Monday, February 9, 2015

Calypso in January, 2015

Calypso's kidney disease is now at a stage at which I'm required to daily administer 100 ml of subcutaneous fluids. She began receiving them more than two weeks ago. I was initially squeamish to perform this nightly ritual, but if it means making her feel better, I'm all for it. Calypso isn't convinced, although she puts up much less of a fight than I would have expected. Her protests typically include a few hisses followed by a couple baleful meows. But it's now become so routine that she's conditioned to expect a treat once the three-minute episode of torture is over.

Later this month will mark the 16th year I've had Calypso in my life. The time we've spent together is a blur of cat hair, bloody scratches, shoe strings, laser pointers, dirty litterboxes, tuna and purrs. I love my furry old friend and will soon miss the comfort of her greeting when I arrive home from work.

For now, her personality is intact. While she's lost about three pounds of her usual body weight, Calypso still has an appetite. It's been increasingly challenging to keep her enticed, however. Prior to last year, she was hardly a picky eater. Now I juggle a variety of canned foods, formulated broths, treats, lunch meat and baby food to keep her belly full.

When Calypso's gone, I will mourn the "Pussycam" chapter of my life; it's like watching the last vestiges of my youth slipping away. Until that day, I will continue to enjoy our precious time together.