Technically this all started a couple of weeks ago. Or even a couple of months ago. It's hard to pinpoint exactly, but for a while our cat Cleo (aka "Princess") wasn't herself, meowing a lot and straining over her litter tray. She wasn't a happy kitty, and a couple of vet appointments had her on an antibiolitc injection for a minor infection which generally would clear up any issues within an hour and she would happily scuttle around the house as normal. Then a month later, same thing. Meow meow... pained meow. I felt terrible for her as she clearly wasn't happy, but this wasn't as heartfelt when she seemed to always be at her worst at 4am, meowing enough to wake me up and then by 8am being asleep in a chair as if nothing happened. Grrr...
Anyway, fast forward to the latest bout of pained whimpers, and another vet appointment where it was decided to test her urine and blood and check her over completely. I'd not been there for that appointment, lack of sleep had left me in a grump and I'd not cleared time off work, so my dad took her in. A week later the results were due, so this time the appointment was made for first thing in the morning so I could go with for the diagnosis before work. The vet, a lovely man called Mr Olsen, told us that Cleo was diabetic, and that as a result she would need constant treatment. As we were by now only a few days before Christmas, and the surgery would be closed until the New Year, we were given two options, either leave her in then so that they could regulate her blood sugar levels for a few days and get her used to the insulin then, or (and this was recommended) to take her home and feed her solely on the special Diabetic food and then make an appointment in the New Year. This was recommended as the vet himself was away over Christmas and so would be able to keep a dedicated eye on her treatment if it was postponed until the start of January. The latter option seemed the best as it was a hectic time anyway, Cleo would need several days in the surgery as well as a couple of appointments where we would go in to learn how to treat her at home. As she was happy in herself and certainly not in need of any emergency treatment this was certainly the best option. Dr Olsen kept trying to make it clear that it wasn't the end for Cleo, it was manageable. Although aware it was serious, my initial thoughts were just "oh great, this'll be expensive" added with a side-order of "drat... I literally have no TIME for this!". That sounds awful now, but work had been insane recently, redundancies and new tasks to learn so I'd been stressed to pieces, and then with Christmas coming up it'd been so manic that I'd had to cancel plans for extra days off over the holidays. I'm not really that heartless. I don't particularly like my job, and would easily shove it aside if needed for a vet appointment, but at that precise time it was one more thing that I couldn't quite deal with in my head, which also helped with the suggestion of starting treatment in 2009.
Christmas came and went, Cleo loved her diabetic dry food, me and my dad are just about getting used to watching the cats eat. We have three in all, Cleo (eldest b&w kitty, around 15 now I think), Chelsea (tortoishell, aka the fluffy one, around 9 yrs old) and Joey (tabby brother of Chelsea, also 9 yrs old). As Cleo isn't meant to eat the normal food, and the others aren't going to get their greedy gobs on the expensive stuff unless specifically required, we watch them eat and remove anything left over so there's no chance of anyone scoffing each others' leftovers. Considered splitting them up to feed, but they've got into their habit and generally only eat from "their" bowl, so it wasn't so much of a hardship really. Must remember to bring a book or something... I always say that after feeding.
Apart from drinking lots of water (something she's done since getting older, and has been mentioned to the vets at the annual vaccination/check ups) and the occasional bout of infection and meowing, Cleo hasn't really seemed to be affected much by diabetes. She's older - so jumping and coordination is a little off, but nothing serious as she'd never been great with feline aerobics since tearing a tendon as a kitten in an Indiana Jones style leap that didn't quite work out. At least this is what I thought. Now this could be entirely unrelated to her diabetes diagnosis, but on the Saturday just after Christmas (always the late evening on a weekend... when vets are closed, tsk) she had a bit of an episode. I'd been working on my computer downstairs and heard the tell-tale sound of a cat hacking up a furball. I tiptoed around, calling for the kitty to try and find which of the three was the culprit, and then spotted Cleo at the top of the stairs. She spat whatever was displeasing her onto the landing as I started walking up the stairs, making the soothing sounds that I have no idea work or not but to try and not make her freak out and run under the bed to deposit the rest of the furball. I'd barely put a foot on the bottom step when Cleo leaned back as if half sneezing and then just toppled down the stairs! Not fell, not lost balance, but actually toppled. It was as if she'd passed out for a second as she made absolutely no attempt to stop herself falling and I ended up diving at her as she reached half way, holding out my hands to stop her falling further but reluctant to grab her in case she'd injured herself rolling down the stairs. With my heart pounding in panic, she recovered instantly and stood up, pottering around my shaking hands and continuing down the stairs as normal. No ill effects shown, she enjoyed the fuss I made of her afterwards but didn't seem to need it, although I myself felt sick with shock! Presumed it was something to do with blood sugar level, Or possibly just her age. No reoccurance, so didn't make any emergency vet visits that night, just decided to keep a close eye on her and mention it when she went in after the New Year. The furball was pathetically small too, you'd imagine if it results in momentary unconsciousness that it'd be something big affecting it.
Now it's Monday 5th January, and Dr Olsen is back in the surgery so on my way to work this morning I dropped Cleo off. They were expecting her (us?) and so it didn't take long before I was out the door again. The house will seem strange without her for a few days...she'll probably be in a grump when she does eventually come back home, but I can't wait.
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