Well, I've been promising a new blog and have a really epic one in the making outlining all the stuff that's been going on the last several months...unfortunately now I will only be writing about one of said events mostly due to something that happened today.

I may have mentioned my cat Madison in a previous blog somewhere. He's my best kitty pal and I've had him for about 12 and a half years. His whole life he's been an overweight cat, weighing in at 17 lbs at the peak of his life. I suppose that might play a role in some of the health problems he's been dealing with the last seven months. Yes, he's been very sick the last seven months of his life, very sick and in need of constant medical attention.

The prelude to his health problems began in November of last year. He started experiencing loose, bloody stools (a delicious mental image, I know) and constant vomiting. We took him to a vet down the street from us, and the vet diagnosed him with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome). He prescribed a liquid medication to rectify the problem (yes, I realize the implications here. Rectify, rectum, har har) but the medication only caused the opposite problem, hardened stools and constipation. Regardless, we kept him on the medication to try to stabilize his IBS, when slowly another problem worked its way into the mix.

Around February of this year, Michael and I noticed that his hip bones were starting to protrude a little bit, indicating weight loss. When we took him into the vet's for a checkup, we weighed him and his weight had dropped to 13 lbs. I was alarmed by this, but the vet said that "maybe the scale was wrong". Wow, is that your professional opinion, that your shitty equipment is faulty and probably shouldn't even be used? Not only are you admitting that your facilities suck but you're completely ignoring the fact that my cat is VISIBLY thinner. Ahem. Sorry, I digress.

So, we took his weight loss with a grain of salt and continued his regular medications. Until one day in March, we noticed that Madison was walking really strangely. His back legs seemed unable to support the weight of his body, and bowed out as if he was going to fall. He was stumbling all over himself. So it was clear to us that something else was going on with him. We decided to take him to the vet the following day.

The next morning, we took him to the vet's and had an x-ray done, as well as some blood work and a urinalysis. I couldn't stay for the results since I had to go to work, so I asked the vet to give me a call when he found out anything. The vet called me back a little while later to inform me that Madison was unable to walk because his toxin levels in his blood were off the charts due to his kidneys failing. The x-ray revealed that one kidney was completely dysfunctional and the other was only performing at about 30% capacity. I asked what could be done, and he said short of a kidney transplant or performing dialysis once a week (removing his blood, filtering out the toxins and transferring it back to his body) my only other option would be to put him to sleep.

As many of you can imagine, this news turned me into a complete wreck. I know it's probably a mute point explaining exactly how much I love this cat, as many pet owners have and will describe their love for their own pets. But I can safely say that Madison is the best animal I have ever had the privilege of having. He's been through so many important events in my life , be it joyful or heart wrenching, and he has never judged me, or abandoned me like some others in my life have. Friends and lovers have come and gone but Madison has always been the same loving kitty. He has been willing to let me cry into his fur when I'm sad and purrs to give me comfort, he sleeps next to me at night and rests his chin on my arm, he follows me around the house when I'm at home and he loves being around Michael and I. Unlike most cats, he likes getting his belly rubbed, and will roll over on his back when he wants his belly to be pet. Also unlike most cats, he NEVER gets tired of being pet. I could literally sit here and pet him all day and he would love every moment of it. He has never bitten, clawed, or done anything remotely aggressive to me or anyone else I know. Quite simply, he is the cuddliest, friendliest, most docile cat ever and I love him so much it's retarded.

That being said, I was of course devastated at the thought of losing him. I immediately called Michael to tell him the news, and we decided to get a second opinion before making any rash decisions.

Michael's aunt gave us the address of the vet she goes to, so we took Madison to the new vet to see if anything could be done for him. Our new vet told us that although renal disease is terminal, that animals can live for several years with it if they're given the proper fluids. She showed us how to administer subcutaneous fluids (fluids injected just under the skin on the neck), which serve to flush out the system and keep the animal hydrated. It also forces the kidneys to work harder. So, every day for the rest of Madison's life, we've been injecting fluids into him via an IV and hypodermic needle.

We thought that we were in the clear, and were very disappointed with our first vet's prognosis. But then not too long after, Madison suddenly stopped walking altogether.

