This week Mollie entered the wormhole transporting her to the vet’s office. She did the song of her people. She’s the cat who had a lot of testing done last November but all they came up with was a floppy esophagus. I didn’t think she was feeling well so off we went.
I like to think small when it comes to medical concerns, especially for my cats. I took Hazel in for a hairball only to find out that a ginormous tumor was putting pressure on her lungs and she didn’t come home. I call it minimizing. In true fashion, I went in saying I thought it may be reflux or heartburn.
Mollie will be 16 this spring. That’s an old cat (shh! Don’t tell her!). She’s past anything that involves anesthesia. In her young days she didn’t tolerate it well. The sure way to see what’s going on in the esophagus is with a scope. Under anesthesia.
She also has a slight limp. Most likely arthritis. After an exam that invaded her personal space, the vet upped her steroid med to every day and added a probiotic to aid in digestion. We’ll see.
I am not ready to see her go. She’s my torti with an attitude. She’s an 8 pound cat that bosses the 12 pounders effectively. She’s my wheels up cat.
I also don’t want to see her uncomfortable or unhappy. So far she’s eating and doing all the output stuff ok. Let’s hope she’s good for another 10,000 miles!
I learned a lesson from Jake (my cat who passed five years ago). I didn’t want to part with him either and kept him going for a year longer than I should have. It wasn’t a good year for either of us.
You got to know when hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away….. (The Gambler)
Just not yet for my sweet Mollie!