Sadie was never the friendliest cat I’d met from the time I first ran onto her in my gal’s apartment. She always had a bit of a ’tude about her, best characterized by her meow. “AAAAOOOOWWWW,” as in “Who you think you messin’ with, bud?” Her attitude mellowed at least a little with the years and the move from the apartment to the house. She allowed herself to be groomed by Morris, our Maine Coon and would even come up in my lap for a pet-pet, but there was always that grumpy cat underneath who would come out if she thought she was being rubbed the wrong way (whatever way that was!).
Fast forward to not that long ago. Sadie had started losing weight, which my gal (now my wife) thought could be caused by diabetes, since the cat was drinking so much). We weren’t too concerned, because she still appeared fundamentally healthy … but then she stopped grooming herself and her fur developed some pretty bad mats. Another unexpected development was that she was now seeking out my company, her meow now perhaps less a warning than a simple statement: “Help, please?” At about that same time, my wife discovered that she was having problems eating, especially her treats. We always gave our cats hard, tartar-control treats, and Sadie usually enjoyed them, but it seemed as though, all at once, either she didn’t care for them or it took her considerably longer than usual to eat them.
And with that, she allocated time off of work for a trip to the vet. The drive down was arduous, between the rain and at least one accident on Ohio 8, what was supposed to be a 4:30 appointment got pushed back fully an hour. The trip was worth it, though. This was a vet she had known a while, and my previous experiences with Dr. Soehnlin had taught me that his practice had as much of a handle on caring for those who walked on two legs as four. They were good people.
Sadie had been quiet on the way down, but out of the carrier, she reverted to type: “You Ain’t Touchin’ Me!” … so the doc had to (VERY carefully!) sedate her. An initial examination didn’t turn up much, nor did a urine test. The doc suggested the possibility of hypothyroidism and agreed to my gal’s thoughts regarding diabetes. So far, none of those possibilities were all that bad.
Or so we thought. The sedative finally had Sadie chilled to the point where a more thorough examination was possible, starting with her mouth. Her teeth were not the best, but the doc had seen far worse. Then he opened her mouth and there it was: a tumor, under Sadie’s tongue. This was no little bump, either. This pink thing was bigger than the tongue itself, certainly big enough to at least partially obstruct the eating process. Worse, where there was one tumor, there were likely others. That had been the case with Sadie’s mom, Boo, a wonderful “sweet-old-lady” cat whom we had lost to the “C” entity in January of 2014. Probably the world’s lousiest occurrence of “like mother, like daughter.”
“I can probably fix that,” Dr. Soehnlin stated, “but there are almost certainly others in her, and right now, all she’s doing is hurting.” It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to guess where the conversation went from that point. It was time to let Sadie go … and so we did.
And so our six kitties are now down to five. Yeah, Sadie was a pain in the patoot … but she was OUR pain in the patoot … and she will be sorely missed.