We're taught when we're small that if we just try our best, if we just work hard enough, that we can succeed. We learn later that that is not always the case. Our little Snowflake, the kitty we were charged with feeding for our neighbors, died today. This, despite our best efforts to care for him.
When we first brought him home a few days ago, he seemed OK, though he was still very thin even after the neighbor had been feeding him for several days. His eyes were a little watery and sticky when he woke up from sleeping. Otherwise, despite his rough start in life, he looked like he had a good chance to fatten and grow into a healthy cat. The first day he ate pretty well. Eddie, the neighbor, had said that he could make it through the night without food, despite the fact that he'd been feeding him every three-four hours. I didn't think that was such a good idea, so I got up for 2 a.m. feedings and to cuddle him a little. He didn't love being fed by a syringe, but he did it. He peed and pooped. He mewed up a storm. I put him on my shoulder and he purred like a tiny buzz saw. All seemed well. On day two, we switched to a bottle, which he seemed to love. He grabbed on and gobble down his formula. He ate plenty and displayed much more energy. He even climbed out of his box. He clawed his way up my shirt to my shoulder. He was wobbly, but took a little spin around a towel I laid down for him on the floor. We put him in another, more secure crate, just to be safe. He pooped and peed some more. That evening, he ate and slept well. We were cruisin.' He again fell asleep on my shoulder, purring. He woke me up crying to be fed and cuddled again at 2 a.m. The next morning, however, he seemed listless, much like Eddie had described him to me the morning before I picked him up. His appetite had diminished. Eddie had described bouts of this as well and said that he fed him more than he wanted to eat with the syringe just to make sure he was getting the nutrients he needed. I had to do some serious encouraging to get him to eat. By afternoon, he was a little perkier, so we thought we were back on track.
This morning, he was surprisingly weak and had no interest in food. I called the vet and Ron rushed him in. He was diagnosed with a severe upper respiratory infection. The vet said that such an infection does not happen over night; he had had it for weeks. He also told us the kitty was four or five weeks old, not the three weeks we had estimated based on his size. Poor little guy had infection in his sinuses and ulcers in his mouth and throat. The runny eyes were part of the illness, too. The vet gave him a shot and prescribed additional medicine for him. At about 12:30, Ron called me at work, very upset about the limp little Kitty our little snowflake had become. The clinic was closed, but I called the vet anyway to see if there was anything we could do. He didn't call back. Anyway, by the time I got home a couple of hours later, I saw that he had no strength at all and could hardly hold up his head. He did mew when I arrived, however, which Ron said he hadn't done in hours even when he picked him up or stroked him. I got him to eat a little by forcing little drops of formula into his mouth that he had to swallow. I laid on the couch with him on my chest to comfort him. He fell asleep and I tucked him into bed. He died about an hour later.
In just three days I had fallen for this little sickly little kitty. When they asked for our help, the neighbors also asked if we would like another pet. We laughed it off and said no. But after the first day I had begun to reconsider that. I was fully prepared to keep him. I'm not looking forward to telling the neighbors of his passing. He was a sweet little fella whose life was way too short. Still, in those few weeks, or at least in the last three days with us, he was very much loved. Bye bye, Snowflake.
When we first brought him home a few days ago, he seemed OK, though he was still very thin even after the neighbor had been feeding him for several days. His eyes were a little watery and sticky when he woke up from sleeping. Otherwise, despite his rough start in life, he looked like he had a good chance to fatten and grow into a healthy cat. The first day he ate pretty well. Eddie, the neighbor, had said that he could make it through the night without food, despite the fact that he'd been feeding him every three-four hours. I didn't think that was such a good idea, so I got up for 2 a.m. feedings and to cuddle him a little. He didn't love being fed by a syringe, but he did it. He peed and pooped. He mewed up a storm. I put him on my shoulder and he purred like a tiny buzz saw. All seemed well. On day two, we switched to a bottle, which he seemed to love. He grabbed on and gobble down his formula. He ate plenty and displayed much more energy. He even climbed out of his box. He clawed his way up my shirt to my shoulder. He was wobbly, but took a little spin around a towel I laid down for him on the floor. We put him in another, more secure crate, just to be safe. He pooped and peed some more. That evening, he ate and slept well. We were cruisin.' He again fell asleep on my shoulder, purring. He woke me up crying to be fed and cuddled again at 2 a.m. The next morning, however, he seemed listless, much like Eddie had described him to me the morning before I picked him up. His appetite had diminished. Eddie had described bouts of this as well and said that he fed him more than he wanted to eat with the syringe just to make sure he was getting the nutrients he needed. I had to do some serious encouraging to get him to eat. By afternoon, he was a little perkier, so we thought we were back on track.
This morning, he was surprisingly weak and had no interest in food. I called the vet and Ron rushed him in. He was diagnosed with a severe upper respiratory infection. The vet said that such an infection does not happen over night; he had had it for weeks. He also told us the kitty was four or five weeks old, not the three weeks we had estimated based on his size. Poor little guy had infection in his sinuses and ulcers in his mouth and throat. The runny eyes were part of the illness, too. The vet gave him a shot and prescribed additional medicine for him. At about 12:30, Ron called me at work, very upset about the limp little Kitty our little snowflake had become. The clinic was closed, but I called the vet anyway to see if there was anything we could do. He didn't call back. Anyway, by the time I got home a couple of hours later, I saw that he had no strength at all and could hardly hold up his head. He did mew when I arrived, however, which Ron said he hadn't done in hours even when he picked him up or stroked him. I got him to eat a little by forcing little drops of formula into his mouth that he had to swallow. I laid on the couch with him on my chest to comfort him. He fell asleep and I tucked him into bed. He died about an hour later.
In just three days I had fallen for this little sickly little kitty. When they asked for our help, the neighbors also asked if we would like another pet. We laughed it off and said no. But after the first day I had begun to reconsider that. I was fully prepared to keep him. I'm not looking forward to telling the neighbors of his passing. He was a sweet little fella whose life was way too short. Still, in those few weeks, or at least in the last three days with us, he was very much loved. Bye bye, Snowflake.
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