More Murphy Updates

After work and workout, I was settling in on the couch, eating some leftovers for dinner. Murphy was still lethargic, but vocal and I almost thought he was better. When he didn't try to beg for some of my dinner, I grew even more concerned. His mews were sad and desperate almost and he would do this when I was out of sight of him. He literally was almost passing out wherever he was.

So I called the vet and the tech said they wouldn't comment on him unless they saw him. Fine. I threw on some jeans and shoes, picked up Murphy who almost went ragdoll-limp in my arms and put him in his carrier, and raced to the vet who closed in an hour. Murphy meowed a bit more in the car and then he'd quit, which completely freaked me out as I wasn't sure he was unconscious or worse. He'd come to again and make a little noise.

Luckily, my vet is only 10 minutes away depending on the lights, so we got there fast. I explained that I was there on Friday to get his shots and an exam and that his behavior had changed drastically. The little bitch behind the counter just asked, "will that be cash, check or charge?" Ummmm... you unfeeling little creep, I wanted to say, but I just glared at her and said "charge..."


I sat down to a crowded waiting room with Murphy in his carrier in my lap. I opened the door to pet him and he didn't have the energy to even try to get out of it. With the abundance of dogs in the area, I was surprised he wasn't freaking out more.

More and more people kept pouring in, including a bleached-blond, tube top-wearing, spare tire and near toothless chick and her brood with a dog. Her half-naked brat began roaming the waiting area looking at all the pets.

He finally got to me and asked "Do you have a dog or a cat in there?"
"It's a cat," I said.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked.
"He's sick."
"Why?" he inquired.
"Well, that's why I'm here," I sternly responded, wishing his white-trash mommy would come and get her welfare-check child away from me.

Little, dirty barefoot Johnny finally left me and went crawling all over the chairs and area dividers. After a large white pitbull showed up, I was getting antsy as his owners didn't have good control over him. After an hour, they called me to an exam room at last.

The tech weighed Murphy who had lost two pounds in three days. I told her I recalled him eating for the last time on Friday. With Maggie in the house, I think she was eating his treats when I wasn't looking, but I was assuming Murphy was eating them. I explained to the tech that my biggest proof of a grand problem was right in front of her. Murphy is an absolute nervous terror at the vet usually. When I got him out of the carrier this time, he was barely moving, making no noise, and was practically catatonic.

The vet eventually checked him, told me he was dehydrated and drew blood to check for things. In looking at the x-rays on Friday and based on his behavior, she recommended I take him to vet ER a couple of exits away as the mass appeared to be more than fatty tissue.

At this point, I was nearly in tears, as I feared I knew how this evening was going to end, but I held it together. I paid my bill, took the blood they drew with me along with his medical records, and drove Murphy to the ER. My vet called ahead with their diagnosis so far.

Like any ER, they were busy. I filled out the necessary paperwork and they checked the blood samples. I sat with Murphy in an exam room for a couple of hours. I kept petting him, but he was not really responding to any stimulus. I was and am worried that I wasn't going to see him again. Eventually, the vet showed up and said he suspects that mass is actually an enlarged spleen and that it was causing multiple issues, including kidney problems. They were going to keep Murphy tonight, put him on fluids, and the internal medicine vet will confirm the diagnosis tomorrow.

If it is the spleen, they can remove it and he will hopefully get better and I will have several more years with my furry feline buddy. I am supposed to be in DC next week, but I may have to see about skipping that as I don't have anyone to take care of Murphy if he has surgery. I may be able to have him boarded at the vet if necessary.


Needless to say, I'm home very late and very drained. I'm hoping for good news tomorrow.

Fare Thee Well, My Sweet Murphy

In 2002, I was cat-less. A coworker said she had an orange-striped cat that she wanted to find a home for and asked if I'd take "her." I agreed, and when she showed up with this behemoth of a cat, I immediately knew it wasn't a female. Due to some gender confusion by my coworker about her then-new kitten, her cat was saddled with female pronouns. I didn't want a male cat, but she made me a deal for me to keep him for two weeks as a trial run. For two weeks, this cat hid in the storage space under the main floor of my house. I went and got him twice, only to have him run back in. He ate and got water in the night when I was sleeping.

At my wit's end, I called her and told her to come and get him, as the cat was clearly miserable. She asked if I'd keep him over the weekend and that she'd come and get him on Monday. I agreed. As I hung up the phone and turned around, the cat was sitting on the top stair looking at me. We had an understanding now. He had moved in.

That cat was Murphy.


Murphy the Cat
Born 2000 - Died August 13, 2013

The veterinarian called me this afternoon to tell me that the mass in Murphy's tummy was likely cancer. He gave me several options, but none of them were good. The expensive surgery would need to be followed up with cancer care, such as chemotherapy. Whether a biopsy showed it was cancer or not, the mass needed to be removed and Murphy was terribly weak already. He said I could just take him home and we'd treat him with medication, but the idea of him slowly wasting away was horrible to me. The final choice was letting him go. The vet told me to come to the office and we could discuss it further after work.

When I went there, they brought me Murphy. He was more alert, but so weak that he couldn't do much more than lay in my lap. He meowed a bit and I stroked his back. As I held him it made me realize that none of the choices but one was appropriate. I love him so much and it's the roughest decision a pet owner can make. I finally told the doctor that I could not let him suffer. She understood completely. I had some time alone with him, hugged him, kissed his head, begged him to forgive me, and told him how much I loved him repeatedly. He was purring finally.

The doctor returned and gave him the overdose of sedative while I held his head. He was gone so quickly and quietly, like a candle burning out. I felt so guilty, so empty, but logically I knew it had to be done.

When I was a kid, I remember a Baptist preacher telling me that people went to Heaven and that pets didn't when they died. People have souls, he said, and pets do not. Even as a child, I thought that sounded so amazingly wrong. I couldn't imagine a God that created such wonderful puppies and kittens to make us happy and share our lives and then just let them blink out of existence.

Over the years, I have had a few pets, each one had a different personality, a different way of reacting to me and others, showing the individuality of them all. I loved them all. While they may not be able to think like a human, they do feel and I think they can care for us. They sometimes find us, not the other way around.

As I held Murphy as his life faded away, I hurt so inside. Murphy left for Heaven, leaving me behind. I hope to see him again someday.

He left here with a soul.

At the very least, he left here with the piece of mine I gave him.

I love you, Murphy.