The Cat Came Back
Author: Wes Payne
Email: n9548326@wwu.cc.edu
Date: 1998/06/27
Forums: alt.tasteless
I finally got my lemon-tinted cat back from the veterinarians. He's
healthier, happier, and has a tube sticking out his nose that's stapled to
his face for feeding him oatmeal-colored liquid, since he's not yet eating
entirely on his own. When I'm gone, I have to tie this lampshade-looking
thing to his head so that he doesn't try to remove the tube or the staples
in my absence.
We never did find out exactly what his original problem was. The vet's
best guess is that he's suffering from what they call 'fatty liver
syndrome.' It works like this: cat stops eating, cat starts burning fat
for his calories and nutrients, liver gets clogged with fat, liver stops
working, cat dies. I managed to get him professional help early last week
somewhere between the 'liver stops working' and 'cat dies' phases. This is
especially likely for those cats that were obese before they went on the
Kate Moss diet. Since my cat tipped the scales just short of twenty pounds
when I left for my three-week working holiday back in April, and he's eight
or nine pounds now, he seems to fit the mold for this malady quite well.
Of course, nobody's answered the question of what started his anorexia
binge in the first place...
I got a whole bag of toys to take home with me. Now, some astute members
in the audience have probably already formulated the following question:
If he's not yet eating entirely on his own, and he's now home, how does one
ensure that he gets his daily allowance of calories, nutrients, fluids and
medication? The answer's simple: we force them into him! Among the toys
are two IV bags, a couple week's supply of needles, several cans of
oatmeal-colored gop, and a handy assortment of syringes, plus his meds (one
in liquid form, and one in pills).
Every day he requires 150 mL of liquids. Since they removed his IV spigot,
we administer his fluids subcutaneously. Now, on a cat, that's easy, since
they've got much more skin than they need, but then consider the volume of
liquid involved. A 12-oz soda can holds about 450 mL. If you think 1/3 of
a soda can of liquid is a lot of liquid to take under your skin, consider
your size relative to the average cat. Wheee...
Next, we administer four feedings per day through his gastric tube. This
consists of a few mL of water sent down the tube to (1) clear any clogs and
(2) ensure that the tube hasn't moved from his esophagus to his trachea
since the last feeding. If he coughs and sneezes at that point, it's time
for a quick trip to the vet to have it re-strung. Better hope this happens
during office hours. [SFX: cash register ringing]
The first time I saw a full feeding syringe, I asked them: "Does he really
have that much room in his stomach?" I guess he does, for 25mL or so of
oatmeal-colored yummies in liquid form per feeding, plus a daily 2mL of
liquid medication, plus a daily pill or two, plus however much water one
sends down during the before-and-after flushes. Sure, that's nothing for a
human but, once again, consider relative sizes.
Now that he's *started* to eat Real Food again, I have to pay close
attention to how much he eats and when, lest I overfill him.
His prognosis is quite good, considering that he's started to show a slight
interest in solid food again after having been so close to Death's Door
only a week and a half ago. Of course, the vet bill, although a bargain by
two-legged-patient-treating medical standards, is quite steep.
How steep? Well, I'm not going to name the figure in this forum. That
alone should speak volumes.
ObT: The recommended agent for clearing especially nasty feeding tube
clogs is none other than Coca-Cola...
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