The Old Cat

David E. Larsen, DVM

Dixie carefully closed the exam room door. She had just finished getting the next patient ready for my exam.

“This guy just arrived from California,” Dixie whispered. “The cat is old, and he is pretty proud of that fact. His name is Bob, and the cat’s name is Ruby.”

I entered the exam room and patted the old cat’s head. Then I extended my hand to Bob. Bob was a big man. Not fat, just a large older gentleman. His six-foot-four-inch frame towered over me, and his hand engulfed my hand. But I still managed a firm handshake.

“What are we doing for Ruby today, Bob?” I asked.

“You guys are right on the ball,” Bob said. “You had the names down without even looking at the record.”

“Well, we try hard, but we also cheat a little,” I said. “Dixie filled me in on the other side of the door.”

“Honest, too,” Bob said. “I like that. We just moved into town, and Ruby is probably the oldest cat you have seen. I just wanted her checked out. The move was long, and there was a lot of stress for her.”

“Moves are pretty stressful for cats,” I said. “Even short moves are often difficult for them. Does Ruby live inside?”

“Yes, she lives inside exclusively anymore,” Bob said. “In her younger days, she spent a lot of time outside. She is seventeen years old now. We try to take special care of her. Doc, you probably haven’t seen a cat this old.”

“We see a lot of cats in Sweet Home,” I said. “I rarely see a male cat that makes it to fifteen. Fourteen seems to be the magic year for them. But we see many sixteen-year-old female cats and a few who make it to seventeen. The oldest cat I have seen was twenty-three. She belonged to an old lady in the nineties. She told me she had to crawl under the bed to retrieve her cat for the appointment. That most of been quiet of a sight.”

“Well, seventeen is pretty old for a cat,” Bob said.

“Oh, yes, she is in a small group with dwindling numbers,” I said. “Do you just want an exam for Ruby, or do you want me to do blood work and a urinalysis?”

“Down south, we usually take her in for an exam every three months or so,” Bob said. “They never asked about a lot of lab work.”

“A lot of old cats die from kidney failure,” I said. “We should at least be doing a urine sample. And after a trip like she has just been through, it might be wise to run a blood panel, just so we can make sure everything is working like it should.”

“You will probably need to keep her for a couple of hours to finish that,” Bob said. “And you are  right, and we don’t want anything to happen to her that we can prevent.”

So, with that decided, we kept Ruby for a couple of hours, collected blood and urine samples, and completed a comprehensive exam. She passed everything with flying colors.

“Do you think she is really seventeen?” Dixie asked.

“She looks pretty for good for that age,” I said. “Did Bob bring any records from his previous veterinarian?” I asked.

“He said that she was never sick, so they didn’t bother with records,” Dixie said.

Bob was pleased with the results and made an appointment for a recheck in three months.

***

Three months later, Bob and Ruby were back in the clinic. Bob had quite a discussion at the front desk. Bob was sure our records were wrong, Ruby was nineteen, not seventeen as our file indicated.

“Doc, this cat just amazes me. She gets healthier as time goes on,” Bob said. “I am thinking that she will live to be thirty.”

As Bob loaded Ruby into his car, Dixie smiled at me.

“She probably will live to be thirty,” Dixie said. “If she continues to age two years every three months, thirty if not too far off.”

***

That became the routine; Bob and Ruby would be in the clinic every three months. Every visit, Ruby was two years older. 

Bob had some bad news on the fourth visit, just before Christmas.

“We will be moving in a couple of weeks,” Bob said. “All this rain is too much for us to endure. This move is going to be a short one, just over the mountains. We have bought a new house in Redmond.”

“I sorry to see you go, Bob,” I said. “But, you will have a dryer climate over there, maybe a little colder in the winter, but not near as much rain. Do you want to take a copy of Ruby’s records?”

“She has been as healthy as a horse on every visit,” Bob said. “There is no need for records. She will have her twenty-fourth birthday this coming spring. Probably the oldest cat most vets have ever seen.”

“I am sure she probably is, Bob,” I said,

We never had any news from Bob, but if it was up to him, I am sure that Ruby lived to be thirty.

