The Tao of Kimchee

Kimchee died today, on April Fool's Day. She had been losing weight steadily for the past four months or so, and was down to 8.5 pounds from 12. Last week she started acting slow, slightly drunken, and I watched her fall a couple times. That was especially disconcerting. While Kim was no Irina Slutskaya, she was always proud of her posture and poise. One might even say excessively so. On Monday I brought her in for a checkup and a blood test at the Humane society, and they didnt seem too concerned. I thought we had been handed a reprieve.

Then on Thursday she abruptly set up camp behind my couch and refused to come out except to sample an occasional meal (cat food with lobster, no less). Hiding is never a good sign with cats. So on April 1 I brought her into the animal e.r. and they found a hidden litany of problems, including a severe heart murmur and acute renal failure. I was given the option of either admitting her, rehydrating on an IV for two days (risky, coupled with the heart murmur, and obviously expensive), and then entering a program of chronic renal maintenance, which means I'd stick her with an iv every two days for the rest of her life. Or I could put her to sleep. The decision was hideous, but I didn't think too hard about it. It was longer than a long shot. Kimchee would have hated the IV maintenance, and I wasnt about to torture her.

Putting Kimchee down was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. But she went out with dignity - not yet so sick she couldnt keep that ridiculous coat of hers clean, and not in that much pain. In fact, as I waited for the doctor in the exam room tonight, she fell asleep on my lap.