Reggie the cat is the sweetest animal you could ever imagine - he loves to snuggle into armpits and stay there all night long. He’s unusually social, too. Every Wednesday night I have about 15-20 people over to my house for a musical group, and he happily wanders among the guests seeking affection.
Obligatory photo: IMG_0076 | Carol Walker | Flickr
Anyway, he has just been diagnosed as diabetic. I picked him up from a week’s stay at the vet and got the scoop. I have to give him an insulin shot every morning and feed him 3x/day. It is understood that this is not likely to continue indefinitely - but if we can give him a few more good months or maybe as long as a year, we’ll do what it takes. (He’s a street cat so exact age is unknown, but about 4.)
If anyone else has cared for a diabetic cat, stories and tips are welcome.
No need to read further, but for the truly interested, here is the backstory: Poor Reggie. He was a “campus cat” at my son’s school, but unwisely decided to venture into the wider world. Alas, some kids decided to torture him (his own friendliness to strangers probably worked against him) and they set his tail on fire. One of his hind legs was completely shattered - presumably as he tried to escape and some lout grabbed him.
He limped back to campus and the Animal Welfare Club (my son is a long-time member) got him to the vet. They had to amputate his tail and shattered leg. As leaving a 3-legged cat to the mercies of the outside world seemed unwise, the AWC looked for someone to adopt him and we took him in.
For a while his life was perfect, but the fates have not been kind to this poor kitty. He developed a granuloma in his mouth that occasionally flares up, causing bleeding gums, horrible pain, and an inability to eat. The treatment is a steroid shot, but this eventually causes diabetes - and now it has.
Poor Reggie. Between the diabetes and the likelihood that the granuloma will flare up again, his lifespan is almost certainly measured in months, not years. What’s more, my son adores him and has already gotten so choked up over his illness that he could barely function at school one morning. He’s a senior in a high-pressure academic setting with college apps hanging over him. This is not a good time to break his heart.
Ah well. As I write this, Reggie is lying contentedly on my son’s bed, giving himself a good tongue bath. For the moment, he is happy.