Tosca Tosca


BORN: approx. 1995-96
DIED: 10 Nov. 2012
NICKNAMES: Toscabella

Tosca is Diva's mother, or so I assume. By an odd quirk of fate, I acquired Diva first and had no idea her mother was still around until she suddenly showed up at the same location I found Diva. Tosca was so identical to Diva, and had the same operatic singing voice, I knew instantly she had to be related. I contacted the friends from whom I'd acquired Diva. They'd never gotten around to naming Diva's mother because she had disappeared over a year earlier, not long after having the litter.

Tosca talked and talked to me incessantly until I gave in and brought her home. Mother and daughter spent two weeks hissing at one another (cats have awfully short memories for other cats), but are now friends. They love to get into rough and tumble play, so rough I often worry that they're fighting. The only way I can tell them apart (without a collar) is that Tosca is heavier than her daughter and has slightly greener eyes.

Tosca and Diva are friendly to everybody, so much so that I sometimes to refer to them as my slut kitties.

That was the original entry for Tosca. Here's my sad last entry for her.

I had to make the Terrible Decision. In spite of my efforts, Tosca continued to deteriorate. I took her to the vet on Tuesday the 6th because I had so much trouble getting her to eat and she had gotten so thin. Her sides were sunken and I could feel every bone in her hindquarters.

They did a full blood work-up. There were indications of mild anemia, possibly from internal bleeding; high white blood cells, indication some kind of unknown infection; but to our surprise, her kidney functions looked good. The vet had initially suspected kidney failure, due to her age.

She had me increase the Prednisone (steroid), start her on Baytril (antibiotic) for the mystery infection, gave me special "critical care" canned food to try on her (mixed with baby food), an apetite stimulant pill, and had me stop the Pepto-Bismol. I didn't realize that it contains a trace of aspirin and might have been causing problems.

Tosca perked up for a couple of days, but I still had to go through the three stages of feeding. Stage 1 was putting the bowl down in front of her; she'd lick a little of it, then toddle off to her bed. Stage 2, I'd sit next to her as she settled in the catbed and insistently put the bowl under her nose; she'd usually eat more of it. Stage 3, I literally spoon-fed her; I'd put some food on the spoon and hold it under her nose until she ate it. This was barely enough food to keep her going, though, and even with the appetite stimulant, she didn't improve.

Last night, she ate a bowl of food via the three stages and even took a few of her treats, though she had trouble eating them.

This morning, I found globs of white foam all over the office and a stray turd. She kept throwing up the white foam and kept wandering around and squatting without being able to relieve herself. She refused food by any method. Stages one to three all failed. I went to Stage 4, a desperation measure. I watered down the food and fed it to her a bit at a time with a syringe. I got a fair bit into her, but a minute later she wandered off and threw it all up.

That's when I knew she'd hit a wall and there was nothing more I could do for her. It was a lovely, sunny day, so I took her into the back yard. She wandered a bit, but not as much as before because she was frailer and weaker. She came back to the catbed I'd brought out and laid in the sun for a while.

After I brought her back inside, I made one more attempt to feed her. I was hoping the fresh air and stimulation of being outside might have helped. She refused to have anything to do with the food. That's when I knew what I had to do.

I called the emergency clinic that was recommended by my vet and let them know why I was coming in. I had a long, long wait (over an hour) that I spent holding and caressing Tosca, and crying a lot, while she gifted me with her beautiful purr. The people there were kind and empathetic. Tosca went in my arms and it was a calm, peaceful death.

She was my beautiful, golden-eyed girl; a sweet, affectionate moggy. She loved people and, along with her presumed daughter Diva, would be the first at the door to greet anyone with a happy greeting and a song on her lips. She had a loud purr-machine that she turned on as soon as she was petted. I wish she could have been with me longer.

These are the final pictures I took of her.


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