Uncle Kitty Big Balls (Little Boy) Did Not Survive Ketoacidosis

Little Boy, known on the street as Uncle Kitty Big Balls, passed away this afternoon.  He was 4 years old.

UKBB was a very good cat and an especially close friend to Fred. 

We are comforted by the knowledge that he was afforded, at least, his "thirty minutes of wonderful" in the course of his stay here at Marlinspike Hall.

Brother to Marmy Fluffy Butt and Uncle to Dobby the Runt, we are going to miss his devotion to family and his laid back approach to life, love, food, sleep, and play. 

I'm really glad now to have made those very amateurish videos... and wish I hadn't deleted any.

We are concerned for Dobby's wellbeing, as he spent much of the night prowling in a search for UKBB, calling and calling.  He (and we) are not really over losing Sammy yet;  This added insult is gonna be rough on The Feline Remnant of Marlinspike Hall -- even odd Marmy Fluffy Butt's universe will tilt askew for a bit.

We feel very much like we let the little guy down, and hindsight clearly shows that we should have had him at the vet last week.  Please, if your cat shows signs of illness, be proactive and get him checked out as soon as possible.  We were still piecing our various observations together when he succombed to ketoacidosis.  It happened very quickly.

Also... in honor of UKBB, be kind to the cats you may meet on the street and under your houses and cars.  He had obviously had encounters with humans who were relentlessly sadistic.  Even with Fred, he sometimes reacted from a memory of fearful, painful experience.  At some point, he was beaten about the head and face;  That he still gave us a chance to be his friends was in itself remarkable.

Update on UKBB, Ketoacidosis Kitty

Oy.  Things were looking up. Now, either the vet is indulging in defensive veterinary medicine, or the little guy is on the skids.

They overloaded him with fluids.  He's in heart failure and on what I guess are kitty pressors, as he isn't maintaining a blood pressure.  He is less responsive.

The vet is worried that he'll die during "transport." "Transport" consists of Fred driving Little Boy to an emergency clinic equipped for intensive care over the remainder of the weekend.  Of course, he'll be driving Ruby, the Honda CRV, which is loaded with veterinary doodads.  (Our airbags are lined with catnip.)

I wish to goodness she had not said that.  Fred went three shades of pale.  Then refused to let me come along to nurse the little guy so that he can concentrate on driving.  If UKBB crashes while he's driving, you know the man is going to pull over, wasting precious time doing silly things like CPR (he's done it before -- while driving -- I was there!).  Were I there, I could do compressions and coo at the cat while he floors it.

"It's too much for you."

Ah, yes, another reason I am aching for a cure... So that I will be ALLOWED to ride in the car.

"It's too much for you.  Harrumph." If he were not so freaking upset?  Upside the head.  WHOMP.

I know that they are following a strict protocol, and we all know my deep respect for protocol, but isn't it past time to bring that blood sugar down?  Wouldn't he respond better if it were somewhere... like... oh, I dunno, BELOW 700?

I think I am upset.  It sure sounds like we have worked really hard to KILL OUR CAT.  We rushed him to a vet who drowned him in fluid, is anxious to transfer him already, and has yet to treat his hyperglycemia. 

I need a scapegoat. 

Oh, and speaking of which... congratulations to Harrison Barnes and those ne'er-do-wells he hangs with.
Down 10 at the half, he carried UNC to a 92-87 rally.  Virginia Tech has to be running on pure adrenaline, which means they're still dangerous, but I can't see Duke losing this one.  Especially if I don't go anywhere near the television or radio.  And I won't even peek at the results online, I swear.

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9 PM  Okay.  We just bothered the "emergency" vets as we wanted an update on Uncle Kitty Big Balls.  This ICU weekend setup disappears like Cinderella's coach and glass slippers at 9 am Monday, when the FredMobile will transfer him back to our regular vet's digs.  This is quite the operation.

The little dude is on dopamine, for Christ's sake!  And oxygen.  But at least the insulin drip is FINALLY going, though the vet said they were going to titrate very, very slowly.  His blood sugar has dropped the requisite tiny amount, so all is proceeding as expected.  He may be a little more alert, but maybe not.  What is certain in this guy's mind is that he is not worse.  [Talk about two divergent "report" styles.  Our regular vet was kvetching about how perhaps the 200 ml bolus was too big a bolus... Like I would have a clue.  She's in love with detail and sparkly factoids.  Ask her, "How is my cat doing?" and you will receive a monotonal recitation of his last lab results, complete with an announcement of each value's normal range.  The emergency vet, on the other hand, was all about how the cat seemed to be feeling, even if that topic is an impossible one.  "He seems a little more perky.  But maybe not.  He's not LESS perky.  So that's good." Note:  It's the second vet who is surrounded by shiny, expensive, science-y schtuff.  The first vet is housed, basically, in a barely renovated old bungalow.  Their exam tables have wood trim.]

