This is Whitey. I had to rush him to the vet this morning after he woke me up; he was thrashing on the floor and howling in distress. It was obvious he was trying to get up and run away, but he couldn't control his body. He was wild-eyed and gasping for air. I picked him up and laid him on my bed, and he looked soooo frightened. It was horrible to see him that way. It broke my heart.
I threw on my clothes (my shirt was inside out, I discovered hours later) and had him in the vet's office about 10 minutes later. Within about 10 seconds, the vet discovered a huge tumor on Whitey's left kidney; he showed me where to feel for it... it was about the size of an egg with a rough texture. The vet thinks the tumor's blood supply threw a clot and caused a stroke. That's why he couldn't control his limbs. I think it also blinded him, based on his earlier wild-eyed appearance and apparent inability to see me.
If he had only had a stroke, he could have probably recovered, just like his little sister did from hers. But the tumor was really large and had to be causing him pain. (Cats rarely let you know they're in pain; they just live with it.) I had no choice but to put him down.
Whitey turned 15. He's been my little buddy since he was born, following me around pretty much like the most loyal dog you ever met. Wherever I was, that's where Whitey wanted to be. (I have rarely been to the bathroom alone in 15 years!) And now he's gone, just like that. I will miss him so much! My little boy kitty!
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