Rock Star

The vet called yesterday in the morning and she was, as the British say, over the moon with giddy joy about how incredibly well Panther was doing. "He's eating," she exclaimed for a start. "And that's remarkable?" was my snappy comeback, at which she must have slapped her head. Usually, she explained, they don't eat for several days after this operation. And he was peeing copiously, when normally the kidneys usually shut down for a couple of days. The students watching him called her at one in the morning, worried he was peeing too much, and she was delighted to tell them that there's no such thing, and she says she nearly called me to give me the good news. I'm sorry to talk so much about peeing, but it's been a theme of the whole saga since January 6.

She went on and on. The latest blood work shows his creatinine level is dropping precipitously, which is also a very good thing. "Panther's a rock star!" she said. He's up and around, trying to get out, for which I can hardly blame him and I want him out too, but he's got to stay for a little while. These people saved his life—she used those words, actually——and I'm inclined to let them do what they want.

She said at one point that I can't know how happy she felt about this, and then she stopped and allowed as how maybe I could. To be honest, I was taken a little off guard. You steel yourself for bad news. You don't steel yourself for miracles. 

Last night I stopped in to see him. The vet student who's on night duty there said he was on pain medication, and he looked pretty zonked out, his pupils totally dilated. I told him if I were a cop and had pulled him over he'd be in trouble. He tried to get up, but I remonstrated as if he were an elderly gent, rising politely, and I just rubbed his chin. He ducked his head against my hand, like he does. After a minute or so I could feel him purring. They'd given him a little toy clown to play with, he had lots of soft blankets, he had food and water, and his stomach and neck were wrapped in blue cloth and there were tubes everywhere. I just petted him and talked to him, and he purred audibly now. People around working, cages and machines, like before but more of it because this was the intensive care unit. The student sat there too. She'd been due to rotate somewhere else, but she asked if she could keep working with him. "There's something affecting about him, isn't there?" I asked her. He's like Jimmy Stewart or Tom Hanks, the soul of gentle good nature. All he wants is friendship and peace. Friendship he has, no cat more, and the peace we're working on.

I told him I loved him and that I'd be thinking about him, and I got up and left. Then I went to a bar where a bunch of fishing friends were meeting. One of the gang moved to Montana, and he was back for a couple of days. We got caught up and made short- and long-range plans for fishing trips. They made the usual bloodthirsty jokes about what should be done with sick cats. If you think I minded you're wrong. There's a good heart (and a fine mind, btw) in every one of them. So I guess the theme of the evening was visiting friends. There are worse ways to spend your time, I must say.