I just saw a robin outside the kitchen window. It is the first sign that spring is on its' way and, as signs go; it could not have come at a more opportune time. I am struggling. Mightily. I am laboring under a funk that goes beyond the usual Cabin Fever and am at a loss as to how I can shake it off.
My malaise could be due to the fact that, since we brought him home from the vet on Thursday, Finnigan has failed to show much sign of recovery, he is, not himself, to a devastating degree. In addition to lethargy and sleepiness, he has shown signs of hind-leg weakness, and a recurring inability to balance himself. The symptoms come and go-sometimes he seems almost normal-but, last night, he experienced an episode of disorientation that bordered on blindness. He was walking into cabinets, limping in circles, and seemed almost catatonic.
A call to the emergency vet clinic provided no comfort; we were told to keep him warm and quiet and to wait for an appointment in the morning. The episode could be a seizure, it could be the result of a blood clot, it could be any number of things, there was simply no way to know.
Hugh was immediately plunged into vivid memories of his last days with Gilligan and, understandably, could not fathom experiencing that nightmare again, so; I told him to go to bed, that I would stay up with Finn. That I would be the one to shepherd this pet into the next life, should the responsibility for such thing present itself.
The kids said their goodbyes. There were many tears and questions and recriminations against whatever force in the universe could take a second pet from us within a little over a year and, it was, of course, heartbreaking.
I wrapped Finn in a warm towel and held him to my chest for a couple of hours. He purred like a jet engine the entire time. After a long nap, he shook himself free of the towel and walked in a perfectly straight line to his food dish, where, he proceeded to polish off a can of food before suddenly noticing one of his toys, which; he took to batting about for a bit before jumping back up onto the couch and curling up next to me.
At 4:30, he walked upstairs, pausing long enough to make sure I was following, then, into our bedroom where, he curled up in one of his usual spots under the bed.
By the morning, he was acting more like himself than he has all week. As I type this, he is basking in the sun on the kitchen table which, is a total no-no, but; I am loathe to stress him by moving him.
In a conversation with the vet, today, I expressed my reluctance to stress him by taking him back to the clinic, since, he was so obviously distressed by being there for the surgery. To my relief, she agreed. We are in a holding pattern, waiting to see if he continues to improve or if he relapses into another episode like the one last night. Either way, we have no clear idea of what to expect from his health in the future. I did cancel the appointment with the heart specialist, citing my reluctance to stress a cat who may have, you know, heart problems, and the vet agreed with my position.
I've second-guessed that decision numerous times, today but, when Finnigan also noticed the robin outside the kitchen window and began to stalk it from the perch of the window ledge; I relaxed just a bit.
Time will tell, and, in the meantime, I just need to hold on to the belief that everything will be alright, that Finnigan will enjoy the springtime and that the robin is a sign of better things to come.
And they cannot come a moment too soon.