Well, he's hanging in there.  Fred and I talked finances and decided he's probably the best investment we've got going, so no issues there -- no issues insofar as making the decision.  Actually PAYING THE BILL?  That's gonna be hard.  But somehow, deciding now, above board, openly, even if our faces involuntarily contort into gargoylesque cubist angles as we do so, takes a bit of the financial sting away.

We can always sell Dobby to the circus.  Rent Marmy out to the Cistercians -- they have quite the crowd in the Alzheimer Ward of the Monastery Infirmery and have found that feline visitation calms and soothes.  As soon as La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore drags herself home from her third Faust performance of the day, and as soon as we curry her favor with a spiced mug of tea, with lemon?  We're gonna hit her up for a fundraising performance of Gounod's bubblegum masterpiece.  Whaddaya think?  Will she do it?

We were thinking maybe they could dedicate the take from a couple of matinees...
I have some items that I was planning to sell at some future yard sale -- a big old hammock and stand, various exercise equipment, an old scooter, some small electronics I never use...
We have a car to sell, as well...

What is easy to do but requires more of an iron will -- our standard austerity measures will need to be kicked up a notch.  More soups that stretch three servings into six.  Brewed teas instead of colas.  Meat and fish as flavor accents instead of the main ingredient.  French roast instead of Italian.

For Fred, the issue might be juices and colas -- the man is a juice freak.
For me, well, also colas (of the diet variety), but mostly -- YOGURT!  It's a legitimate "need," in that the antibiotic regimen demands some concessions, but I do consume more than is strictly necessary and insist on a certain brand, etcetera.  I guess you could say I've been milking the situation.

ba dum tsh. [That's my ironic verbal rimshot.  Pretty pitiful...]

And so I give you the rimshot, or the sting, in proper notation:

I doubt there will be any more UKBB updates tonight.  We hope not, anyway.  We're so grateful that Tête de Hergé affords us so many animal experts and just darned good people who wander through our lives doing good, artlessly, effortlessly.

I am -- just between us, you got it? -- having tightness in the chestal area.  Though my heart can develop severe funkitude, that's not what is happening.  It's infinitely more likely that I have a prosaic acid stomach.  There's nothing like stress and no sleep to prepare a soul for a week of medical nonsense.  So my plan, now that I've fed the gang a healthy (if cardboardy) dinner and cleaned the rugs, I'm gonna wash up my own self and lie down. 

Maybe take a hit of insulin in solidarity with Uncle Kitty Big Balls, our best Little Boy.
Maybe grab a Dobby and do some preventive Intestinal Massage.

Then, when The Castafiore comes a-stumblin' over the drawbridge, I will be ready to wheedle a fundraiser out of the girl!  I make a mean flyer and we have some credit remaining at Blinko's from last summer's Manor Fest.

Should you care to contribute to the cause, the good Abbot Truffatore is going to serve as Charity Chair.  Who better than a monastic priest to safeguard our monetary gifts -- and in-kind donations, don't forget the blessèd in-kind donations! Cistercians, those whacky Trappists!  If you'd like to mail in your large check, here's the snail mail address:

The Uncle Kitty Big Balls Medical Fund
c/o Abbot Truffatore
The Club House @ The Monastery
Left at the Lone Alp, Tête de Hergé 98712349

All major credit cards accepted.

Duke beat Va Tech, as predicted and faces off with Carolina tomorrow.  Good night. 

UKBB: Ketoacidosis Kitty

Part of the reason I've been so feline-focused lately is that we're worried about Uncle Kitty Big Balls.  The proverbial doodoo hit the fan last night and he is now safely ensconced at the vet's office, but is, in her words, "critical."

We were suspicious that he was developing diabetes -- something we've experienced before in a cat, and something that I deal with daily.

We're oh-so-informed, you know.

Every few days I would share what I had noticed with Fred, and he would do the same.  Somehow, though, we had a communication breakdown this week -- it could have been all the medical running-around we were doing on my behalf, also the building consensus that whatever else needed doing could just wait until stuff (see previous post on schtuff) settled into the semblance of a routine.

I didn't tell him about the couple of sweet-smelling urine offerings I'd cleaned up;  Neither of us shared our concerns over what we now know was profound lethargy;  Fred had wondered to himself whether there wasn't more... clumped material issuing from the litter boxes.  And so on and so forth -- thirst, weight gain, followed by weight loss, hunger.

