Ulysses Is Gone

After my post this afternoon, indeed, while I was still sitting in this chair at my desk, I received a call from the Vet that Ulysses condition had worsened.  He had needed to be intubated to provide respiration.  A second call a few minutes later said that he had gone into cardiac arrest.  When we arrived, he was lying on a table with a nurse using a pump to assist his breathing.  We were told that he could breath but was not able to keep his oxygen levels high, that it was a question of whether his lungs would come back to work on their own or not.  We left for dinner and came back to see him for a bit, but were told he was more or less in a stable, though critical, state.  We left and drove home, about an hour from the hospital.  It was probably five or ten minutes after we came home that we received the call that Ulysses had another cardiac episode after which efforts at revival and resuscitation had failed.

Melissa and I were not prepared for this at all.  Ulysses fourth birthday would have been on October the first this year, and despite his having health issues from a young age, this was a complete shock.  Ulysses had, as I have said before, a seizure condition which required medication at regular intervals around the clock.  Melissa and I divided the medicine schedule, she would give him the four am dose and go back to bed, I would do the dose at eight am so she could sleep late.  The other doses, at noon and eight pm, were less problematic for us, as we both are home throughout the day.  While this schedule was difficult at times, it was what had to be done for Ulysses, and we were glad to do it.  It worked to control his seizures, preventing the grand mal events that had plagued him as a kitten and reducing the occurrences of other, lesser, seizure activity.  While he had deficits as a result of his neurology (visual processing issues, coordination problems...), he was mostly a healthy and sweet cat.  

We had been warned that over the years, the medications he took might prove less effective, that his seizures could return at some point, but that had not occurred yet.  What happened, though, was unrelated, and I am not certain what we could have done to change things.  Ulysses got a hairball which became lodged in his intestines.  This was the second time this had occurred, and this surgery required removing a piece of the intestinal tract which had become damaged.  Ulysses was expected to make a full recovery, and I was honestly more concerned just a day or so ago with how it was we would keep this from happening again.  They had actually told us yesterday he might be coming home today, and now he is never going to be home again.  I miss him.  I cannot say how much I miss him.

He was a dear, sweet boy who had a kind of self-determined streak to him.  He could be incredibly sweet.  For example, he loved our housekeeper Maria and would wait for her by the door when she was coming to work.  I am not sure how he knew, but he could always tell it was the right day and time, as that was the only time he waited by the door like that.  When she came in, he would rub against her, walk around, and just insist she give him some attention.  She was among the first people I told about Ulysses passing, as I know she really cared about him.  

Ulysses and I spent many hours sitting outside together.  He would sometimes sit right next to me, or he might go over to another spot to have some space of his own, but he knew the area that was his "safe" zone, the places he was allowed, and rarely ever stepped outside of bounds.  Most times, if he did, it was when he was chasing a lizard that ran onto the lawn.  He was well behaved, generally, when I took him out, coming inside as soon as I asked.

While he was good about taking the medicine, sitting down and allowing it to be administered, he would often run away when he knew it was time for a dosage.  He would make me chase him around the house, happy to play the game until he lost and it was time for his medicine.  I did that every morning with him, every evening too, many days.  It was part of life, caring for him that way.  I do not know anything to say, really, except that my heart breaks for the love he brought me, both that he showed in his own way, and that which came out in caring for one so special, sweet, and, alas, fragile.  He deserved more life than he was granted.