Goodbye, Mr Fluffy-Buttocks
When I started blogging, what seems like two-hundred years ago, my intentions were to keep it about my writing. Not let anything else slip in under the radar.
It didn’t last long.
It’s difficult not to share posts about events as you meander through life. Whether it be a rant about something that’s irked you or sharing of news, good …
… or bad.
I’ve posted a number of times about our much-loved cat, Munchkin. Or, Munch to you and me. The post that Mr Google sends most readers my way is My Cat Keeps Bumping Into Things. A post about his high blood pressure, retina-popping condition, which thankfully was brought under control with medication.
Anyway, a few weeks ago Munchie’s breathing became laboured. We cat-napped him and took him to see his favourite vet. After a listen to his chest and heart and a diuretic injection, he stabilised with the help of another TWO TABLETS a day and some potassium powder to mix into his food. That added to the three other tablets and twice-daily insulin injections!
At the end of February, his breathing worsened again. Another trip to the vets where they drained fluid from around his lungs. The vets hoped that would help his breathing, but the diuretics had obviously stopped working. Munch stopped eating and drinking despite not having his insulin, which should have made him thirsty and eat like a how-many-hotdogs-can-you-eat-in-sixty-seconds contestant.
One final visit to the vets where Munch started his final nap.
Who knew that a bundle of fluff we first saw eating dried bread in a neighbour’s garden would dominate our lives for so long? He survived many years after having a cancerous lump removed from his tail. As a stray he would have died a few years back without treatment.
We did our best for him and he repaid us with his effortless glamour and barely audible squeaking. We loved him despite his habit of climbing into the litter tray and then peeing over the edge onto the floor! Or moving off the easily cleaned laminate/wood floor and onto a carpeted area when he tried to cough-up a fur-ball.
The house is quiet without him, but I’m thankful that we have many photographs and videos of him to remember his ways.
We’ll have a prolonged break from being pet slaves now. The last year or so has been dominated by the furry little fella and we need a break. Maybe one day.
Thanks for reading.
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