He could barely even hold his head up. He started urinating where he lay, unable to get to the litter box, and even unable to stand to avoid soiling himself. We took him back to the new vet's again, and this time I was absolutely certain he'd have to be put to sleep. But then, after some more tests, we found the cause of the problem.

The amount of fluids we were giving him were actually flushing the potassium out of his system. I know potassium is vital, but I didn't realize a severe lack of it could cause the muscles to stop functioning. We hospitalized him for three days while he was on an IV spiked with potassium. Three days later, when we picked up our kitty, he was able to walk again. It seemed like a miracle.

So, on top of giving him fluids daily, we also have been giving him potassium in pill form every day, too.

Of course, it doesn't stop there. As Madison continued to lose weight from his terminal illness, other medical issues reared their ugly head. At one point his platelet count was so critically low that he was in danger of spontaneous bleeding. We used a mixture of antibiotics and steroids to cure that problem, and luckily that succeeded in helping him. However, he was also becoming anemic, a couple of his teeth were abscessed and he was also having difficulties defecating. Nothing could really be done for his anemia, and I was hesitant to have his teeth removed due partially to the price (500 dollars) and also because the vet expressed some concern over how well he'd react to the anesthesia (in other words, there was a chance that it could kill him because of his weight loss). We solved his defecation issues temporarily by mixing pumpkin into his cat food. Slowly though, the pumpkin stopped working.

Eventually Madison became so constipated that we had to take him to the vet's for an enema. And then another, and then another. It started out as a once a month thing, and has gradually increased to twice a month, then most recently, about twice within a week and a half. Typically, the routine involves us dropping him off at the vet, they clean him out, and he perks right up and reverts back into his happy, former cat self until he requires another enema awhile later. I can't say I've been happy to do it, but it was something I was willing to do as long as Madison could tolerate it and as long as it continued to help him.

However, about two days ago, we noticed Madison was constipated and had stopped eating. I made an appointment with the vet yesterday to have another enema done. He basically just laid in the same spot and didn't move much, but we attributed that to him being constipated and feeling overall yucky. I figured he'd get his enema and everything would be fine. As you might be gathering from my word choices, things were not fine.

Michael brought Madison to the vet for the enema, but the vet was having difficulty giving the enema because his glands were inflamed. She said the only way to fix that problem would be to perform surgery, but she expected him to not survive the anesthesia at all at this point because his weight loss was so severe. (He weighed in that day at only 6 lbs versus the 17 lbs he was when he was healthy.) We left him at the vet's overnight, hoping that he would be able to poop on his own or that the vet could try to give him another enema. I called the vet this morning, asking if he had pooped yet and if I could come pick him up. The technician that answered the phone said that our vet wasn't in yet, but that Madison had still not pooped. That immediately raised a red flag in my brain, and I started wondering if perhaps this was the last time I would see my cat.

I prepared for work as usual, and waited for the vet to call me back and tell me what was going on with Madison. Before I left, I noticed that his drinking fountain was making noise because the water level was low. I instinctively filled with more water, even though a part of me knew that Madison would not be home to drink from it.

When I got to work, I received a call from one of the technicians. She said that Michael and I needed to go there right away because the vet wanted to talk to us. She may as well have just said, "You need to come here and put your cat to sleep." Because to me, that's what that translated to.

I started crying and my boss let me go...I stopped at home first so that Michael and I could drive to the vet's together, and also to pick up Madison's cat bed. He absolutely loves that bed, and if today was his time, I wanted him to be comfortable.

We got to the vet's office, and she came in with "that look" on her face. That look that means she has bad news. Well, I already knew it was coming. But it was still hard to hear.

She said that she managed to get some poop out of Madison, but even after that, he still wasn't moving much and he refused to eat, which is very atypical for him. She said that his quality of life seemed poor, and that our only options would be to go "balls to the wall" (her exact words) and give him a bunch of tests, administer every medication known to man, and keep him there on IVs for awhile and hope it might help his condition, or to euthanize him. She explained that even if we tried to save him, it still wouldn't help his kidney and it would be a temporary solution to a fast-growing problem. Basically, she was pushing for us to euthanize him, to end his suffering.

