My Little Fat Boy is a mama’s boy. He always has been. He always will be. Since he was a kitten he wanted to lay next to me and he still sits behind me in the computer chair.
When we first moved where we are now, when I finally came home, he would walk me to and from the bathroom at night.
Now he’s wobbly and I carry him when he needs me. It’s easy to do. He has lost about three-four pounds. Not a lot for us, but it’s a ton for a kitty.
I started him on canned food in order to have him gain some weight, but he only nibbles at it. He pushes most of it around with his paw. He does that with his water also. As if he doesn’t recognize it as water. Which he may not.
My poor Little Fat Boy is howling for me to give him water. He doesn’t understand why I won’t. But it’s right in front of him and I can’t make him drink it.
I will have to get a syringe tomorrow (without the needle) to force feed him the water he needs.
Today I took him to the vet. He just laid on the metal table, not trying to run away while I petted his head.
We all agreed he didn’t look so well.
They drew blood and gave him IV fluid since he was dehydrated.
The vet actually came out and asked if I wanted to give him fluid. I know they have to, I get that. But do people really say no?
Heavens! Of course! Give him fluid!
Tomorrow they will call and let us know what the blood work says.
The vet seems to think it’s 1) hyperthyroidism 2) diabetes or 3) kidney failure.
We’re hoping for the hyperthyroidism. That would mean a pill everyday, but I can handle that.
The other two I’m trying not to think about. They require a decision I really don’t want to make.
Happy thoughts and fingers-crossed it’s 1.
For now I keep petting his head and hoping he’ll drink something on his own. And that tomorrow will bring happier news.