This story was originally published on my vet school blog, “Wet Cleanup on Aisle 5.”
Mr. Cat has been a patient of ours for the last couple months.
When we first met him, three-quarters of his fur was missing, and he had crusty scabs over his head, back, haunches, and tail. His previous vet had done a ringworm culture which came out positive, but Mr. Cat had never been treated.
(Lest you be tempted to point a finger at the previous vet, it’s highly likely that said vet recommended treating Mr. Cat for ringworm, and that Mr. Cat’s owner chose not to for any number of reasons.)
The ringworm culture we did came up negative, but we started Mr. Cat on lime sulfur dips anyway, which are known to help in cases of both ringworm and mange, either of which might have been the cause of his scabbiness. Allergies weren’t suspected, because his owner said he didn’t scratch himself much, if at all.
It was my job to give him the twice-weekly dips, and during the time we spent together, I grew to be quite fond of the little guy. Cats aren’t exactly notorious for enjoying baths, especially baths in stinky sulfur, but Mr. Cat always behaved very sweetly despite our torturing him. And he always mewed politely whenever you walked by his kennel.
Over the weeks, his scabs began to fall off and his hair began to grow back. At his previous visit, we had been ecstatic to see him, because he looked like a new cat. He wasn’t completely healed, but his magnificence was returning.
Yesterday he came in for his last bath, and during the time since the previous visit, Mr. Cat had suffered a small setback–he felt slightly more crusty than before. His owner told me he didn’t want to spend any more money on Mr. Cat, that Mr. Cat was 14 years old, and that he’d already cost $1000 in treatment between the two vets, so maybe it would be better to euthanize him. WHAT?!
I went home knowing that Mr. Cat would be gone in a few hours and there was nothing I could do about it. Dr. K hadn’t been able to convince the owner otherwise, and that was that. To top it off, the day had been a very busy one, and I didn’t get to spend any time with Mr. Cat, despite his sweet little mewings whenever I passed by. His last day on Earth was one long, “Sorry, Mr. Cat, I have to work…”
Grumble grumble grumble. It was a bad night.
The next day I poked my head into the hospital wing and there was Mr. Cat, mewing for breakfast.
“Mr. Cat!” I practically screamed. “You’re alive!”
Turns out Dr. K couldn’t do it. Mr. Cat was perfectly healthy except for the rapidly diminishing case of ringworm, or mange, or whatever it was. So she had the unenviable task of calling his owner and explaining why she hadn’t done what he’d asked. She and the owner agreed we’d keep Mr. Cat in the hospital, and if he looked better in a week, he could go home, but otherwise we’d carry out the owner’s wishes.
As a last-ditch effort, Mr. Cat got a steroid injection, just in case allergies were to blame. Other than the one injection, he didn’t receive any more medical care.
The one thing he did get was groomed, daily, by me. I took a fine toothed comb to what little hair he had, and tried to see whether his crustiness would flake off with a bit of grooming. Turns out the remainder of Mr. Cat’s “scabs” fell off immediately. And they weren’t so much scabs as flakes of skin mixed with sulfur dip goo that had accreted on his skin until it felt, and looked, scabby.
Within two days, he looked fantastic, despite his missing fur, which was slowly growing in. He went home a week later, into the arms of his tearful owner.
Yesterday we saw Mr. Cat again for the last time; his owner is moving back to Arizona. Mr. Cat looks like a little black lion–nothing at all like the naked, scabby little thing he’d been when we met him.
His owner looked at me and said, “Thank you, I know you did a lot of taking care of him.”
Now I’m the one who’s tearful.
