In my last post about the many hats I’m wearing these days, I spoke of my role as “cat care specialist.” Unfortunately, I have some sad news to report in that regard: The vet visit I referred to turned out to be the beginning of an unexpected end. Our kitty, Kiara, died on Saturday night, probably of kidney failure. She lived to the ripe old age of seventeen.
Most of you already know this from my posts on Facebook, but I thought I’d add a bit more here. I brought her to the vet because, after I got back from that forum in Coatzacoalcos, I saw that she had stopped eating. She wouldn’t eat more than a tiny nibble—and usually not even that—of anything I gave her, including all of her favorite foods. Not even a can of tuna for humans interested her. She hadn’t had a vet visit for a while, so now felt like the right time.
After observing her and running some tests, our wonderful veterinarian told us that she was dealing with a lot of common “old kitty” stuff: liver problems, kidney problems, and even dementia. (We had noticed how she’d get these strange, vacant “Where am I now?” looks every now and then.) He decided to put her on an IV for a few days to get some needed nutrients into her. It actually helped; she perked up and seemed briefly to be quite a bit better.
But alas, her improvement was short-lived, which we were told is fairly common among cats who are close to the end. And on Saturday night, while Patricia and her daughter Marina were visiting, Kiara’s condition declined rapidly. Patricia called me and told me to come right away. I got there just in time to witness Kiara’s last few minutes on this earth. It was as if she had waited for me. She was in Marina’s arms, wrapped in her favorite blanket, surrounded by her loving family. I said a prayer out loud for her, and she left us during the prayer. If she had to go, I’m glad she went that way.
Now the house feels empty without her, especially since we now have no cats at all. (When I first came here eight years ago, we had three.) It’s amazing what a huge presence that little creature was. We’ll miss her friendly trilling, constant stream-of-consciousness meowing, amazingly loud purring, and warm, furry little body lounging on our laps and in our beds. We’ll miss her mischievous side too: her chair stealing, tabletop sitting, chicken bone scavenging, and legendary lizard hunting. We trust she is now happily playing with (and/or fighting with!) our cats that went before her, Chloe and Sassy. Thank you, Kiarita, for many years of happiness!