Peregrine Falcon
Hoping for drier days
Let the grief wash over you. It's only natural. Please do look after yourself though. Cat heaven has an extra star. X
As above. The locum practice vet failed to identify this when I consulted with her a couple of months ago. She said Kevin had Feline Irritable Bowel Syndrome. She didn't make any treatment recommendations or give any advice. Kevin continued to lose weight and veer between bolting large amounts of food and leaving it
Today, I took him to my usual vet (same practice),who was on annual leave when I took him before. He did a manual examination and said that Kevin had a stomach tumour.
He gave him a hefty shot of steroids and said to bring him back at the end of next week. If no improvement in appetite, and weight he will then be pts.
He's 15. He had a rotten life before he came to me, being a persecuted semi-feral stray, kicked out by his doting elderly lady owner's daughter because he scratched her two-year old son when he was dragging him round by his front legs. A friend knew that I had just lost my 22yr- old cat (who the RSPCA had assured me was 10 yrs old eight months before) to acute kidney failure, and rescued Kevin, assuring his elderly owner that he would have a good home with me.
I think he has. He's had fun taunting swans (idiot Kat!) running around with his slinky black girlfriend, lying in the sun in the wheelhouse and being a Smarmy Git with the neighbours for a bit of cheese or Dreamies.
He's been an excellent, if demanding companion whilst I've been pretty much bunk- bound with M E two days out of three. I'm a loner and he's been my best mate.
I just can't stop crying.
That's lovely. Remember him for the wonderful character he was.So sorry Ratface. He's looking down on you with scorn from an even higher perch now.
.
Thanks, all. I couldn't sleep past 02:00hrs, so I got up and cleared all of Kevin's thing out, keeping only his two feed bowls, but hiding them away. I've spent four hours cleaning the interior of the barge - mainly of his extraordinary amount of shed hair! He was groomed every single day, stroked, cleaned by himself on all occasions during every hour he was awake and not patrolling the estate.
My friend who came upon him in straitened circumstances was informed and immediately responded by saying she could bring down another within a day! I kindly informed her that neither my finances or my mental state would be able to cope with that, but would let her know whenever I felt I could welcome another heart-breaker in.
I only had him for fifteen months. It feels like fifteen years.
It sounds like Kevin is still with you! Take care of yourself xI keep hearing his Very Heavy Paws clumping down the perpendicular flight of stairs from his penthouse apartment in the wheelhouse to the servants quarters (the aft cabin). I keep waiting for the imperious paw/claw on the face indicating that "Fooood!! Now!!!" must be served. Chop chop!
I'm unconsciously waiting for the airborne Lancaster bomber that was Kevin Kat landing on the bunk/me, to indicate that prompt food service was required immediately.
I have to pass Kevin's private yacht - an abandoned little vessel immediately up from us that he commandeered. He used to crouch on the chart table for hours, plotting a course to who knows where?
His sliding paw marks are still on the hull, where he hauled himself aboard.
I'm off up to the showers with a set of clean clothes and then to the village shop for a few basic stores - apples, bread and cheese. I'll have a go at the library as well.
Sorry to keep maundering on. You're the only ones who really understand. I intuitively know that if I mention it to anyone else here they will say "Oh - you can always get another one". Which would be unwise.
I keep hearing his Very Heavy Paws clumping down the perpendicular flight of stairs from his penthouse apartment in the wheelhouse to the servants quarters (the aft cabin). I keep waiting for the imperious paw/claw on the face indicating that "Fooood!! Now!!!" must be served. Chop chop!
I'm unconsciously waiting for the airborne Lancaster bomber that was Kevin Kat landing on the bunk/me, to indicate that prompt food service was required immediately.
I have to pass Kevin's private yacht - an abandoned little vessel immediately up from us that he commandeered. He used to crouch on the chart table for hours, plotting a course to who knows where?
His sliding paw marks are still on the hull, where he hauled himself aboard.
I'm off up to the showers with a set of clean clothes and then to the village shop for a few basic stores - apples, bread and cheese. I'll have a go at the library as well.
Sorry to keep maundering on. You're the only ones who really understand. I intuitively know that if I mention it to anyone else here they will say "Oh - you can always get another one". Which would be unwise.
I keep hearing his Very Heavy Paws clumping down the perpendicular flight of stairs from his penthouse apartment in the wheelhouse to the servants quarters (the aft cabin). I keep waiting for the imperious paw/claw on the face indicating that "Fooood!! Now!!!" must be served. Chop chop!
I'm unconsciously waiting for the airborne Lancaster bomber that was Kevin Kat landing on the bunk/me, to indicate that prompt food service was required immediately.
I have to pass Kevin's private yacht - an abandoned little vessel immediately up from us that he commandeered. He used to crouch on the chart table for hours, plotting a course to who knows where?
His sliding paw marks are still on the hull, where he hauled himself aboard.
I'm off up to the showers with a set of clean clothes and then to the village shop for a few basic stores - apples, bread and cheese. I'll have a go at the library as well.
Sorry to keep maundering on. You're the only ones who really understand. I intuitively know that if I mention it to anyone else here they will say "Oh - you can always get another one". Which would be unwise.
I doubt Kevin Kat is resting! He'll be silently stalking about, long stripey tail slowly waving, casing the joint. Who's going to benefit his every need "Nooow!" Where is the best, highest, most comfortable, sheepskin-covered vantage point? The feline enemy? The gullible neighbour? "But I'm Staaarved!" The most-useful Slave? The most-amusing undead person to terrify? As a slightly-obsessed Professor of Anthropology I was tutored by, back in the 1970's used to mutter as he fled down the corridors of the LSE, "There is much to be done - MUCH to be done!!"