My Cleo, my champion

As some of you who follow my Twitter feed know this week was a difficult one.

My dear Cleo, took a turn for the worse and a very difficult decision had to be made; this wasn't totally unexpected as he had quite a scare 2.5 years ago.

My ball of purry fluff who came in from the cold wouldn't recover from the particular combination of ailments as what would cure one would worsen another. It was for the best...he was in discomfort, but not in pain and it would have turned very quickly to pain.

We had our last cuddle yesterday, through which his legendary purr started out as a little putter and got stronger and stronger, happy paws and all. I couldn't be there for his final moments, but the exbf told me as soon as Cleo could no longer hear or see me, his purr died down to a bit of a splutter; he thought Cleo hung on for me, and he knew that was our last cuddle. He purred softly until the very end.

I'm teary, but I know this was the best decision for him.

Will be back...in a bit.


jasmine

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
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*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.