Smokey the Kitten - A True Story

Upon a cursory examination, Dr. Baxter gave Smokey only a 5% chance of survival. I immediately began to cry uncontrollably, even in front of the good doctor and of several people waiting in the reception area with their beloved pets. One young girl was holding a small, black and white kitten. I glanced at the small kitten fondly, wishing that Smokey was that alert and well.

After hearing Dr. Baxter’s prognosis, I kept reproaching myself again and again for not bringing him to the emergency animal hospital the day before which was a holiday (Labor Day) which was open during the holidays when regular animal hospitals were closed. Dr. Baxter then told me he had to give Smokey a urine test in order to accurately diagnose his condition. Showing me a chart with various shades of green, he told me that the greener the urine, the more serious his condition. Another doctor or technician came out from the rear of the hospital, who lifted Smokey up and took him to another examining room in the back of the hospital.

The good doctor tried to console me as I kept reproaching myself repeatedly for not taking Smokey to the emergency animal clinic a day earlier. I felt such intense remorse, guilt, for this gross negligence on my part. Dr. Baxter tried not to make me feel bad and told me I should not dwell on this, and further stated that Smokey’s chances for survival would have been much better had I taken him in a week earlier when he first showed signs of illness (when he was acting crazy). He said a day sooner would have not made that much difference. While we were discussing Smokey’s probable fate, the technician who had taken Smokey in the back returned, giving the doctor the results of Smokey’s test. Dr. Baxter showed me the chart, indicating that Smokey’s urine test showed him to be at the most critical stage and his condition is most likely, fatal, although he did not actually say this. In view of the results of the test, Dr. Baxter was surprised that Smokey was still alive.

He gave me only a small measure of hope even though I kept saying he was going to make it. Dr. Baxter’s diagnosis was the same as the prognosis – Smokey had only a mere 5% chance of survival. All that time, I had not stopped crying, but had tried to hold back the tears, but without success. Now, knowing that Smokey was doomed to die, tears filled my eyes again and flowed down my cheeks. The doctor instructed me to wait in the reception area, while they tried to unplug Smokey’s urethra as he was suffering from Feline Urologic Syndrome ( F.U.S.), a bladder disease affecting a large number of the feline population in the United States, especially males, which can be fatal if not caught in time, however, if caught in time, it can be controlled by diet and vitamin therapy, but there is no actual cure or medication available at this writing.

I returned to the reception area and sat next to my neighbor, Frances, who asked me what the doctor had said when she saw me crying. Briefly, I related to her that the doctor’s diagnosis was that Smokey only had a 5% chance of survival as he had Feline Urologic Syndrome (F.U.S.). She tried to console me and tried to me make me dismiss the thought that Smokey might die from my mind. The young woman, who was holding the small black and white kitten that I had observed earlier, tried to encourage me by saying that her kitten had the same problem and he is fine now. She gave me false hope but, of course, she did not realize how serious Smokey’s condition was. I thought to myself, “But she took her kitten to the hospital in time, I’m sure, but I did not, unfortunately.” Again , I felt such intense remorse, guilt for this gross negligence. As much as I tried to put the thought out of my mind, deep down I feared the worst, that it probably was already too late for Smokey, my beloved kitten, whom I had loved and cherished for 4 years, who had kept me up nights worrying, like a child, during his illness.

Dr. Baxter reappeared behind the reception area and signaled me to come forward to the receptionist’s desk. Then he said that he had placed Smokey on what they call “the drip.”  “What happened,” he went on to explain, “was that Smokey’s kidneys had completely shut down.” The only thing they could do for him now was to put him on the “drip” in the hope that his kidneys might start functioning again on their own. “If they start functioning, Smokey would have a chance of recovery.” He said.

Dr. Baxter then instructed me to go home and call him back at 10:00 A.M. that same day. I glanced at my wrist watch; it was now 8:50 A.M. I arrived home at 9:00 A.M. I thanked my dearest friend and neighbor, Frances for taking me and Smokey to the animal hospital and driving me back home, although this time, without Smokey.

My mind was in a fog. My heart was filled with despair and hopelessness.  Nervous, tense and shaky, I entered my apartment. Once inside, I started to cry again, this time profusely, uncontrollably, as I realized that Smokey’s chances of survival were very slim – only 5%. But I tried to have some positive thoughts. I thought to myself,  “They say cats have nine lives. I hope it’s true. Then, he’s got 7 more lives to live, since God already spared his life twice before.” I tried to comfort myself with this positive thought, although deep down, I knew that wishing that Smokey would live will not necessarily make it so. They say God works in mysterious ways. Perhaps God chose Smokey for a very special purpose and I shouldn’t question His judgment if He takes Smokey’s life now instead of later.