Living in the Moment

The first thing I want to say is that I love my cat. The second thing I really don’t want to say, but it’s the reason I’m writing, so I have to. Here we go.

My sweet, intelligent, Himalayan beauty had not been feeling well for too many days in a row, and her appetite pretty much shut down. Not a good sign. What I thought would likely be a forthcoming fur ball turned out to be a lousy diagnosis of kidney disease.

Watching PJ get poked and prodded and receive an infusion from a human-sized IV bag filled with fluid yesterday was a little shocking — for both of us. She’s been extremely healthy since I got her as an eight-week-old fluff-ball 15 years ago, when her first vet told me she was “exceptional.” All I knew is what everyone else validated — she was adorable and regal; not snooty, just sophisticated. And the most gentle little creature alive.

As we’ve rotated through vets at the same clinic over the years, none can believe she is 15 and a half. She has a thick, long, gorgeous coat that’s super soft, with long tufts on her toes. Her darker face is a perfect canvas for her marble-like blue eyes. Her breed appropriately describes her uniqueness: Doll-face Himalayan. Or, as her pet sitter describes her, “a rock star.”

As the vet sat beside me to review the results of PJ’s blood panel, I realized I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I tried to tune in, but my eyes were fixed on the lab values (BUN, creatinine, and one other) that were elevated far above the range of normal. My subconscious picked up on the only phrases I needed to absorb, like: “We can try this,” “give her IVs,” “change her food,” “monitor,” etc.

I know pets don’t live forever, but I’d like to think so. Fifteen years have passed all too quickly, and I spent far too many of them working 10-hour days, sometimes six or more days a week. But each day with PJ is exactly as her name implies: Pure Joy.

Hopefully, we’ll get her stabilized and I’ll have her for a long, long time. We’ll take it a day at a time and stay positive about what we can do for her. (You may need to remind me of this from time to time.)

The two of us drove home from the clinic in silence yesterday. A first, and unusual for a cat who complains every time I brake too hard or turn a corner too fast. She favors speed, but on a straight-away only.

There is a bright spot here. When we came back home, I set her on the kitchen floor and watched her head to her food bowl to do something she’d not done in days — eat! After her feast, she patrolled the kitchen and living room (a good sign she was feeling better) to make sure no one had moved anything during the hour and a half that we were gone. (Not likely, since no one else was home.) Then she settled down beneath the Christmas tree and took a power nap. Yes, I have my tree up already.

Today, life is good! I wish I knew what she was thinking about as she gazes into space. But I think it’s a look of complete contentment. And she might be thanking her lucky stars just to be secure in her favorite place — home. Her happiness reminds me of something we should all do more often: Live in the moment.

So, a new chapter begins, we have more adventures to live and more PJ books write. We’ll keep you posted on our progress!