Fur-baby stress

It’s been an interesting time around my place in regards to my furry children. My foster, Lil’ Joe, was adopted by a wonderful person. Then I got another foster, without really planning to – Sophie.

The group I volunteer with tests all of the kitties that come into our program for feline leukemia (FeLV) and feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV), using a test called a “SNAP” test. These tests are pretty accurate, especially when they’re negative, so when a cat tests negative, we usually take it as a sure sign that the cat is, well, negative for FIV and FeLV.

Sophie tested negative for both FIV and FeLV. I brought her home. I took her to an adoption event. She met a nice family who was interested in possibly doing a trial adoption with her. She was integrated with my Neville and Andrew.

Then one of her kittens tested positive for FeLV. He was sick (from something else) and was euthanized.

Usually the only way a kitten can be positive for FeLV is if the mother is positive. When I found out, I immediately quarantined Sophie. I knew that if she truly was positive, then my boys had possibly been exposed to FeLV. FeLV can be transmitted through shared litter boxes and feeding dishes, though it’s most commonly spread through close contact between cats (mutual grooming, sex, fighting, etc.), and it’s deadly in most cases.

I proceeded to freak the hell out. I mean, seriously, I lost my five kitties in a fire not even two years ago, then I lost Casey only a few months ago. I can’t lose any more kitties anytime soon, you know? It’s just too much.

Then Andrew got sick. Started acting lethargic and just not himself. I took him to the vet and left him for the day and they put him on antibiotics and did bloodwork … and I went through a couple of days of feeling certain that he must have caught something from Sophie (though I knew that FeLV wouldn’t manifest that quickly, I figured she could have been carrying something else, though she seems perfectly healthy), and was blaming myself for putting him and Neville at risk.

Sophie was retested the same day Andrew spent the day at the vet – I took her when I went to pick him up – and she again tested negative. This likely means that she at least isn’t shedding the virus, even if she is a carrier.

Andrew is still on antibiotics and is almost back to normal, though his appetite hasn’t picked up like it should. His bloodwork showed nothing out of the ordinary.

Sophie’s other four kittens were tested and all tested negative. Now she and all four kittens have to be quarantined for the next two months and tested again. And then we still won’t necessarily know for certain that they are all conclusively negative, all because that one kitty had a positive test. We don’t even know if it was a “weak positive” or a “strong positive,” just that it was positive for FeLV. The likelihood is, if Sophie and her remaining kittens test negative again in two months, they truly are negative for FeLV. She may have been exposed to the virus and fought it off – it’s possible for that to happen. But the literature says that a certain percentage of cats are carriers even if they don’t shed the virus – they have it in their bone marrow. And they may become viremic one day down the road, and we don’t know if that will happen or not.

But that’s the case for most cats that come into our program – we don’t always know their history and if they’ve been exposed to FeLV or FIV, and we trust the test because it’s the best we can do. But it makes me rethink this whole fostering thing. I don’t want to get my boys vaccinated for FeLV, because the chance of getting cancer from the vaccine is too great. Do I continue fostering, knowing that I might inadvertently expose them to something that may shorten their lives? Even if I’m careful? Because, honestly, it’s not like I didn’t know this was a possibility. A remote possibility for sure, but there was always a chance that I would put Neville and Andrew at risk. And they’re probably fine, because Sophie’s not shedding the virus even if she does have it, but what if her second test had been positive? I would have had to take them in to be tested in about 30-60 days, and then what?

The “what ifs” are killing me. And that sweet Sophie kitty is living in my bathroom for the time being (I think I’m going to transfer her to my spare bedroom this weekend), and she doesn’t understand why she has to be cooped up and kept away from everyone. And what if she tests positive in two months? What then? Do we have her euthanized? I can hardly stand to think about it. There’s a program in NC that takes FeLV positive kitties, but you have to make a $500 donation toward the cat’s care to get them in the program, and that’s if they have room. I don’t know all the details, but that’s one option, I suppose. But I certainly am not in a position to make that kind of a donation, and I don’t think the rescue group I volunteer with is either, you know?

It all may be a moot point – she may be negative in two months and the vet may consider that conclusive if all her other kittens are as well. I’m hopeful, but cautiously so. And I’m so relieved that my Andrew is acting like he feels better, and Neville hasn’t shown any signs of being sick…

I think I’m due for some good kitty luck, you think?

Guilt

I don’t know how I could have made a choice other than the one I made, given the circumstances.

Still, I chose to end Casey’s life.  In a matter of minutes, because that’s all I had.

Had I had much more money, were I wealthy, I would have likely made a different decision. I would have told the vet to do everything in her power to save my boy. To hell with the expense. This is my baby we’re talking about.

But I’m not wealthy. And money was a factor. And I HATE THAT. It makes me sick to think about.

What if I’d had health insurance for Casey? How might that have changed things?

This isn’t like my other babies. My other babies that I had no way of saving.

And perhaps the best efforts wouldn’t have saved Casey either. He may not have made it, regardless of how much money I was able to pay the vet to try to save him. The vet told me so. She said that we’d be discussing euthanasia regardless of money, because he was that sick.

