Not Good News

1. Gus is severely anemic. With a normal range to this particular test starting at 34, Gus tests at a 19.

2. Gus's heart is enlarged. But only part of it.

3. Gus is in the early stages of renal failure. Medicine to help his heart will have adverse effects on his kidneys.

4. There are two masses in Gussy's liver. "Not terribly big and it's impossible to tell without doing a biopsy whether or not it's benign."

What can be causing all this?

The early stages of lymphoma. Maybe. Or it could be a perfectly horrible storm of stuff happening to my Gussy Guy at once.

This was delivered by a decidedly Not Hunky Vet.

I'm going in about an hour to pick him up. I wasn't able to get much of anything done at work today.

The estimate for this treatment ranged from $450 - $1,400. At some point, I have to say no. I spent my lunch time arranging a payment plan with the hospital that finally did something about my hurt leg in June. They were very nice. Wells Fargo should take lessons from them.

The vet's office wanted a $400 deposit. I must have turned pale because Donna the receptionist said, "Let me go see if we can make it less. Would, um, $200 be okay?"

I nodded.

Apparently the Big Vet (still so un-hunky) asked, "Is she a good client?" And Donna responded astringently that I'm an excellent customer.

But still. My Gussy is not going to live forever. And what will I do without his sweetness? His simple, loving goodness? Where will I be without my Gussygusgusgus?

I'll think about that tomorrow. When I go home to Tara.

Gustopher Bones, Cat of Distinction

Gussy should be home in an hour.

I terrified him and exhausted myself by chasing him around the bedroom this morning. I ended up throwing a sheet over him and stuffing him into the cat carrier. Neither one of us was particularly happy about it.

When I talked to the vet earlier this afternoon, she said the preliminary blood tests she had done on him showed that he's in the beginnings of kidney failure.

I think I suspected something like this for some time. Gus is 13 years old. Of course, his dad, the ever-ebullient, cue-the-Barry-White-music dad, Mo, is still making the rounds with the ladies. (Of course, he was neutered years and years ago, but obviously with Mo, hope springs eternal.)

I know what lies ahead for us. There will be evenings spent with bags of subcutaneous fluids to try to flush the bad stuff out of Gussy's kidneys. There will be special food. There will be long evenings of brushing and petting.

Cats I've petsit (petsat?) have lived for years with kidney failure. Of course I don't know how long Gus will have. Knowing it's an inevitable decline makes me sad.

I keep my eyes away from the bigger picture. I have twelve cats. One by one, they will die. Even the sleek, plump, rambunctious ones. No. Not to think about it, not now. Not to envision an empty house. No.

Gussy will come home tonight. Gussy Squirrel-toes. Gussy Guy. Gus gus gus gus. Gussy will come home.