CrookieMonster

King of the Cats

In memory to the best cat in the world, my CrookShanks.
09/2010-5/28/2014
I will never forget how bravely you fought,
and how many lives you saved.
I wouldn't have made it here without you!
You will always be loved!

The Story of The King of Cats

I used to work in a teaching hospital, specifically with cat colonies that donated blood for feline emergencies every couple months before being adopted out themselves. I adopted two of them. One was with me for only a short time, and touched my heart in ways I can't begin to express. His name was CrookShanks. He was the best thing that ever happened to me, and also the saddest.

All cats that come into the colony are 2-4 years old.
Keep this in mind. They are bred to be healthy and "sterile" for research use.

I had a HUGE disagreement with the way CrookShank's case was handled, and the entire staff I worked with knew it. I wasn't silent in my feelings. The blood donor cat colonies get medical care, however, when the staff found out that Crook had kidney failure, they did not give him medical treatment, and instead left him in the colony until he became worse, and worse. The ignorant excuse I was given was that kidney disease can take years to have a negative effect, and they can live without meds or proper kidney food for years until they show a problem. Yes, a high ranking teaching hospital doctor told me this. These people are teaching the future veterinarians of the USA. I told the doctor I didn't think this was wise.

A few days passed since that conversation. CrookShanks slowed down. He used to be a voracious eater and quite a dominant male in the colony, yet I noticed him eating less and less, taking only nibbles at meal time with the rest of the boys (yes, they left a severely weakened cat in the same room with about 11 other cats. Most of whom he didn't get along with.). I lied to the head doctor and told her he wasn't eating at all. This wasn't a far off truth; the other cats were bullying him for his food, and he was no longer strong enough or fast enough to get his full share without supervision. This excuse of mine and only this reason, was the thing that got him out of the colony room and into the hospital itself for better supervision, management and medical care.

I had many questions. My first question was why was a previously healthy 2-4 year old male going into kidney failure? A colleague and I speculated that one of the students took him out for a blood donation and accidentally overdosed him on sedatives, thus sending him into kidney failure. There was no other reasonable excuse. It was perhaps covered it up by deleting his last entry in the blood donor record system. I was angry. Furious. However, I couldn't be involved in the internal investigation. The head doctor knew I loved the cats and thought I might actually beat the life out of whomever did this. These cats are used to save lives; they "donate" their blood to save the lives of everyday people's pet cats. But they also donate their time. Years. Since we keep them for X amount of years of their life and use them for blood donations, research, training new staff/rising doctors, and much more, I felt the least this hospital could do for these cats was give them the proper treatment they deserved when they became ill. Because the hospital doctors and head of the cat colonies took their sweet time (weeks) in helping this one particular cat, he now had an absolute death sentence - totally unfair to this cat who spent his entire upbringing first in a cage, and then in a room with *no peace from research, saving the lives of possibly hundreds of other pet cats in the process. The colonies are available 24/7 for any staff with clearance. Even though cats can only donate blood every 2 months, the cats are still pulled from the room sometimes several times a day to teach things such as: placing lines (veins), placing catheters, drawing urine, restraining for different blood draw types (neck, front leg, back leg), showing different restraining or shaving techniques. The rooms are concrete and open, with wall shelves. They are allowed thin square "blankets" (double-sided hospital fabric squares) but only a certain amount...I attempted to give them sealed, fluffy real beds once and even though all cats were happy and made biscuits, they were THROWN OUT. "The cats must be kept sanitary" they say, as they all stroll in the rooms with their shoes that have been from the bathroom to the body freezers. Why the double standard for these animals? It's not like they were making people wash their hands before petting or handling the cats, yet the rooms they live in are also deep disinfected with equipment and chemicals twice daily, as this is a "teaching hospital" it must stay sanitary. However it is incredibly cruel from the cats and caretakers view. The chemical smell is harsh enough to burn your eyes and has various health warnings all over the bottle. They don't even remove the cats to clean, they yell at them to run up onto the high shelves when they spray chemicals. We do our best to make it livable an implement positive changes with the people at the top, though ultimately and unfortunately it is their final decision on what is done, as this hospital is run and operated by the State. They are either too cheap or the wrong people care, ie, not the ones in power.

My usual schedule was 4 days on, 3 days off. After Crook settled into the hospital, it was time for my days off. I tried to relax and not think about it too much. But how do you not?