But, oh, to have had a few thousand dollars in my account to spend. It may not have worked, but maybe it would have. Maybe he would still be here with me. He would be on medication for the rest of his life, and there would be no telling how long his life would have been, but maybe he would be here.

I didn’t want him to suffer. He was suffering, as anyone who has ever experienced struggling to breathe knows. I know how it feels to not be able to breathe. I saw him gasping for breath. He didn’t even look at me because he was freaking out from not being able to breathe.

I hope I made the right decision. The vet said she thought it was a good decision. But it was the hardest decision I’ve made so far in my life. The hardest. The decision to let my little boy go.

I try to do good by my animals. I try to give them good lives with good food and good care. But sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve to have any of them, because I can’t give them everything I wish I could. I can’t give them the best food and the best care. I can’t give my girls a yard to run in. I can’t give my boys lots of room to run and things to climb. I know they could have better lives than the lives they have, and it hurts to know that I can’t give it to them.

My heart is breaking, again. I love Puddin’, Penny, Neville and Andrew so much, loved Casey so much, loved Pip, Piper, Bella, Xander and Felix so much. I feel I fail them all every single day. I want them to have better.

But I don’t know that anyone could love them as much as I do. I just really wish I could give them more of what they need and more to make their lives richer.

Another possibility for Andrew

The family that adopted my first foster kitty emailed to see if I had any other fosters because they are considering getting a second young cat – they currently have Pietra, formerly Wink, who is about a year old, and a 15-year-old cat who, well, just doesn’t want to play with Pietra.

After much deliberation, I decided I would tell them about Andrew. I know he would have a good home with them if they decided to adopt him, so…

It still breaks my heart that I can’t/shouldn’t keep him. But I just spent a chunk of change at the vet today for Penny’s annual visit, heartworm pills for both the girls and glucosamine tabs for Pen, and that reminded me of why I don’t need a third cat. I need to focus on the ones I’m committed to caring for.

It still hurts. I wish I felt more certain that I was making the right decision in letting Andrew go. I did decide that I wasn’t going to take him to adoption events anymore but that I would wait and see for a while if the right people came along. I know that Pietra’s owners would be an ideal family for Andrew. They are wonderful people and I felt good about them adopting Wink/Pietra when I met them the first time. Visiting their home just confirmed it.

I don’t think I’ll be doing any more fostering, though. I don’t deal well with saying goodbye to my babies.

A decision

The couple that came to meet Andrew really were wonderful. They have eight cats already and their cats are their babies. They go to great lengths to make their home a real cat haven. 

They decided that Andrew probably wouldn’t fit with their mix of kitties. He is a laid-back little guy, and their younger cats are high strung, independent and dominant, and they worried that he would get lost in the mix. I worried too.

They said it seems he already has found his forever home. That it was obvious that we had bonded, and that he and my other cats had bonded. They asked what was keeping me from adopting him. I told them that it just didn’t make sense for me financially right now, and with planning to go back to school at some point, and not knowing what’s going to happen in my job with more layoffs coming at work…

They offered to pay part of his adoption fee. I declined, but really appreciated the offer.

But I don’t think I can part with Andrew. I know it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at all to commit myself to another animal. I told my grandmother last night, and she said she just doesn’t understand how I can, with money as tight as it is right now.

I know. I know. I also know that it didn’t make sense when I adopted the dogs. I had no money. But I’m forever glad I did. I know it doesn’t make sense to add a third cat. That I’m making things harder on myself financially adding a third cat permanently. 

But I can’t let him go. That doesn’t make sense either. So, I’m going to suck it up and make the decision to keep Andrew and deal with the consequences of that decision as they arise. And I’m going to try to stop looking for trouble where there doesn’t have to exist any.

Right now…

Right now I am blogging while a purring kitten sits on my shoulder. I am resting my cheek on his back. He is purring in my ear, his long bushy tail trailing down toward my lap.  This is Andrew.

Right now we are waiting for a couple who wants to adopt Andrew to come and meet him. They will be here in about 20 minutes, I expect. Andrew has no idea that his life could soon be turned upside down. I can’t stop crying.

I am no nearer to knowing what the right decision is. One of the long-time fosters in the rescue group I volunteer with said that this couple is WONDERFUL!!! But they also have a lot of cats already. Why do they want to adopt another, I wonder?

Andrew just nuzzled my neck and licked my cheek. Then he wrapped his bushy tail around my neck. That is why it is so hard to know what to do. He’s too sweet. And I’m too attached, I suppose.

I thought about calling the couple this morning before they left home to tell them that I had decided to keep him. But then I tell myself that it’s only fair to meet them and see how he does with them. Maybe they really are wonderful. Maybe they have a good reason for wanting another cat. Who am I to say how many is too many? Some people think that I have too many animals, but it doesn’t feel like too many to me.

Would Andrew do well in a home with a lot of other cats? He’s such a needy little guy, would he get enough attention? It’s not the situation I would choose for him, but they are the only ones who have expressed a real interest in him.

Andrew.

So, there’s a possible home for my Andrew. The application that came in wasn’t for him, but the people are interested in adopting two cats and apparently have a fondness for medium – long haired cats, of which Andrew is one.

