In April, 2009, I became aware of a beautiful, loving, healthy girl named Cleopatra. She was going to be killed by her "rescuer," because despite being in a cage at Petsmart for six months, a home could not be found for her. On April 11, 2009, I brought Cleopatra to my home, The Little Cats' Rescue and Sanctuary in New Port Richey. She was only five years old.
From the moment Cleo arrived, she was THE best cat ever. Always my buddy - always well-behaved and so loving. She provided me with much laughter, too. Over the course of the last 18 months, Cleo's health began to deteriorate. She was seen by several vets, all of whom said, "upper respiratory infection and possible dementia." Despite being treated over and over with different meds, the congestion never abated, it only got worse. Her "dementia" continued. I would give her wet food; she'd devour it only to return within the hour for more - crying out as if she was starving. It was as if she had forgotten that she just ate. This went on all day and night, every day. Even with all this eating, Cleo kept losing weight. At the end, she was down to 5.8 lbs - way down from her original healthy 10 lbs. Dr. Channel and I had hoped her T4 would show that she had hyperthyroidism, which is easily treated. Unfortunately, that was not the issue. Within a week, Cleo's head became deformed and her dementia was worse. An unsuspected brain tumor had taken her to the point of no return. Cleopatra would have been 18 years old in January. She will always live in my heart and mind.
Pictured are Cleopatra in her prime, and then with her bestie, Miranda (who left the planet two years ago) and the final picture is of Cleo saying goodbye to her friend, Lovey. Euthanasia is the final act of love we can give to our suffering furbies. This was one of the hardest for me. Rest in peace, my sweet angel Cleo.
