He acted normal enough and had a nosh. I went to bed. Routine night.
This morning Beery woke Wife to let him out. They usually do that together, being eager to get back on the job, but Gus sometimes sleeps thru the day after he's been on a bender, especially on these hot humid days, so we didn't think much about his absence. He was in the house, after all. The day wore on. Still no sign of Gus. This was starting to get unusual. I checked his favorite haunt down the cellar -- a high shelf near a window where he likes to doze. He wasn't there, and the crap on the shelf was scattered all over the floor, so he'd been there. Puzzled, I walked around calling. No response. But he's a private cat and a good hider, so I was only mildly concerned. Gus gonna be Gus.
Dinnertime rolled around and still no Gus. I should mention that Beery had been acting normal all day, so no signs that anything was amiss there. I checked the cellar again, more carefully this time, and I heard a weak distress cry.
Much of our cellar is taken up by piles of crap that Wife stores down there forever -- stacks and stacks of boxes and containers full of who knows what, some of them unopened since we moved in 30 years ago. The sound was coming from the pile of crap. Had he been caught in a cave-in? I found him wedged tightly between a filing cabinet and a stack of heavy containers full of Wife's old clips...ancient magazines and newspapers containing articles she'd written. She's been writing for nearly 50 years and saves everything, so that's a big portion of the pile of crap. Point being that these were very heavy containers.
I dug down to where he was laying and lifted him out. He was listless, but not visibly injured. When I set him down he got up and walked a few unsteady steps. He obviously wasn't feeling well, but apparently he wasn't broken. Probably just needed some fluids and nutrition after being trapped down there all day, I thought. We whisked him off to the 24-hour vet hospital just to be safe. These things always happen on weekend nights, so his regular vet was not an option.
And there he still is. They didn't find any physical injuries, but he's got neurological problems. His reflexes were off, pupils not responding. A neurologist gave him a once-over and will get on the case full-time tomorrow morning. Interest is centered on his brain stem. Working hypothesis (after $1700 spent so far) is a tumor or an infection (he's on antibiotics). They don't see evidence of trauma, and as I replay the excavation in my mind I don't think that the pile had actually collapsed on him. It's touch-and-go whether he will survive the night. If he does, it's questionable how much brain function he'll have when he finally comes home.
We might have to put him down, and it might cost more $thousands to make a firm determination. We don't want to take care of a mentally defective cat and our pockets are not bottomless -- I'm not going to spend $10,000 for brain surgery, for example, so euthanasia is on the table. Ffs, the cat's only 3.5 years old and was in fine health yesterday. But if Gus ain't gonna be Gus anymore....
A couple hours ago I came up with my own hypothesis that he was poisoned and crawled into the pile to die. We will float that idea to the neurologist tomorrow. I have no evidence for it, but it feels right.
(Meanwhile, just for context, my BIL is in the hospital after stubbing his toe at home a couple days ago. He's a diabetic and needs to have two toes amputated. There's a chance he might lose his foot. Wife will probably have to spend a week in MI taking care of him. Her other brother isn't doing very well, either, although he's not facing anything acute yet.) We were just saying today how lucky we are to escape all the doom that's striking around us.
This is Gus being Gus.
. Gustav because wife wanted something Russian like. Achillis(yes correct spelling) from the show Andromeda, and maximus because we both loved the movie Gladiator.
