Hurting So Much..., Lost my once-in-a-lifetime kitty two days ago Options

[Ollie's Mama]

Sixteen years ago, I found a litter of five kittens underneath a fence behind my parents’ house. Their mother, a stray, had likely been killed by a coyote. The poor little kittens, only a few days old, had been lying outside exposed and without their mother for who knows how long.

My dad and I scooped up the kittens and rushed them to our vet. We then proceeded to bottle-feed and care for the kittens, knowing that some of them probably wouldn’t make it. Over the next several days, three of them succumbed to a respiratory infection; I cried and cried. Miraculously, the last two didn’t get the infection, and they became my babies Ollie and Pooky.

It wasn’t smart to keep them; I was severely allergic to cats. But after bottle-feeding them and raising them, I couldn’t bear to part with them. So I picked up a bunch of prescriptions for allergy meds and became a cat owner for the first time, not realizing how tightly these two little ones would wrap themselves around my heart.

Right from the beginning, little buff-colored Ollie decided that I would be his person, and I would hold him constantly and carry him throughout the house nuzzled against my cheek. Pooky, a more playful and less needy personality, took more to my dad, although she always loved me, too. Both cats came with me across the country to law school, saw me through a failed marriage, and truly were my first kids.

I later married a wonderful man who loved them just as much as I did; we also added Dingo, an abandoned stray my best friend found - and the best dog ever - to our family. All three of our babies got along great. In 2007, we welcomed a human son into our family but never made our furry babies second-class citizens; they remained as important and loved as they ever were, and our little boy grew to love them all so much.

In 2008, when Ollie was thirteen, he threw up a couple of times, which I didn’t worry too much about because he had long hair and often coughed up hairballs. He didn’t look sick, but I took him to the vet, anyway, because Dingo had caught a stomach bug from my friend’s dog, and I wanted to make sure that Ollie hadn’t somehow come down with the same thing. My vet ran some bloodwork and called me from home on a Sunday to tell me that Ollie was very sick, his kidneys were failing, and I needed to get him in first thing on Monday morning to get hooked up to an i.v. We were in total shock. Ollie stayed at the vet’s on i.v. all day on Monday, and luckily his kidney values improved. Thus began his journey with feline chronic renal failure (CRF), and our journey as caregivers.

For the next two years and nine months, we devoted our lives to taking care of him, and he did very, very well on his subcutaneous fluid treatment and other medicines. For the first couple of years, he never really seemed sick at all, which was a huge blessing for which I am so grateful. After that, his kidney values slowly started creeping up, he began throwing up frequently and becoming more constipated, and he gradually needed more and more fluids. Still, he remained as cheerful and happy as ever, and we worked together with our awesome vet to come up with ways to deal with all of these issues. I lived in constant fear of losing him since he was diagnosed, but at the same time I weirdly thought he’d just always be there because I needed him – isn’t that crazy?

In September of last year, we lost our dog Dingo to cancer, which completely devastated us. I spent a lot of time at this site reading all of your stories, which helped me immensely, although I was too shy to post and too paralyzed by this first earth-shattering loss to know what to say. I’m sorry it’s so late, but thank you all so much for the help you didn’t know you gave me. : ) At the end of April this year, Ollie was super-happy and stable when he suddenly had a stroke that left him completely unable to walk. Absolutely terrified, we took him to our vet, so scared to hear about his prognosis. She said that he wasn’t in pain at all, so if we were willing to take care of him, she was willing to take it day by day and see if he would improve. She had just seen a 19 year old cat recover completely from a stroke, so she definitely thought it was worth a shot.

My husband and son had to leave the next day for a family reunion that had been planned months in advance; I stayed behind to take care of Ollie. I brought him food and water, carried him to the litter box, and spent the entire week talking to him, petting him, and working on rehabilitating him. Every tiny improvement lifted my heart. By the time my husband and son returned from their trip, Ollie could walk again, and pretty well! It was really a miracle, and I was so, so happy.

