A few weeks ago, "Gryffie," more formally known as "Mr. Godric Gryffindor," known by a previous human as "Tigger," a beautiful, sweet-natured, social, affectionate cat, seen above as he slept on my hip in the wee hours of February 25th, 1998, had a change in behavior, hiding in corners and dark places. I gave him a few days to get over it, then made it my business to haul him out and love on him, and encourage him to re-join the family. At first, it worked.
The week before last, however, he began acting listless and torpid, and, the Saturday before last, I became concerned enough to want to take him to the vet. The vet, however, was not there, and would not be until Monday. By that Monday morning, I feared he would not make it through the day, and he was nearly dead before I could get him in to the Vet's office.
The next day, having had subcutaneous fluids and food, he seemed happier and peppier, and was sent home. "But wait," I asked. "What caused this? Did the blood work show anything?" Well, no, it hadn't, and the vet had no idea, but assumed that Gryffie had ingested some sort of poison, or that I had been inept in applying anti-flea drops, and poisoned him. I knew that wasn't the case, and knew that it was not an environmental poison -- my other three cats, after all, had no problems -- but there was no way of knowing what the problem was.
That night, lying in bed between my wife and me, he had a seizure, and, come the morn, it was back to the Vet for Mr. Gryffie. He was given Phenobarbital, and an antibiotic, and by Sunday, seeming much the better, was sent home again. Sunday night, another seizure, Monday morning, a return to the vet.
More Phenobarbital, a seizure-free night, more phenobarbital, another seizure in the night, and the Vet was now fairly confident that it would just be a matter of adjusting dosages, and that Gryffie would soon be home and happy. I spoke with the vet at approximately 6:00 last evening, and all was well. One more night to make sure the dosages were working, and he'd be coming home, probably, today.
This morning at 8:40 AM, ten minutes after his office had opened, the Vet called me to tell me that Gryffie had passed away overnight.
I can't begin to express how I loved that cat, nor how heartbroken I am to know he'll never again be coming home to me, never again leap onto me as I try to settle in for bed, before I'm quite in position to go to sleep.
Rest Well, Gryffie. I will always love and miss you.