A Sad Night

The first year we were Here, we, being pet lovers at heart, happened upon two cats at the pet market in the city.  Though we had traditionally been "dog people," living on the 8th floor of an apartment and being at school from 7:45-5pm daily...we realized that cats were a better fit.

There are pictures of our cats in this blog back in 2008 when they first came to us.

The kids were completely smitten and really have loved having them.

Last year, early one morning we were greeted with a terrible call from a neighbor who told us in very broken English, "I see cat outside, I'm afraid, it is bad."

We rushed out on our balcony and looked down the eight floors to discover that "Sweetie Pie" had leaped/fallen from our balcony to her end.

It was awful as you might imagine.  We became ultra-vigilant about the doors to the balconies being shut at all times...and we carried on.

Three weeks ago, our second cat, Switch, began to get very, very lethargic.  We took her to the vet, who prescribed an anti-biotic, that did seem to perk her up and we thought she was over whatever it was.  (Her blood work had shown infection.)

Then two days ago, on Sunday night, I saw her breathing very rapidly, with great effort. 

Not really being a cat owner, I knew that the situation was serious, but was unclear how serious after my "internet doctoring" all night on Sunday.

Monday, Magpie and I went out in the driving, cold rain to get to the bus stop to take her to the vet.  (It is always on these occasions where I feel the most stymied by my "old life" and the "new one" Here.  When I lived "There" I would have jumped into my car, made an appointment at the vet's down the street, and been in reach of the best veterinary care in minutes.)

But as it is Here, we walked with the cat wrapped up in blankets in her carrying case.  Stood in the rain, pressed onto a loud, crowded bus, rode jerking and jostling for 30 minutes...just to get out in the rain again and hope that a taxi would come by our way.  Another 25 minutes in a taxi and terrible traffic got us a block or so away from the vet's.  We walked through some major construction (scaffolding coming down, heavy equipment being moved, all manner of "dangerous" construction mess lying about) holding our grievously ill cat, umbrella and purse...in the blowing rain.

Upon arriving there, we gave the update, they viewed her, took her temperature that was very low...and said, "this cat is very serious. At this hospital there in nothing we can do for her.  She may need an X-ray, there is one X-Ray at the vet hospital further on in town (another 40 minutes)."

When I saw that her temperature was so low...and the complete inability of the vet's office to do anything about it...I began to get very worried about the outcome of the night...and Magpie's heart who was along on this journey.

We traipsed back out, nearly tripped on a rat the size of a small dog as he was scurrying back down a hole in the cement walkway...walked 3 more city blocks trying to find a taxi...getting wetter and wetter with cold, cold rain.

We talked in the taxi, Magpie and I, about what we might be facing.  We wept a bit, but held out hope that we would try all we could to help Switch.  Even still, my foreboding was growing.

Upon arriving at the next vet hospital, they greeted us with terrible news.  "With the cat's temperature this low, there is nothing we can do.  Seeing her breathing so rapidly, and listening to her lungs, she has very serious pneumonia.  Her chest is full of water.  She will probably not live until tomorrow."

I don't know if this would have been the same outcome if we had been There.  But, we're not There, we're Here. 

Perhaps further treatment was not recommended because of the fiercely practical nature (regarding the spending of money) of our host culture would have prevented them from recommending treatment on a cat they knew was going to die anyway.

But here we were, in this cold little vet hospital, surrounded by all the reminders that everything is different Here...IVs hanging in glass bottles for dogs that were "ill", an old metal cupboard displaying a few dozen "cures" for minor ailments that was dirty and disarrayed, windows wide open while the wind blew in heavy gusts of rain onto the floor...and we made the only decision we could. 

The cost for a "peaceful death" was about $15 USD.  I'm not sure that it is used very often Here...but we asked for it...seeing our little friend suffer so much and hearing now her plaintive, painful meows...we sobbed in that cold office until they came to tell us she had gone to sleep peacefully...and then we sobbed some more.

We made arrangements for her...and stepped out arm in arm into the storm to find a taxi we hoped would agree to take us the nearly 2 hour trip home.