Monday, June 22, 2009


Our cat Mikey died this past weekend. First some fun pictures, and then the story:

Mikey in an egg carton he had chewed up:

Sleeping in the cat bed (sort of) with Sydney:

Now the story:
A couple of weeks ago, we had noticed Mikey drinking more than usual. We took him to the vet last week, and tests showed a UTI, so the vet sent us home with antibiotic. It didn't help. Things got worse, in fact.
So we took Mikey back in this past week. An x-ray revealed a mass of some sort in his tummy. Mikey had surgery on Thursday and the vet removed a "blob."
He said he'd never seen anything like it. It felt sort of hard, almost like a rubber bouncy ball. The vet guessed that it was pushing on Mikey's bladder and blocking the exit when Mikey tried to pee, causing problems.
We visited Mikey after his surgery on Thursday, and he was doing ok. He had peed already, which was a good sign. The next step was to get him eating and pooping, and then we could bring him home.
Friday we went back to see him, and he was completely lethargic. Didn't even lift his head or turn to look at us. They said he'd been that way all day. Not good. I suggested maybe it was the "finally -- the pain is gone!" sleep and his body was just recovering. But no one seemed very hopeful. They had him on IV fluids and antibiotics, and he was sleeping on a heating pad.
We called Saturday morning when the vet clinic opened, and the vet said Mikey had died.
We decided to have Mikey cremated and then, in a week or so, we'll bury his ashes in a shoebox full of his favorite things out by our redbud tree...
I got Mikey (and Sydney--they're littermates) in August 1997, literally as I was driving out of Kansas on my way to law school in Illinois. He was just six weeks old then, so he'd have been 12 next month.
We'll dig out our old photo albums sometime soon and scan in some pictures from Mikey's life.


Anonymous said...

He was a good cat, and well loved by all! I'm so deeply sorry for your loss.
Aunt Jill

Karen said...

Emily, I'm so sorry for your loss. Our smallest friends are often the truest.