I came back to work after 3 days. Just 3 days. I went to visit him. He had completely changed.
He was in a cage in the hospital section. His body and posture said, "I give up."
I opened his cage door; he was facing the back of the cage, his head was in the corner. He now had a feeding tube in place... his kidneys were protruding from his sides from not filtering... it was the saddest sight I've ever seen. He was getting treatment, but had refused to eat. And now, he was giving up.
I reached out to pet him, and he turned around to me.
And purrrred, oh, how he purred.
Animals can always tell if someone actually cares - I swear this to you.
The head ER doctor saw me loving on him and came over. She explained everything that was going on - kidney disease progressed to kidney failure; one dead kidney, the other one was now starting to die too. Heart failure. Heart disease. The list went on (and they wanted him to stay in the colony room?). She said it would be a miracle if he lived another week because of his list of problems.
I was crying. She was crying. She told me it was so hard to see him suffering...and she wanted to euthanize him on that very day.

I was bawling now. He was so young. He'd never known a life outside of research and blood donations.

That really got to me.
I was there when he came in to our facility. I saw him healthy. Playful. Stubborn, and hungry! Now... now he was just completely defeated looking.

Then I had an idea.

Let me take him.

Just for the weekend.

Just to experience life as a normal house cat.

Maybe he would perk up.

He could at least have a happy ending with less stress and more love.

He was born a research animal in a lab, and sold to our work as cattle for blood donations and research.

But, for no longer.

I convinced her.

He was then "retired" and released to my care. I officially adopted him!
He was free.

One weekend.

One weekend turned into three months.

Three months of being a glorious, free house cat.

He took his meds like a champ with me.
My whole life revolved around him.
Meds every three to four hours. I didn't sleep well or at all, but God it was so worth it.
He was doing so much better out of that place!

We got his feeding tube out, at his demands of course.
He ripped it once while I wasn't home and scared the crap out of me. I got it put back in and they very next day he did the same thing again. It never went back in. The head doc said this was his way of saying, "that's enough of this sh*t! I don't even need this crap anymore! Look at how good I'm doing!"

Yes, he began to eat on his own again!

Freedom was wonderful! It made him show his true happiness again. And I was happy because of him.

He started to eat on his own. His meds would go into his food. No more of that tube nonsense! He slept next to me every night and even fell in love with one of my other cats. He wanted to be near her all the time, when he wasn't cuddling with me. She loved and still loves and misses him very much to this day. I can tell she misses him.

And he played, oh how he played with the toys, all of the toys! Mouse toys were his favorite!

I loved him more than anything.
I wanted it to last. My heart was in the right place, but my selfish yearnings couldn't keep up with fate.
I wish our time together could've lasted forever.

Then one day, the day I knew would eventually come, came to be.

One day reality hit me.

Although he had meds, his kidneys never got better. They got bigger.

I knew things wouldn't heal completely when I adopted him. I knew this.

I just...I wanted to be hopeful.

I wanted it to last longer, forever even.

He was finally happy, and so was I. He trusted me completely.

But more than anything I just wanted him to feel better. He was the only one who ever believed in me. The way he looked at me was so different than any other animal or human had ever looked at me before. The very stars from the sky were in his eyes. I mean, the entire sky would light up when he looked at you. His love was limitless, his courage, strength, bravery, and patience were just unending. I wanted to see those stars shine on forever and ever.


I stayed up that night watching him to make sure it wasn't too soon. (I think I just wanted to convince myself I was doing the right thing. I still feel like it was too soon, and that I acted too quickly. Maybe I will always regret that part.)
He sat in front of his water dish - he couldn't drink.
He sat in front of his food - he didn't want to eat much. Nibbles, not meals.
He sat on my bed - but he couldn't sleep.
He wanted to use the bathroom - but nothing would come.

It was a drastic change from mere days earlier. I knew what I was getting into before all of this. But even I wasn't as strong as I could've been.

The morning of our dreaded day I looked at him, sitting so lovely and lovingly and peaceful in the hallway.
He was looking at me.
He was looking tired, or maybe sad.

But he was trying to be strong.
For me.

A friend convinced me. It was time.

I fed him a platter of all the canned foods, and all the real human-grade meat and cat treats I could find in the house.
And he ate. He lapped at the canned food until he just...couldn't anymore.

And so later that day I said goodbye. To my family member, and one of my best animal friends ever.

He went surrounded by me and the two folks who helped me take care of him when I was at work.

Three people who loved him very much.




Goodbye, again, my dearest CrookShanks.


Until we meet once more, on the rainbow bridge.


I will never forget you, and I will ALWAYS, ALWAYS love you.

(See the stars in his eyes? That's what I always saw when I looked at him.
I also love this picture because you can tell he's making biscuits!)

(Taking care of him would not have been possible without the support of my mother and ex-neighbor, who helped during work hours with medical care so I did not have to lug Crook back to the hospital with me anymore. He was truly retired and free of that place - an official housecat!)


May you rest in blissful peace, my dearest Crookie Monster.
I love you so much, forever!