squeek scare

Last night, Allie went downstairs to check in on Squeek. A second later she came running up the stairs. "Squeek's just laying in his crate, not moving, I don't know what's wrong."

I followed her down into the basement, reached in and fished him out. He meowed.

"Oh good," Allie said. "He's OK."

"No he's not," I said, noticing something wrong. I tried to set him on the floor and he crumpled down, unable to use his legs.

We went into a panic. What to do. Get the crate! Get the keys! Get your wallet! Go! Go! Go!!

We raced over to the neighborhood pet clinic. They were just closing but they let us in.

The vet examined him on one of those tall metal tables. He said he thought maybe Squeek had fallen and broken his neck or damaged his brain. I started seething with guilt and shame. I was the one who had set up his enclosure. I saw him trying to jump out and escape. I hadn't done anything about it. And how long had he been lying down there like that? My God, what have I done.

The vet took Squeek's temperature but he was so cold he didn't register anything on the thermometer. 

"That's not good," he said. "I don't think he's going to make it."

My breath caught. I started pacing. The vet told us to take him to an emergency clinic, 15 or so miles away in Lee's Summit. We tore out onto the highway, and promptly got stuck in a traffic jam. Squeek stopped meowing. "Touch him to see if he's OK," I said to Allie.

"I can't," she said.

So drove all the way there both certain that he had died right there in our car and that it was both of our faults.

But when I picked him up to take him into the clinic he let out a wail. Allie felt instantly relieved. I was still freaking out. The nurse took him into the back room and left us with a form to fill out. And then we waited. And waited. And they took us into another room and we waited and waited some more. Finally, when the nurse came in I barked, "Can't you tell us what's going on!"

Allie scolded me, but My God! Were they trying to torture us?! This little, tiny, adorable creature is dying and it's all our fault and they're acting like we're just waiting for an insurance quote or something!

Finally the doctor came in and she was real sweet and nice. She said Squeek was low on sugar and red blood cells and badly dehydrated. He had fleas and most likely worms and they were depriving him of nutrients. He's just so teensy he couldn't take it anymore and he just shut down.

She went back to work on him some more. When she came back, she said he was up and moving. 

"Is he going to make it?" I asked, and she gave one of those long, noncommittal medical answers. Finally, Allie asked, "If you were going to give a percentage, what would it be?"

"I'd say 80 percent."

Instant relief. 

Looked like he was going to live. And it wasn't our fault. 

Right before we were ready to go home, and leave him there for a night of intensive care, the vet brought him in for us to see. I snapped a couple of pictures.

From kansas city soil

From kansas city soil

So we went home feeling pretty good things would be alright. About 10 o'clock, the vet called to tell us he was doing great. Acting like a regular kitten.

This morning, we went to pick him up. He was looking good.

From kansas city soil

We took him to his regular vet, where he's been all day. In a little bit, we'll go pick him up. He'll be under our care for the weekend, and hopefully until he find him a good home. 

Whew! What a night!