I was at work this afternoon, when I received a call from Jazz.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yeah…I’m at work. What happened?” Y’all my heart sank. I had no idea what she was going to say, but I knew it was going to be bad.
“I think Pooty’s dead.”
So, basically, just before 4pm this afternoon, Pooty walked into the living room, toward the couch. She started wheezing and collapsed. Jazz went to loosen her collar, and she kind of twitched and then lay still. Jazz called me a few minutes later to tell me, and I went into Kathy’s office.
“Kathy? I need to leave.”
I called JB, and he said he’d meet me at the house. I called my sister, who works at a vet hospital, and she told me to bring Pooty in. I called my mom to let her know what was going on. I arrived home to find everyone standing around a cardboard box containing Pooty wrapped in a towel. I grabbed the box, told JB that my sister was waiting for me, and we left.
Long story short, we got her to the vet, and she was confirmed dead. The vet offered to do an autopsy (exploratory surgery to find out what the hell happened, because it was so sudden), and when I asked her how much it cost, she said, “I won’t charge you, because [my sister] works here.” I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, to not have to worry about how I’m going to pay for something while also worrying about everything else.
JB and I said goodbye, and they took Pooty away. In an effort to avoid home for a while longer, he and I went to eat, then went to the grocery store. We arrived back at my house and sat around with the other two cats, having them chase a laser pointer, until my sister called with the results.
Pooty died of congestive heart failure (full name of the disease at the link). It was genetic congenital defect, which means that chances are good that Dammit has it, too. So I’m going to go get him checked out again, because the last time we were at the vet for his digestive problems, she said he had a heart murmur, but didn’t seem concerned. Well, I think we have reason to be concerned now.
I feel horrible, but I comfort myself with the fact that she didn’t suffer, and that there’s no way I could have predicted this, or prevented it from happening.
It still sucks, though. :-/
Pooty: 2001 – January 26, 2009