Rolling Dog Farm Blog

This time he was ready.

Back in mid-January, I had posted about our chronically ill deaf cat Snowball and how we had almost decided to euthanize him because of his worsening condition.  But my hunch then was that there might be something else going on with him, and I asked our vets to run whatever tests they needed to rule out any other possible cause of his latest downhill spiral.  It turned out he had developed a serious heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.  With appropriate heart medications, he turned the corner, began eating again and feeling so much better.

Then, a few weeks ago, he started deteriorating again.  This time we learned that the medication for his oral disease — the stomatitis — had caused stomach ulcers.  But more alarming, new blood tests showed that Snowball’s kidneys were beginning to fail, and that put us in a Catch-22.  He needed fluid therapy for his kidneys, but because of his congestive heart failure, he was on Lasix to prevent fluid retention … so more fluids would only make matters worse.   For the past two weeks, Snowball had been in the hospital while our vets, Brenda and Britt Culver, tried to find the right therapeutic balance to treat all of his conditions.  But his kidney values continued to get worse, and he wasn’t eating enough to sustain himself, so his weight kept dropping.  By last Friday it was apparent there wasn’t much more they could do for him.  Alayne brought him home Friday evening so he could spend his last few days with us. 

I continued to give him his medications every day, but the last time he wanted to eat anything was Sunday morning.  We put out fresh food twice a day, loved him up, but he wouldn’t eat.  This morning when I went in to medicate him and try to interest him in breakfast, I noticed he was having difficulty breathing once more.  This meant the fluid was building up in his chest again.  Snowball was curled up in his round fleece bed, sleeping, and I watched his sides rise and fall with every labored breath.  He finally raised his head up and looked at me, and I could tell it was time.  And I knew he was ready.  He had struggled enough.

I called the clinic to let them know I was bringing Snowball in, and then Alayne came out with me to the cottage for one last visit.  We had a good cry in there while I cuddled Snowball, and Alayne took this final photo of me with our sweet deaf boy.  He was the gentlest, most mellow cat I have ever known.

I drove over to our vet clinic in Helena, and Dr. Jennifer Rockwell was waiting for us.  I held Snowball while Jennifer inserted the catheter in his vein.  He was sitting up on a blanket on the exam table, perfectly still, as the drug entered his bony little body.  After a few seconds, I realized he was limp, and I gently laid him over on his side while Jennifer finished injecting the rest of the euthanasia solution.  I looked down at my watch, and it was 12:44  p.m.  He was gone.

We love you, Snowball.  You sweet, sweet boy.