Irony: Blogger jokes about cat strollers in post, because cat strollers are ridiculous.
Ten minutes later. Blogger discovers new kitten can no longer walk.
(see also, Foreshadowing)
We pick up two kittens from the shelter at 6:30 pm. Both are in cardboard boxes. Both have had surgery in the morning. One box is moving, the other not so much. Shelter lady says the female kitten (Violet) is still groggy. She'll be up and back to normal any minute. Really, really, soon.
At home, the male kitten (Vladimir) rockets from the box and roams the room. Violet is quiet. I lift her from the box and put her in the new cat bed. She walks slowly for a drink, lies down and sleeps for the next several hours.
I write a post about Sumeria. Make a joke about cat strollers. Stretch. Yawn. Think, better check on the
I pick Violet up. Put her back down. Awake now, she flops straight down on the floor, and then drags entire length of two completely slack back legs behind her, pulling all her weight along with two tiny front legs.
Confusion and hand-wringing, a call to the 24 hour Animal Hospital. Twenty minute drive to pet hospital at 1:30 am. Watch a retrospective on the Night Stalker that is playing on the overhead monitors in the dim,empty waiting room. Assistant at desk wears a nametag that says "Violet". Coincidence. Then,
???? Did someone drop her? No? Odd. We'll keep her here and charge you 700 dollars by the morning. Probably it won't help. See you at 10 am!
Pathos: Blogger drives hither and yon across the city, crying, with tiny paralyzed kitten riding shotgun. Driving and crying. Crying and driving. Not looking in the carrier at the little alert eyes and the long, limp back legs stretched out on the blanket. Paraplegic kitty.
I take the day off work and drive back to the animal hospital in the morning. Conference with two vets. Both say it's a mystery. They have never seen this happen with a kitten, ever. Both say the prognosis is guarded at best. She can no longer go to the bathroom on her own. I surrender the remainder of my bank account and load Violet up while they toss out words like "neurosurgeon" and "MRI". (They have neurosurgeons for cats?) They say probably that wouldn't help either.
Violet and I drive. Across the city is the shelter, where euthanasia awaits. I can't bring myself to drive there. I call my regular vet. He says "Let me see her".
I drive in the opposite direction to vet. Dr. H says, well, hello little lady to the kitten, and to me he says, no feeling. None at all. Seen this twice in thirty-five years. Maybe a blood clot in spine. Hard to know. Kitten 's not going to walk again. Kindest to put her to sleep.
I knew this. I cry some more over a kitten we 've had less than twenty-four hours, and drive to the shelter.
Hand over the carrier without looking inside. Feel like a betrayer.
Shelter lady says, you can pick out a replacement if you want to.
(Do I want to?)
Then I go home to tell my kids.