I have to wonder, what life lessons are in it for a cat who becomes so ill he requires hospitalization? Or are the lessons for his human family, demanding discernment and intuition when weighing the option of treatment or the option of letting the pet die?
This condition, diabetic ketoacidosis, seemed to spring out of nowhere and land upon our cat over a week ago, propelling us into a whirl of veterinary visits, testing, and a frantic scramble to find multi-day intensive care at one of the two local veterinary hospitals.
Neither had a bed available for an overnight stay, due to staff shortages, when I checked Saturday morning. By Saturday afternoon, a bed had opened up, and not long after, the cat was hooked up to IVs and slated for x-ray and ultrasound tests.
When I talked with the animal communicator on Tuesday, she relayed that whatever the illness was—undiagnosed at that time—the cat didn’t mind leaving the earth plane and might be choosing this vehicle to carry him over the rainbow bridge.
Although he might be ready for that journey, though, I wasn’t so sure I was. DKA is treatable and so is diabetes. I could not, in good conscience, reject treatment on his behalf when the cosmic plan of our mutual God might be for him to stay, and for us to journey together through this illness and its recovery.
I was still ambivalent when our blunt-spoken vet advised late Friday afternoon, “I can’t recommend that you take this cat home for the weekend. You should take him to the pet hospital immediately,” so I didn’t point the car to the pet hospital. Stymied by logistics—elderly mother in car, possible multiple-hour wait at the pet hospital—I did what intuition said, came home, and took him in on Saturday.
I don’t know what lessons there are in this unfolding situation. A lesson in gratitude, perhaps, for the kindness and prompt care given by veterinary staff, and for the unflagging and heartfelt support of several friends over the last ten days.
A lesson in discernment, looking askance at the carbohydrate-laden prescription diet they sent home with us “to support your cat toward wellness.”
A lesson in honing research skills even further to solidify my insistence on a protein-heavy raw food diet, which both cats have been eating for the last few years.
A lesson to listen to the nudges of intuition, even when they feel unusual. I called my Reiki teacher, who sent out a 911 healing request to her Reiki healing circle for the benefit of our cat and our whole family. The request included asking for clarity for me to receive and correctly interpret signs from the cat about what he does and does not want going forward.
I’m pretty sure I’ll recognize some of the signs. Is he easily accepting the insulin injection? Is he eating food on schedule? In general, does he seem like he wants to be here, on the planet, in our home?
I gave him the first insulin shot last night, which he accepted docilely and with only the tiniest twitch to show I might not have been as gentle as I ought. I thanked him and praised his calm demeanor, petting his soft fur and admiring the elegant shape of his skull. A few seconds later, I heard the unmistakable burr of his quiet yet profound purr, and observed his paws delicately kneading the towel upon which he lay.
Something in my heart that had been clenched for many days relaxed minutely. I felt the connection that had been missing with this cat. I stopped subconsciously viewing him as a problem, my responsibility to manage, and just saw him as himself.
The roller coaster of the situation has not halted. But I am reminded to put the brake on the madness whenever I can, and just sit and be. Enjoy the presence of God and self and the light of all beingness, including that in the small compromised body of this bighearted, gentle creature who miraculously makes his home with us.