She left Michael and I alone with Madison for awhile, to discuss what we wanted to do. It was already pretty clear what had to be done. So we tried to enjoy the little time we had left with him for awhile. We pet him and caressed him, stroked his face and ears, and I laid my head against his tiny frame a final time to discover that he was purring softly. Despite his obvious discomfort, he still had it in him to purr and let us know he still loved us.

Eventually we let the vet know that we were deciding to have him euthanized, to end his pain and the constant vet visits and medications. She brought us into a more comfortable room with a couch, where we sat and had Madison in his cat bed on both of our laps. The vet had put a catheter in his arm and said that when she shaved his fur, she noticed from his skin pigmentation that he also had jaundice, likely suggesting that his liver was failing. She explained that she would first give him a sedative to make him sleepy, followed by the "pink liquid" that would make his heart stop. She said that while she was giving the sedative, that he would still be able to hear us and that we could talk to him in his final moments if we wanted to. At that point I was crying hysterically, and didn't think I could muster up any words at all...but I manged to say "I love you, kitty" before she gave him the final pink liquid.

After she injected the pink stuff, she put a stethoscope to his chest and let us know when his heart stopped. He was gone in mere seconds. And though I didn't realize it until a bit later, he released urine onto both my pants and Michael's but I didn't really care.

The vet allowed us to sit with Madison for a final time before taking him away to be cremated. So we sat with him, and continued to pet him and touch his paws even though we knew he could no longer feel it. It looked like he was just sleeping and felt really fucking alien knowing that he wasn't sleeping, he was dead.

The bed was finally taken away, and we retrieved his collar, which is now sitting on my desk proudly with a tag that reads "Madison" and a little bell that let us know where in the house he was at all times. When we got home, I immediately started cleaning up all traces of him and started packing it away...as I've stated in other blogs, it's not because I want to forget him, but because I don't want to keep thinking that he's coming home.

Today has been very hard for me...any time I distract myself for longer than 5 minutes I forget that he is dead and expect him to be laying in his bed next to my computer, or sitting on the couch, or laying on my bed waiting to be cuddled. When he was still healthy, I woke up to him laying next to me every morning, and I would pull him close to me and pet him while he'd purr and flip over onto his back so I could pet his stomach. Every day I'd come home from work and he'd be in the living room meowing for lunch, and he'd come visit with me after he was done eating to let me know he appreciates me for more than just food. He'd beg to sit on my lap while at my computer sometimes, too. Or I would get up from my computer chair to get something from a different room, and I'd come back to my computer to find that he'd stolen my spot. It's so hard for me to adjust, knowing that he's not going to be there doing those things anymore.

Well, of course now I'm crying again recalling all of this...I apologize for being so long winded, and perhaps even coming off as melodramatic. I suppose this blog is more for myself than anyone else, since I don't really expect anyone to read this all the way through out of the sheer fact that it's not their cat so they probably won't care as much. That's not necessarily a bad thing, I actually don't mind. I just wanted to put my feelings out there regardless of my audience.

So, it here that I conclude my very sad tale...I had to say goodbye to my best friend in the whole world today and it was the most horrible experience I've been through to date. I love him, I miss him, and no cat in the world will ever be able to replace him.

R.I.P. Madison, April 26th, 1997 - October 15th, 2009

Now I will share some images of Madison with you all, so you can see what an awesome cat he was.

I will show a couple of sad ones first, just to show how sick he became, and then show other pictures from better times.

This was Madison when he was a big fat 17 lbs porker:


And this is what he looked like today just before being put to sleep, at a frail 6 lbs:


Perhaps the hardest part through all of this was watching him slowly deteriorate into a skeleton. He was not the same cat today as he was several months ago.

But hey, things weren't always shitty. Here is is snoozing with his kitten pal, Midna.



Yes, not only was he a good friend to humans but he was a good father figure as well. He loved her to pieces.

Michael and Madison became really close in their short time together.




And of course he loved his mom as much as she loved him.




Thanks to everyone who bothered to read or at least skim through this....it's been very emotionally draining the last year.