Thursday, October 8, 2009
Babies of the furry variety
The years have slid by, and somewhere along the line, we all became permanent fixtures in each other's lives. We've nursed Kali through some rough spots and she's nursed us, with her bossy squawkiness and forced cuddles, through rough spots of a different variety. She's lived with us through countless moves across three different provinces, still more life changes, getting a third kitten, and the births of our two human babies.
And now she's sick. Sick sick. She can't breathe properly, won't eat or drink, is listless and hiding once again. We've been through blood and urine tests, vet visits for rehydration and the possibility of more of the same and a second opinion from a different vet who suggested force feeding, and if that doesn't work, putting a feeding tube directly into her esophogus.
But each vet trip seems to traumatize her more, and leaves us wondering, when does it become too much, too invasive, too traumatic to make this struggle worth it?
I sure wish our little scrappy little Snuffalopogous could boss us around on this one...