The ultimate state of depression is knowing your cat is going to die so much sooner than you thought.
Your best friend. Your kid. Your sun and stars. Your everything.
You have no real prognosis, you just know his heart is failing and any day could be his last. The internet is helpful with information but that information also makes you feel so much worse.
A string of days will happen where you become hopeful while plays and is active and acts like nothing in the world could stop him (good days). He’ll eat every treat you give him, not minding one has a hole whittled out to accommodate medications. He’ll try to run around and play with the other cat. He’ll ignore your wishes for him to stop while his heart works overtime to push blood through its thickened walls.
Then you get a day of lethargy and lack of appetite (bad days). You come home from work. He doesn’t greet you or plop on the floor like a manatee for pets. You see food bowls with breakfast untouched and have to dump them out to be replenished with fresh food. He won’t follow you to the bathroom. He just sleeps. You watch how heavy and slow his breathing is. How nasally he sounds from the fluid in his lungs.
You start with small sobs, not enough to make a noise, but enough for him to feel the movement and look at you. His eyes appear dark and sunken. You start thinking this may be his last night as tears start rolling down your face. You try your damnest to not cry outwards because you don’t want to stress him out more. You pray that he is still breathing next to you in the morning. All the thoughts of his inevitable death overtake you while you chest aches from holding it all in.
The next morning he seems more like himself again. He wakes you up for breakfast at an ungodly hour and you try to ignore him till it becomes closer to his first medication time. He follows you to the kitchen, nearly making you trip down the stairs (per usual) and waits as you sluggishly struggle to get him his food. He eats a couple bites (an improvement) before wandering to his box to chill. You leave to get ready for work, and as you walk out the door with your coffee and toast (which you won’t eat because you don’t have an appetite), you sing “bye bubs I love youuu!”.
Then you spend a long 8 hours at work hoping he is still alive when you come home. Occasionally you are distracted from everything, however you spend most of the time wishing you were there with him.
Vet bills don’t pay themselves.
And this continues to repeat.
For a week the cardiologist won’t return your numerous voicemails.
Repeat.
You finally book an echocardiogram. The soonest they can get you in is 3.5 weeks from now. The vet tells you as long as he remains stable, there is no need for the ER.
Repeat.
You’re 10 days from echocardiogram. You check his gums everyday to make sure they’re still pink. You constantly watch for open mouth breathing. You find vomit and get on your hands and knees to make sure its a hairball.
Repeat.
He’s having more bad days than good.
