Dealing with the death of a friend
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Thep takes his turn for a stay at the vet's clinic as he continues to mourn Thong
IN LAST WEEK’S COLUMN, I wrote that the circumstances of soi cat Thong’s death probably started a few days before, when he was vaccinated. At least, that’s what the experts say, basing their findings on the preliminary post-mortem.
It’s still not clear how the vaccination caused the total breakdown of all the major organs in the young cat’s body.
Some readers seem to have misunderstood. I certainly didn’t intend to imply that all vaccinations are dangerous.
It’s true that some pet owners (and even breeders) in Western countries refuse to vaccinate their animals. It’s their choice, I suppose.
In Thailand, pet owners don’t have that choice. Too many diseases are found in Thailand, diseases that can be passed to other animals and to humans.
No matter how badly I feel about Thong’s death, I certainly will not stop vaccinating my herd. Watching my pets pass away from old-age illnesses is one thing, but watching them die from illnesses I could have helped them avoid would be much, much worse.
Two weeks have passed since Thong’s death, and at first I think that his best friend Thep has finally accepted that Thong isn’t coming home.
Thep still searches every day through the house for his friend, but gradually the searches don’t seem as urgent. He’s also been trying to make friends with one or two other cats. To my surprise, his first choice is Phantom, the elderly gentleman on the third flood.
Phantom doesn’t much like other cats, and Wan-Wan, my poodle pup, is also on his hate list. Yet in the early evening, I find him and Thep relaxing together, blocked only by the screen door of Phantom’s room.
Are we seeing the beginning of a beautiful friendship? I hope so, but it will take some time before I let the two boys meet nose-to-nose.
I’ve noticed, though, that Thep no longer eats as much as he once did when Thong was around. I wait for his appetite to return.
Then, one day, Thep comes into the house for his evening meal, and I notice he’s limping on a back leg.
Thong was always the one who had accidents, never Thep, who has always landed on his feet, the way a cat should – but here he is, unable to walk properly.
Is Thep becoming accident-prone in grief over the loss of his friend? I know humans who in times of great stress have suffered accidents, dropping a cup of hot water on themselves, falling down with no reason.
Thep certainly isn’t showing much common sense. Here he is, trying to make friends with Phantom, who tried to beat him up the last time the two cats met.
The next day, the limp has gone away, but Thep doesn’t want to leave the house. When I pick him up and feel his legs and spine, he shows no pain.
By the third day, he’s still walking properly, but he won’t leave the house. At night, he sleeps next to me, a paw touching my side.
He’s also stopped eating entirely. At the clinic, the vet finds that he has a temperature, and when she touches him, his skin shakes, his way, I guess, of showing pain.
Today, his temperature has come down, he no longer shows pain, but he still won’t – or can’t – eat.
Once, I would have simply brought Thong to the clinic, a sure way to encourage Thep to eat. Now, I can only send over Thep’s favourite food.
And hope.
I think I can keep Thep as healthy as possible, and try as hard to strengthen his wounded spirit, but there’s no way I can cure the grief in his loyal heart.
