Bruce the Cat

I've had Bruce for 15 years. He came to us at the age of 7 months with the name Keith - dumb name for a cat, so I changed it - and was supposed to be my daughter's cat. She was 3 at the time, and their love was mutual. He put up with more from her than even *I* would. He's always had his claws, but never used them on a person.

Bruce has been with me through 3 husbands, and lived in 6 houses with us. He's travelled throughout the southern and eastern United States in my minivan, and stayed in countless hotels. He's been gentle, mannerly, sweet, and affectionate - unless someone tries to kiss him. Then all bets are off.

Friday and Saturday hubby and I were out of town, and my 18YO daughter was caring for the animals. She didn't notice anything amiss with Bruce, but he is older and does sleep alot. Saturday evening we arrived home and he was in his box (with his pillow and blanket, up on a dresser in the bathroom away from the dogs) as he often is these days. But by Sunday we noticed something was very wrong with him. VERY wrong.

Hubby woke up to a pile of undigested cat food, and a half-dozen puddles of foamy yellow vomit. And it didn't stop. All day he would vomit until it was just drops of clear liquid...

He couldn't jump onto his dresser. In fact, he didn't want to move at all. When we touched him, or even spoke to him, he cried - a pitiful, heart-rending cry. He growled at me for the first time in his life. He spent the day hiding in corners, his movements slow and labored. His hair didn't lay right. He kept his ears at half mast. He couldn't stand light, or touch, or sound.

To my eyes, he was a dying cat.

Yet, most of the day he didn't seem to be in pain or suffering, unless disturbed. He slept quietly, his breathing even and slow. I fully expected that he would simply not wake up at some point. Because he wasn't in horrible pain except when disturbed, I elected to wait until Monday to take him to the vet, since I would be able to watch him all day on Sunday, and could rush him if I needed to. I wanted to avoid the jostling and agony of a car ride and exam...

Monday I started work at 9:00. No change in Bruce. I work at home, taking calls for a pest control company, from 9-5:00. Bruce still was comfortable when left alone, so I decided to see what the day would hold. I opened a can of tuna, well aware that the majority of cats who stop eating never start again. He lapped the water from the top of the meat. That, to me, was a very slight sign of hope.

By Monday evening though, I knew that I was losing my precious cat. There was no change, and his misery when he moved was just as awful as it had been all along. I called a local vet, ready to have him put out of his misery, realizing he was an old cat, and it was just his time...

However the vet had a meeting and couldn't help me until later. In addition, the cost was more than I had at the time, so I knew I'd have to wait until this morning. I know not to give pain relievers to cats, but my sister suggested perhaps benedryl; if nothing else, it might help him sleep through the night. So I gave him half of a pill...

During the night I got up to check on Bruce. When I came out of my bedroom, he was sitting in the hallway - his usual night-time spot to keep watch on the goings-on in the house - as he always had. I said, "Well hello, Bruce!" and he answered with his normal greeting. I bent down to touch him, and he didn't cry out. I talked to him for a few minutes, then went back to bed.

When I got up this morning he was walking around. Slowly, but walking around just the same. I heard him use his litter box. He dug into a can of tuna. He looked into our eyes, holding his head up high, and talked to us. His fur and ears looked normal again. I sent hubby to the store for canned cat food, and we gave him a Tbsp every hour or so, so that he wouldn't start vomiting again. After a couple of feedings he was walking around the house. A little slow, but walking around. When we spoke to him, he spoke back. He didn't mind being touched, or even picked up. He voraciously ate his offerings of canned cat food. An hour or so ago, he rubbed against my leg when I went into his bathroom.

So what happened to Bruce? We have our guesses...

We live in a heavily-treed, woodsy area in northern lower Michigan. Typically I have the house treated outside every spring for wasps, spiders, and earwigs, especially since I've had 2 spiders bites that sent me to the ER - we have some of the nastiest spiders I've ever seen. But this year, we wanted to try and save our lovely dragonflies that seem to also disappear after treatment, so we didn't have it done. This morning my husband killed 2 spiders in the house.

Bruce has always been strictly a house cat. But he's still a cat, and hunting is still instinctive. We now think that he hunted a spider, probably the same kind that caused such a horrible reaction in me. And we think he got bitten, or ate, one of these nasty spiders. And that is why, after a dose of Benedryl, he perked up. We're only guessing...

We will never know for sure what happened to Bruce, but we are SO SO SO thankful to have our Brucie-boy back!