I wrote this on Sept. 6, but in my sleep-deprived haze, I obviously forgot to publish it. So here it is… update to follow soon.
After one month back in Delhi, Tony and I both feel wrecked.
Our two cats, Khushi and Ella have spent many holidays without us, lovingly accompanied by our housekeeper Raji. However, something went wrong over the summer. We may never know what it was, but we returned to find Khushi nearly emaciated, bristling with anxiety and incontinent.
Ella seemed unscathed, other than apparent confusion over her sister’s sudden personality change, and is still as playful and affectionate as ever.
Poor Raji swears nothing bad happened to Khushi. She says the cat just started crying a lot and peeing outside the litterbox shortly after we left for the States. In typical Indian fashion, she didn’t want to upset us by emailing the details. Instead, I got an automated email from the vet: “Dear Khushi, Thank you for your visit!” When I wrote to Raji back in July, she admitted taking Khushi to the vet but assured me all was well. It wasn’t.
In addition to the manic schedule as we geared up for the start of school (administering language assessments to applicants, helping new teachers learn the ropes, unpacking my stuff after moving classrooms, preparing for our EAL consultant’s visit, etc.), we took Khushi to the vet every evening for an antibiotic injection and a sedative. The drug wore off within a couple hours, so we took turns staying with her in the locked guest room all night, where she howled and prowled and otherwise didn’t sleep. The noise, the worry, the stress over where she would pee next kept us awake night after night.
We tried a different vet, who explained the possibility that a botched sterilization could lead to similar symptoms. If any bits of her reproductive system had been left inside when she was spayed, she could still be going into heat. We watched to see whether her behavior was cyclical. And we continued to spend our nights awake and stressed out.
For a few days, it seemed Khushi was getting better, and then she peed on Tony’s briefcase.
We called yet another vet. This one made house calls. He came over last Sunday night and gently examined Khushi. He suggested we try some anti-anxiety drugs. In the States, a month’s worth of Alprazolam costs about $100. In Delhi, we got 20 pills for 50 rupees, which is 83 cents. They only come in people form here, so I have to cut one pill into eighths, so that 83 cents bought us 160 days of treatment! On the other hand, I ordered Feliway (“a synthetic copy of the feline facial pheromone, used by cats to mark their territory as safe and secure – the secret to happy cats!”) from amazon, and my mom sent it by UPS at the cost of $145, so I guess it all balances out. At this point, we’ll pay anything for some sleep.
Khushi, waking up from a nap. Must be nice.
I’m on the brink of tears at any given moment, and Tony paces around the house, wide-eyed and snappy. That’s why, this morning, too exhausted to contemplate making breakfast, I almost crumpled to the floor with happiness to find this.
Raji had left a weekend’s worth of cut-up fruit: papaya, mango, apples, pears, pomegranate and oranges, plus a banana on the side. I hardly put forth any effort, short of opening the yogurt and brewing a pot of coffee. It was fruit salad for the soul.
Stay tuned. We hope to have news of a back-to-normal cat in the coming weeks.
