Sybil's Heart

I've had my cat, Sybil Louise, for seven years.  I got her when she was nine. 

Her previous owner had all of her claws removed (this is bad, don't ever do it), so she walks duck-footed, like her hind end is a reincarnated Charlie Chaplin.  When she was heavier, you would swear her belly even brushed the ground.  She is the only swaybacked cat I have ever known.

Sybil came to me when I lived in Chicago.  I was very, very lonely.  I could only afford to feed her Meow Mix, and she coughed up hairballs all over the floor incessantly, causing my Evil Former Roommate to curse her.  At night, I would whistle from my bed so she would come into my room and spoon with me.  Her purring could make any boy trouble vanish.

On my way to Kansas City, Sybil lived with me in my parent's basement in Iowa for three months.  My parents wouldn't allow her upstairs, so she would sit at the door at the bottom of the staircase, meowing plaintively and throwing her furry body against the door.  After three or four body slams, I would take pity on her and go downstairs to hang out with her.

Once here, we landed one apartment on our own, then we moved in with my beloved in a new apartment.  My beloved claimed he hated cats.  Everyone says they hate cats, and then they meet Sybil.  He adopted her formally when we got engaged.

We bought This Old House four years ago next month.  She loved the space, loved the staircase, loved the snags in the carpet upstairs.  She owns the staircase landing and often uses it to survey her kingdom. 

I adore this cat.  She was my only friend in Kansas City for some time when I first moved here.

The vet told us last week that she needed some tests.  Her heart rate is elevated, and they think she might have a heart murmur.  It might be her thyroid, which is apparently not unusual in sixteen-year-old cats.  Honestly, though I try not to think about it, death from old age is not unusual in sixteen-year-old cats.

I can't think about that.

I hope it's just her thyroid - we can control that with medication, even if it does mean pilling a cat every day for the rest of her life.  If it's not, she needs a chest x-ray.

I've been waiting for this damn vet to call me back since Friday.  She said maybe today she'll know if it's the thyroid.

Sybil is looking at me now.  She says it will all be okay.