Ollie continued to improve for the next couple of weeks, and I was overcome with gratitude and joy. But then some labs on one of his weekly check-ups showed his kidney values were worsening quite a bit. “No!” I thought. “No, no, no! Not after everything he’s just been through!” We added a medication and increased his fluids again, hoping to bring the numbers down. He seemed to be getting better, and my heart filled with hope again.

But about a week ago, Ollie suddenly started walking funny, and my husband noticed it was because he suddenly couldn’t see. We rushed him to the vet again to find that his blood pressure was super-high and had detached his retinas, leaving him blind. We started him on a blood pressure medication, and he became totally limp like a noodle...at first we thought it was just a reaction to the blood pressure medication. So my vet reduced the dosage, and we were hoping that he'd be okay once the medicine was adjusted.

But a couple of days later, he threw up and aspirated the vomit into his lungs because he was so limp. We rushed him to the emergency vet, who didn't think he'd survive the night. He stayed in the hospital under oxygen. I cried all night long. He made it to morning, and we rushed him to our regular vet's office. The vet told us sadly that he thought Ollie was limp because he might have suffered another stroke or thrown a blood clot, that his kidney values were now super-bad, and that with everything that was going on, he didn't think there was any way for him to recover from the severe pneumonia caused by the vomit. He agreed to put Ollie under oxygen for a few hours to see if he would improve, though.

While Ollie was under oxygen, I got a frantic call to come right away because he had taken a turn for the worse and was about to be in respiratory arrest. We drove as fast as we could to the vet's and were able to be with Ollie while the vet put him to sleep. It was horrible, but we were grateful that the decision to put him to sleep was a clear one to make.

And now…I am totally broken. My husband is devastated, too. My little son is sad, but he doesn't really completely understand what happened, thankfully. Ollie was such a happy little thing who really brightened up our lives, and now it's like a light just got turned off. He was always, always with us - in my lap or my husband’s (my husband works from home), holding on to us with his paws, purring like crazy. He literally screamed with joy every time we came home. He slept tucked under my arm every night for sixteen years – I actually got tennis elbow from my arm being wrapped around him so much. : ) My son hugged him so much every day. Before deciding to do anything, we always considered how it would impact Ollie. Everywhere we look, we see him, and we are both still sad about Dingo, too, which just makes everything worse. Pooky is doing well and is a huge comfort to me, but she and Ollie were always a pair, and it hurts to see her other half missing. I keep blaming myself: Why didn't I insist on having his blood pressure checked earlier? What if I had done bloodwork more often? Why didn’t I prop up his head on his blanket in case he threw up? and on and on. I know it's not helping things and won't bring him back, but I keep doing it. I always told my husband in dead seriousness that it would be easier to lose a limb than to lose Ollie – at least then my heart would remain intact.

I know I should be nothing but grateful, and I am grateful for so many things – Ollie had a long, happy life despite having a terrible disease, he had the best, most caring vets in the world, we were able to spend so much time with him due to my husband's flexible work situation, and he left this earth as peacefully as possible and has his brother waiting for him to guide him. But I also know Ollie was a once-in-a-lifetime pet, and our bond was so strong that his departure has left behind an overwhelming emptiness. My lap, arms, heart, and his little (okay, large : ) ) space in our bed are empty. I know logically it isn’t true, but I feel like he took the most patient and good parts of me with him when he left. I know things will get better with time, but right now I don’t know how to be happy without him.

Thank you all so much for listening. I’m sorry this was so long – I think it has helped me some to get Ollie’s story written down, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading it. I know that you are all so compassionate and understand exactly how I feel. I know that I am still crazy lucky to have my husband, son, and Pooky with me, and I love them so. This is just hard. My husband summed it all up when he hugged me close and told me gently, “There’s a reason I’ve been dreading this day for twelve years.”

Thank you again for listening, and much love to all of you who are hurting, too. I wish I could give you all a big hug and find the right thing to say to help you with your pain.

Hugs to all,
Terri