As I sat at the reception desk on an average Wednesday morning in January, I was completely unaware of what was about to come
through the door. A woman we'll call "Kathy" pulled up to the clinic and walked in with a cat carrier in hand. Strange, I
thought, as I wasn't expecting a cat and didn't recognize the woman. Kathy approached me cautiously and asked for my help.
She explained to me that she thought something may have been wrong with the cat, Winky. It belonged to the elderly, homebound
woman for whom she was a caregiver. She explained this woman, we'll call her "Millie," had owned the cat for years and no
one had ever seen it before because it always hid from anyone but Millie. When Kathy arrived at Millie's house that morning
and went into the bedroom, the cat was lying on the bed next to Millie and didn't scurry out of sight when Kathy entered.
Kathy also noticed that Winky's food had gone untouched. Obviously something wasn't quite right with Winky.
I told Kathy she could leave the cat with us for the day and that we would try and do everything we could to figure out what
was wrong with her. After she left I carried Winky's carrier to the back room and placed it on the table. At first glance
through the bars at the front of her cage I was startled. Winky's back end was facing toward me and I couldn't exactly make
sense of what I could see. It looked as though she had a long twisted spine, and I knew I didn't want to reach in and grab
her for fear of causing injury. I carefully disassembled her cage, afraid of what I might find once I opened it. I'm not sure
if it was worse than I had imagined, but what I saw made my jaw drop. Winky had a large and solidified clump of fur down the
length of her back that raised up so high above her spine it looked as if she were attached to a second cat. None of us had
ever seen anything quite like it. This cat was so badly matted I didn't even want to touch her. It looked like any sort of
movement would cause her great pain. But despite this, Winky looked up at me and purred. I gently placed her into one of our
cages and went to find our veterinarian.
Generally when an animal appears to be severely neglected our natural reaction is to get angry. I asked myself how a person
could ever let a pet end up in this condition. What imbecile didn't take one look at Winky and rush her to a veterinarian,
or at the very least, a groomer? I had to remind myself that Winky's owner, Millie, was suffering from dementia, and that
Kathy had mentioned that in the past 10 years Millie's own son had never even seen this cat because she always hid. Millie
was the only one for Winky, and what could she ever do for her beloved feline when she didn't even have her wits about her,
or even the use of her own hands? Thus began the torrid love affair between our team members and Winky, the severely matted
Finding new friends
Once we became more acquainted with Millie and Kathy, we came to know them as wonderful people who were doing their best for
Winky. As Winky's care commenced and we began to shave away the fur hunks (they weighed 2 pounds!), we started to notice more
concerning ailments, including a tumor beneath her jaw. It seemed to cause some labored breathing and needed to be removed.
Millie wanted us to do whatever we could for Winky, despite her age and regardless of the cost. She just wanted us to make
her better as fast as we could. We often let Winky stay behind the reception desk to get her up and around and out of the
cage, but she didn't have much interest in moving. Remarkably, however, on three occasions she mustered up the strength and
walked over to me to get some attention. Here was an animal that hadn't had any interest in people other than Millie, purring
at me and begging for love ... this cat had my heart in no time.
The day for the surgery finally came, and just as abruptly as Winky was dropped in our laps, our excitement turned to dismay.
Once our veterinarian had her on the table and under the lights it became clear that Winky's tumor was inoperable. It appeared
to have grown very deep into the jugular, and removing it was impossible. After much debate and a torturous phone call to
Millie, Winky was euthanized while under anesthesia. Everyone was devastated. We hadn't realized how attached we were to Winky
until she was gone. What's more, we'd even grown attached to her owner, a woman we hadn't even met. In an instant, a week-long
battle that had encompassed our clinic was over, and we were forced to part ways with Millie ... or so we thought.