My dear cat Pelle died Saturday night – 13 years old.
My parents had seen he hadn’t been feeling well since Thursday. They found out he had pain in the back part of his body and it hurt when he jumped down from a chair onto the floor. He had trouble walking Friday morning, but he looked better when they came home from work in the evening.
Saturday morning he lay in bed with my parents – on my mum’s side. Mum didn’t mind. When they went shopping later that they he was nowhere to be found. They picked me up on their shopping round and I went home with them. We didn’t find him when we came home.
After I had visited my friend Linda, talked to her for a while, been in the kiosk and came back, dad had found him under a couch. We decided to call the vet, because now we saw he had peed blood. The vet back home were my parents live has a 24 hrs duty – you can call if there’s an emergency. We called and she said she could have a look at him.
So we went straight to the vet and she examined him with ultrasound among other things. She found out he had bladder that was full. It was a size as a tennis-ball. She drugged him down and had to empty the bladder. First she took out a lot using a needle. After some more drugs to make him more relaxed, Pelle peed naturally – the vet squeezed the bladder until it was almost empty.
We got a special diet, a cure against worms and some cat sand. We were told to keep him inside so we could check out if he managed to pee by himself.
The vet stressed that this was serious and if it had infected his kidney it wouldn’t be any hope. But she didn’t say anything about his kidney after the ultra-sound and she were very optimistic.
We went home believing we had saved his life.
Pelle got placed on the bathroom floor where it was warm. He needed to lie on a warm place for a while. It would take up to three hours for him to wake up from the drugs. We all checked on him from time to time.
When the three hours was over, I could see he was trying to wake up. He “talked” a bit more and his paws were more active. I went to dad and we both went inside the bathroom. Mum was already asleep.
We looked at him for a short while.
“Pelle, you’ve been sleeping enough now” dad said. Not long after he stopped breathing. I nearly stopped breathing too. Dad and I looked at him, both very worried. Suddenly he got his breath back – but only for a few more seconds.
“Did Pelle just die?” dad said out in the air.
“Nooo” I said out loud. Then the tears set in.
I almost freaked out. I ran into mum’s bedroom without any clue on how to tell her Pelle had died. I didn’t want to use the words he’s dead. I cried and said his name. Mum didn’t understand anything and asked me to calm down.
“I think Pelle stopped breathing” I eventually managed to say to her.
Mum got up and we went into the bathroom again. Dad sat near Pelle and just looked at him. I placed myself on the toilet and sobbed.
This was not a part of the plan. He shouldn’t die. We had taken him to the vet and she had saved him – we thought. Then he stopped breathing three hours later.
It got too much for him. His little heart couldn’t take it.
We held a “funeral” for him yesterday. Dad even made a wooden coffin for him. Mum put some sheets in it and along with him, we placed four flowers inside the coffin. We all used to call him ‘King of Lierfoss’ (Lierfoss is the place were they live) and therefore he needed a proper funeral
It’s weird that he’s not around. He’s been a part of our lives for 13 years.