***

It was a couple of years later when Jack came in with his old cat. He set the carrier on the floor, carefully pulled an ancient Siamese cat from the carrier, and placed her on the blanket he had spread on the table.

Jack was a large animal client from Brownsville. I had worked on his cows almost from the day we started practice.

“Doc, I have never asked you for a miracle, but that is what I am after today,” Jack said, tears welling up in his eyes. “This old cat is my daughter’s, and we want to get one more Christmas with her. This cat is twenty-six years old. So, I know I might be asking a lot, but our daughter is coming home for Christmas, and I am looking forward to one more picture of her and this old girl.”

“Jack, are you sure of the age?” I asked. “I mean, it is easy to lose track of the years with a cat.”

Jack struggled to get his wallet out of his hip pocket. Then he thumbed through old papers and receipts before finally pulling a tattered and crumpled old photo from the mess. 

“Here is the proof, Doc,” Jack said. “Sue was almost a year old in this photo. It was her first Christmas. And the kitten she is holding is this old girl right here. And Doc, Sue will be twenty-six next month.”

“Well, I would say I had better get to work if we are going to buy some time for this old gal,” I said. And what is this old gals name?”

“Well, we call her Cleo,” Jack said. “Actually, she was named before we got her and that name was Cleopatra.”

“Yes, I think Cleo is a better name,” I said. “Jack, Cleo is a little thin and might be dehydrated. Why don’t we plan to keep her overnight, do some lab work, and see if we can make her feel a little better for Sue’s arrival? Jack, Cleo is ancient. We can maybe buy her time, but we will not make her a young cat. You understand that, I hope.”

“Do what you can, Doc,” Jack said. “Like I said when I came through the door, we are after a miracle. So yes, we understand Cleo’s situation.”

We kept Cleo for the night. After collecting blood and urine samples, we started her on IV fluids.

My heart sank when I looked at the lab results. I had expected Cleo to be in kidney failure, but her blood values showed her failure was advanced. Cats seem to adjust to kidney failure and hold out pretty well right to the end. We were going to have to be lucky to be able to get her up for Sue’s visit.

I gave Jack a call with the news.

“Jack, I had expected Cleo to be in kidney failure, but the lab work shows a pretty advanced status,” I said. “If it was you or I, we would be on dialysis. Unfortunately, for Cleo, that is not an option. What we can do is limited. We will do some peritoneal dialysis this evening. That is where we fill her abdomen with fluid, allow it to stay to absorb some of her toxins, and then draw it off. That and her IV fluids and a special diet will get her through a few days. If you want to extend that time, we could use some diuresis, where we give her daily fluid to run through her kidneys to get as much use out of them as possible. But we are talking about weeks, not months.”

“Sue arrives the day after tomorrow,” Jack said. “If I followed all that, we can buy her enough time for Sue to say goodbye. Then I don’t think we will want to put Cleo through a bunch of misery to buy a couple of empty weeks.”

“We will get started on her treatment,” I said. “Plan to pick her up tomorrow. I think you can expect a couple of days, but three days without additional treatment will be the end of it. And Jack, just a word of advice: the one mistake people make is to wait too long before deciding to put a pet to sleep. It is better to be a day too early than a day too late.”

“Okay, Doc, we will pick Cleo up in the late morning,” Jack said. “That should give Sue a few good hours with her. That will be good. We will give you a call when we are ready.”

Cleo felt significantly better after treatment and a day of IV fluids. Jack was pleased with her progress when he picked her up.

It was two days when he called and asked to speak with me.

“Doc, I can’t thank you enough,” Jack said. “Sue and Cleo had a wonderful day yesterday. Sue was sad, of course, when I told her of Cleo’s prognosis, but they loved the time with each other. Cleo slept at the foot of Sue’s bed, just like in the old days. It was sad, but Cleo died during the night. That spared Sue the struggle to make that final trip to your office. Thanks again, Doc.”

“I’m glad we could them that time,” I said.

I was lucky that Jack choked up a little and allowed that to end the conversation. I was also a little choked up as I hung up the phone.

“Cleo died?” Sandy asked.

“Cleo died,” I replied. “At home and happy. Things worked out the best they could for everyone.

Photo Credit: Avelino Calvar Martinez on Pixabay.