And I don’t know what to do. The whole thing makes me sick. The thought of letting my Andrew go…

It may be a moot point, as they might choose one of the other kitties over Andrew anyway. They haven’t met him and might fall for one of the others.

What if I make the wrong decision? These people sound like good people. I don’t doubt that Andrew would be well cared for. Their previous kitties lived to be 20 and 17 years old. The husband works out of the home. The wife’s a teacher. They’re cat people.

And I have my other babies to think of. My Neville, who’s very much a lap cat when I let him be. And Casey, who’s sitting on the back of my chair right now (Andrew’s cuddled with Neville on the dog bed on the floor). And, of course, Puddin’ and Penny, my baby girls who are aging and will likely be needing more care sooner rather than later.

I feel so torn. My heart aches. I’m terrified that giving him up will be the wrong decision. That I will miss him more than I can bear. Yes, the pain would ease with time and I know that, but I gave up a dog I rescued years ago and I have never “gotten over it.” I have always regretted giving that dog up, at least giving him to the people I gave him to.

I’m afraid to say, “Sure, they can meet Andrew,” because then, if they fall in love with him, I won’t be able to say, “Sorry, I’ve changed my mind.” That’s not fair to those people at all. Right now they haven’t met him, so it’s not a big deal to them should I decide to adopt him myself.

Financially – on the one hand, one more cat isn’t that big of a deal, especially when he’s young. On the other hand, it doesn’t make much sense for me to adopt a third cat. Of course, it didn’t make any sense at all when I adopted Puddin’ and Penny – my bank account was pretty empty when I paid their adoption fees. With Neville and Casey, it wasn’t such a big deal. Right now, not knowing if I’m going to have a job or not, well, it doesn’t make sense for me to have any animals at all, does it?

I’m not good at weighing the options. It’s a matter of my heart versus my head, emotion versus logic.

I don’t know what to do. I really really don’t know what to do.

Weirdo kitty

My cats would NEVER do this. At least, I don’t think they would. I don’t know many cats, or dogs for that matter, who like vacuum cleaners, even round ones that move about on their own.

(And one of our grad students is doing robotics research using Roombas without the vacuum part. I don’t have more details than that, however, as I am not computer scienterrific. And, yes, I just made up a word. )

End of the week…

Today was Friday. THANK GOD. Because I was very ready for the week to be over. Unfortunately, it will begin again entirely too soon.

Took Neville to the vet today to the tune of nearly $90. Ah well. He did well, they clipped his ingrown claw, and gave him his shots, and he’s on amoxicillin for the next week for the cut in his toe pad. The bubble gum flavored stuff that they give to kids. Which he took without complaint.

When the vet gave him his shots, he laid right there and didn’t flinch. There wasn’t even a vet tech in the room. He just kept head-butting me and the vet for us to scratch his neck. He’s a fantastic cat.

He is, however, much too heavy. Just over 18 lbs. He’s gained weight since his last visit, and I talked to the vet about the fact that he refuses to eat wet food, which would help him lose weight. So tomorrow Neville begins a diet with dry food. He gets 1/4 cup twice a day of Innova Evo dry. Casey & Chestnut will be getting the same amount of Before Grain, Tuna flavor. Andrew will be getting Chicken Soup Kitten, as much as he wants, with an extra serving of wet food in the evening. All of which I get at my favorite lil’ pet shop, Phydeaux, in Chapel Hill. I hope it works. He’s going to have to be fed separately from everyone else, though.

——————-

Gotta find homes for Chestnut and Andrew a.s.a.p. Not that they are any real trouble, but it’s going to get harder as time goes on. Unfortunately, with the economy being what it is, pet adoptions are down and pet abandonments are up. IAR has put a freeze on intakes, and it’s just not a good time to be in the charity business, for pet rescues or any other charities.

The local news was talking about how usually donations to a local food pantry pick up in October, but not so this year. Usually the group is trying to find room enough for all the canned goods they’ve received, and this year the cupboards are looking pretty bare, and there are more people coming to them for help. It makes me sad, and makes me more determined to try to be more frugal, keeping in mind those who are much less fortunate than me. Things aren’t easy for me financially most of the time, but I do okay and certainly have extravagances (like digital cable and hi-speed internet), and perhaps I should be cutting back more, both for my own good and to allow me to better help others. Though I still have a tendency to prefer helping animals to helping people. The animals are often more appreciative.

I had better watch my back, apparently…

Also, how to tell if your cat is plotting to kill you. Did you know how evil and conniving those critters are?

Collecting my thoughts

I’m working on a lengthy and detailed post about Proposition 8 and gay marriage rights. It’s a difficult subject for me to write about, however, as my blood begins to BOIL every time I think about churches imposing their own moral views on the general population.

I mean FOR FUCK’S SAKE it makes no sense.

But I’m trying to compose the post with a thoughtful argument and without using the word Fuck. Which is difficult. So…it’ll be a bit longer.

In the meantime…I’m attempting to type this post with a cat (Casey) laying on my arms. Not the easiest feat and requiring frequent use of the backspace key. Man I’m dedicated.

And now that I’ve finished the post, he decides to move. Stinker.