My Cleo...

Some of you know this, but for those of you who don't...

This is my darling Cleo*. He** saw me across a busy street and decided that he was going to live with me (or at least get regular access to me). He saw that I usually visited a certain house and would cry on the front porch until we (the exbf and I) came out. Somehow, this black and white ball of fluff joined the brood...I knew he claimed me as his one and only when one evening, when the exbf was teasing me incessantly (as he is wont to do) and I growled at the man...Cleo thought I was being attacked and came to my rescue, getting into "attack" posture. Since then, he has been my champion. I know, it's a bit of a boy-meets-girl-story...

Almost every time I visit, he's there, with a constant purr that could rival a diesel engine--and I do mean almost every time...I think he hasn't been at my side three times in eight years. He gazes at me, miaos for attention (if I'm reading or something), stretches out a padded, furry paw and then hops up to settle in for a snooze or a cuddle. He is the most calming influence I have in my life.

Christmas Eve he got into trouble--his lungs filled up with fluids and if he weren't already at the vet's for a bit of a "spa treatment" he may not have survived. We took him back to the exbf's after Boxing Day and things seemed to be getting better. The vet, a wonderful and kind person, doesn't know what's really happening to my darling little Cleo--it's not cancer, it's not heart disease. What it is is lymph fluids and fats getting into his lungs, causing him to drown. How and why are mysteries.

Dr. B commented on his eyes--they aren't like regular cat eyes--they're almost human. In them she sees the lives of a 1000 cats. She knows there's something there...I know there's something there too.

As I said, he seemed to be getting better.

Yesterday, Cleo got in distress again, panting heavily and not moving well. The exbf took him to the vet's. Within an hour, Cleo let out a wail that cat specialists know as the wail of a cat that can't breathe and is about to pass on. She saved his life again...he bounces back, but breathing is hard. Dr. B's a strong-willed woman who won't let him pass (if she has any say in this). His motorboat runs when I'm in the room. He knows what the oxygen tank is and that he feels better when it's near.

He also tries to escape his cage and wander down the hallways and visit the other cats who aren't doing nearly as well. He's that sort of being...

We may be able to take him home soon, but until then he'll remain at the hospital, and we'll visit nightly, hoping to see him the next day...hoping to hear him the next day...


jasmine
add this page to del.icio.us

*No, I haven't forgotten that this is a food blog...but my mind has been elsewhere as of late...

**Yes, "he." We thought Cleo was a female because of behaviours, but when Dr. B met him, she corrected us--but he responded to Cleo, and didn't mind the name, so "Cleo" he will always be.