As mentioned, on Tuesday night, November 10th, Mungo was a little wobbly but seemed to be doing a bit better... the milk mistake had not yet worked its way out of him but his eye infection was under control and he had regined some appetite. At bedtime he saw me with cans and baby food jars and came out of his berth to meow at me to put the food down already, which I did with delight--the Gerber's ham and grain-free beef--and he was drinking a little water when I petted him good night.
The next morning, I came down to find the evidence of a terrible poo battle... it was clear that passing the milk had been quite a strain, and though I was releived it was out of him finally it looked to have been awfully traumatic. Mungo did not get up to greet me, and I realized that he was soiled... a few minutes later, I picked him up to find that his hind legs were almost completely limp, and it became clear that he had probably fallen while straining.
I cleaned up the battle scene and put down a new pee pad by the box, and laid another close to his sleeping berth so he wouldn't have to walk very far next time. I bathed his lower half quickly in the utility sink and held him bundled to my chest in a towel for a long while. Between the feeding syringe and a few licks from a saucer he got a little food and water in him. He tried to get up a couple of times but had so little control over his legs he soon crawled back to the berth. This was the first time I'd seen him resigned, at all... I thought it was simple weakness and so when I called the vet I asked if I could just try adding a b-complex injection to his fluids to see if it would help him, and after a tearful discussion asked if he would be able to come to the house to help Mungo pass, if the b-complex and a little time did not help him. I picked up even smaller-gauge needles when I got the b-shot, hoping to make the fuids more comfortable. The vet said the B would sting so to make sure there was a good blob of subcutaneous fluid already before adding it to the line. I pushed it very slowly, hoping to make it as painless as possible. I wish I could take that last poke back.
I thought that if he rebounded again in a couple of hours I could call the vet back and say not to worry about coming, and I really believed he would. His personal reserves have always been astonishing, and of course I did not want to believe that he might not come back from this. I sat next to his berth and petted him so much I began to annoy him, and so went upstairs for about 45 minutes. When I came back down he had somehow, I don't know how, walked across the room to use the pee pad in the usual location instead of the one nearby. One last time.
All day, after the bath, the fluids, the syringe feeding, I kept telling him how sorry I was, like I did after I realized the milk was such a bad idea and after every fluid administration lately. I knew his ears could not hear me but hoped he could feel my remorse. I laid down so that my head was in the sleeping berth with him and tried to send him love and comfort even as my tears must have been upsetting to him. (He had chosen the lower half of a resin utility closet, about 18x30 inches & 2ft high 'ceilings', as his favored place, and I changed out clean, folded fluffy towels for his bedding). His expression no longer asked me to help. He knew that I knew, if not specifically then substantially, how he was feeling. I knew that we needed to get Dr. M to come after all, and it broke my heart into a million pieces.
My husband came home early and we took turns petting and talking to him. When the vet came, Mungo was not happy to see him... but Dr. M gave him a painkiller/sedative as preparation, a shot that could be quickly given in a haunch, and then handed Mungo to me so that he could fall asleep in my arms, with my husband (his father from the very beginning) petting and consoling both of us. Minutes passed as I felt him relax into my chest, and I soaked him with tears, whispered to him, stroked and petted his poor thin body. After he was completely out and could feel nothing, we laid him on the futon on a towel and stroked him while Dr. M administered the second shot. I will always be grateful to Dr. M for making it as painless as possible for our old, brave boy.
I later learned from someone on the CRF list that Mungo's sudden weakness was likely caused by him throwing a blood clot, specifically a saddle thrombosis. It is a very painful condition and I am only sorry that I added to his pain before Dr. M finally arrived to stop his suffering.
My husband and I stayed in the basement together for a while, and then he went to bed and left me to say goodnight to Manwich as I always did. I kept looking around for him but he was nowhere to be seen, and I was a wreck, aching to hold him again. I realized there was nothing visible left of him anywhere, and sat heavily in the chair I used when giving him fluids. When I looked down, I saw that on his last, improbable, heroic trip across the room to use the pee pad (when I'd gone upstairs and I guess he felt I woudn't interfere), he'd left a few little footprints in the cotton mat... and I don't care how stupid it sounds, it was like a gift.
I'm glad I took the pictures because the next day the footprints were gone. If they hadn't been, I would probably have cut out the most perfect one with scissors and put it in a locket; I kid you not.
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Mungo left behind this mortal coil at about 7pm EST on November 11th, 2009. It seems very appropriate that he crossed over on Veteran's Day.
I wrote this on November 14th but did not post it until today. This is not the last post, but I need to take a little time before I can post more about him.
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