Two ships passing in the night -- Fred was going to bed at 4 am, just as I was getting up.  Thank goodness, by then The Fredster was concerned enough about "Little Boy" to chat in those wee hours.

He -- the cat -- had projectile vomited all over the kitchen.  Neither of us could recall any such prior contributions.  After that, the little guy tottered over to the bed, climbed in, and quite literally fell asleep.  His exhaustion was palpable.

We don't mess around when our animals need care.  It's in their contract and it is the least we can do for insisting they share their lives with us.  It's the least we can do for the hours of affection and entertainment.

So, at 4 am, anticipating a diabetes (or pre-diabetes) diagnosis, we made plans to call the vet sometime today and go in with him maybe on Tuesday.

By 6:30, UKBB had moved from the bed to a recently favored rug and his strange little family was keeping an eye on him, as well as their noses.  Dobby and Marmy clearly found his smell "off."

That was what made it all click.  You probably saw this coming in the first paragraph. 

Ketoacidosis.

By the time we rushed him to the vet, his blood sugar was off the chart, off the monitor, as high as could be measured.  His eyes were dull, pupils wide, respirations shallow and fast.  He was kind of responsive -- to us, at least -- We who so much wanted a response that we were talking ourselves into seeing one.  He was dehydrated and his temp was low.

I don't like this particular vet very much.  She did not earn points with us when she cared for Sammy last summer, and when we first took in UKBB, she missed several abscesses and just generally seemed careless.  I am sure that opinion is not fair and is colored by our worry, as he was in horrible shape back then (errrr, as opposed to now?).

However, she was spouting textbook-quality plans of action today, and seems to know her way around a diabetic crisis.  We will have to transfer L'il Boy from the vet's office to a veterinary emergency room at 5 pm, as they plan to start frequent tiny fast-acting insulin shots overnight and he will have to be closely monitored.  Right now, they are trying to correct his electrolytes and just get him rehydrated.

The morals of this story, for you cat lovers and "owners" out there, are to share your observations of any aberrant behavior/symptoms and to never put off going to the vet when a concern does finally coalesce.
Also, ketoacidosis can happen like *that* -- very fast.  Get ready to move, to fly like the wind.

I am kind of kicking myself for not giving him a little shot of my insulin -- but I kept thinking, what if we are wrong and this is not related to diabetes... I could kill the little guy...

Anyway... please keep a good thought for Uncle Kitty Big Balls, right now better known as "Little Boy," that formerly homeless vagabond who looks like he should be gnawing on the end of a stogie and raking in the winnings at a mob-run poker game.  He is in critical condition, "may not make it," and deserves another shot at a life of leisure and wild fun.

Take a good look at your pet today... are there any health issues there that you've been putting off addressing?  Don't delay -- our time is not their time and they rely on us to figure all that cross-species schtuff out.         

What a face.  It's a rough weekend for Uncle Kitty Big Balls.

P.S. Virginia Tech doesn't have a prayer and I think Carolina will be seeing Duke in the finals, where Chapel Hill will, once again, show itself vastly inferior to the product out of Durham Town.

P.S.S.  Well, now it is Clemson that didn't get my memo.  They're blowing Carolina out at the half...  In other, infinitely more important news, the vet just called.  UKBB has warmed up to 99.5 from 97, now has a blood pressure of at least 60, whereas it wasn't palpable before.  His labs are not too bad, except for the obvious electrolyte imbalances in potassium and sodium.  He is getting a good amount of sodium from the large bolus and i.v.s they are using, and they will slowly raise the potassium.  He remains lethargic, not reacting much to even being stuck.  His respirations had improved but, for some reason, he is speeding back up again.  HIS BLOOD SUGAR REMAINS OVER 700.  They have yet to address that, and won't, until we move him to the emergency facility at 4:30-5.  I think she sounded more optimistic, as the labs came back better than anticipated.  She actually praised us to high heaven for picking up on what was wrong and not chalking it up to a virus or something.  Sorry, but we are not feeling too happy with ourselves... She said some cats begin their diabetic life by just hitting the wall -- and that's what our guy did.  So fast, just a matter of hours.  Thank goodness we knew a little bit about how things unfold, but we should have been vastly more concerned.  Please learn from our mistake.  Hopefully, UKBB won't pay too high a price for our tired reaction times. 

In the meantime, the basketball gods are going to punish "my" teams, and while I am really sorry for that, what did you expect would happen?