake. So I slept in another room, where Loki, as a young kitten, was recuperating from his own vet trips for neutering and declawing. He curled up beside me, and we both felt miserable together. Ever since then, whenever I've been sick, I've always noticed that Loki will end up laying beside me. He's always been my cat.
Loki isn't dead. But he is dying. He has kidney failure, and this weekend, it seems as though it's kicked into overdrive. He's sluggish. He's lethargic. He eats and drinks still, but it's pretty clear that he's losing this fight. We've known that he couldn't win, and it's about time for us to let him go. Nicodemus was the cat that was the ambassador. After our initial, uneasy, truce, Nick taught me how to deal with cats. Loki taught me why.
Loki is the cat who came when I whistled, often meowing softly at me to greet me. He's the cat who sat on command for a treat. He's the cat who, though he'd never let you pick him up, or would sit on your lap, would always stretch out beside you. Nick welcomed him, and the two were a pair. Nick let Loki have the honor of warming him as they'd nap. And then, when Nick passed away, and we got Little Miss, our current orange cat, Loki gave her the same consideration - letting her have the honor of warming his back as the napped.
 | |
| Nicodemus, letting Loki share the couch |
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| Loki, letting Little Miss share the couch with him |
Loki was the cat who was the first to let Teddy pet him. He was the one who would sit, patiently, while this new, little, loud thing would reach soft fingers out and curl them around an ear or a tail. And the entire time, thought he was terrified, he'd sit and purr and hold still, until Teddy inevitably squealed a little too loudly for sensitive feline ears, and he had to run away.
I expect that I'll have to say goodbye to Loki soon, probably this week. I will miss the little furball. He's been my quiet friend for 17 years now. I remember the kitten who sang to the birds every day. I remember the vital cat who would jump as high as my shoulder. I remember the sleeping giant cat who would curl next to me to sleep. I will try not to remember him in his last days, gaunt, slow, and sad. I'll try to remember him as he lived.
UPDATE: the vet ran some tests. Loki still has kidney failure and is still dying slowly, but for now, he is out of the woods. It looks like an infection made his kidneys decompensate. Some IV fluids and some antibiotics, and he will be with us for another few months. Its not much, but it is something.
Tomorrow (Friday) we're going to try subcutaneous fluids with him. If he responds well (i.e., if they're not so stressful that they just make him go nuts) then they'll help to prolong his life and comfort.If he doesn't respond so well, then that's sort of the last step before we watch him, manage his comfort, and try to keep him feeling as good as we can for as long as we can. Kidney disease is basically the top killer of cats over the age of 5, and Loki's lived long enough to be in the 90th percentile. Now it's more or less a matter of us trying to do what's best for him, not us.
Loki in better times
People without pets might view this as silly, being so sad about the loss of an animal. After all, they say, it's "just a cat."
ReplyDeleteI know better. Pets are a part of the family, and losing a pet can be just as painful as losing any other family member. Sorry to hear of your (impending) loss. Your family is in our prayers.
So sorry, Honey. Loki is a good cat. The only one I could pet, after Nick of course.
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