Oct. 31, 2006-July 5, 2011
I miss her. I miss her terribly. Every thought brings tears. I want to remember. I don't want to forget a thing about her. We called her Chi-Chi, but her full name was Chidori, which is Japanese for 1000 chirping birds. When she was little, her meow sounded like birds, and she was very vocal. That changed little as she got older. We adopted her from a lady whose daughter didn't take care of her cats. Her cat had babies, and the daughter had left them there with no food or water. The mother found them, and brought them home to find forever homes. Chi-Chi and Elsie found it with me.
I want to remember how she looked, how she smelled, how she acted. How she slept by my hip. Her meow. The way she loved to be on my shelves and annoy me by knocking things off. The way she loved to drink water from the bathroom faucet and would run me over to get in there in case I turned it on. How soft she was. Her teardrop at the corner of her left eye echoed now by my own.
She died of pulmonary edema and congenital heart failure. There is no official diagnosis of why, but based on some google searches, Joseph and I suspect acute renal/kidney failure. She was too dehydrated for them to get a blood draw, so all they had to go by was the x-ray.
I took her to the vet Thursday because she'd been acting annoying, and peeing outside of the litter box more often than usual. She had no urine in her bladder, so they kept her overnight to get a urinalysis. Friday morning they gave her a medicine called Lasix to make her go pee, and they determined she had a low-grade urinary tract infection (UTI). They gave me a bag of special food for her to eat, and Clavamox for the infection. We took her home, put her in Reese's room, and she turned her nose up at the food, but she was at least drinking some. As Saturday came, and then Sunday, she was still not eating (even wet food I got her) and not drinking without a lot of pressure to. I was forcing some water down her through, but not enough. Monday, she was not wanting to drink or do much of anything. She just did not look well. I kept thinking, well, I'll call the vet first thing in the morning. We got some water in her, and Mom, Dad, and Reese left to go to the movies. Chi-Chi was sitting by Joseph and I and after a while, she got up and went and laid down under the side table. Then she moved a bit of the way up the cat tree, then later a little further. She obviously did not feel good. I gave her her medicine, and she threw it up, along with much of the water we gave her. She was breathing hard, and did not look well at all, so we took her to the Kitty ER. They did all the good for her, but she was a very sick kitty by then. Low body temperature (at least 91*, their thermometers didn't go lower), low blood pressure, dehydration, high respiration, barely responsive. I was told she likely wouldn't make the night. And she didn't. I got the call at 12:09 they were doing resuscitation and did I want them to continue.
The worst words ever are: "Just let her go."
She loved yogurt. She loved to drink water straight for the faucet. She loved to lie on my bookshelf, and if there was anything to knock over, knock it over. She liked to lie on my jeans on the shelf. She liked to sit under the light on my side table. She slept by my hip. She was incredibly tolerating, and she had recently had become designated "Reese's kitty". She liked to lie on people's laps, and sleep on the back of the couch and the arm of it. She would follow me into the bathroom and nearly kill me by running under my feet hoping I would turn on the water faucet. She loved canned cat food.
She is sorely missed, and currently, my grief has no bounds. I pray it will get better with time, but it's hard to see a positive right now. I hope her last few days weren't painful, even if they weren't amazing. Up the last, she would purr when petted and was very caring. She was the best kitty I could have asked for.