MSI Press Blog

  Bobolink looking up at his owner in pain, fear, trust, and love at a vet visit. It started three months ago. Our feather-duster-tailed, aqua-blue-eyed, quietly affectionate, FIV cat, Bobolink began losing weight really fast. Blood tests showed autoimmune hemolytic anemia . Incurable. Marginally treatable. Pills from VCA, ointments and powders from Chewy, and specially compounded liquids from Sherman’s Apothecary did little to compensate for a worrisome and continuing red blood cell count of 13 (28 is considered the lower limit). After a couple months, Bobolink had regained the weight he had lost, but his weight and appetite fluctuated by the day. He became my lap cat, chair cat (he fit nicely beside me in Carl’s big lazy-boy), and bed cat, following me everywhere as if attached. Then, two weeks ago, his weight dipped very low, and he lost interest in food. One day, I left the room and returned to find him lying in a puddle of pee and looking up with scared, confused eyes. VCA in Sal

  I have written a bit about the process of pets dying before, along with the ways in which vets can be (or not) helpful. In that post, I shared a book by Barbara Karnes on understanding the pet-dying process, which I had found very helpful and which would have provided me with a fair amount of relief and guidance had I known about while Murjan was still alive. It explained much about his dying process and death that was comforting in retrospect. You can read that post HERE . In this post, I want to share the emotional aspects not only of the dying itself but also of the role of the support community (which should be supportive but in our case was not so, at least not to the extent that we needed and that could have been). As a result, my experience with Murjan's dying days were traumatic--more traumatic than they should have been because of lack of support from the veterinary hospital that should have been my source of support.  As I explained in the earlier post, Murjan had been