Luna is back from the vet, and she’s been diagnosed with severe hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Her left ventricle is enlarged and there was a clot forming in her left atrium. She’s been prescribed Lasix, Enalapril (what I take, ironically enough), Plavix, and Aspirin. Basically, they’re throwing everything they have at her in an effort to keep her from forming clots, ease her heart’s workload, and clear any fluid that backs up into her lungs. All that said, she’ll be lucky to live another six to twelve months. This isn’t age-related; heart conditions can go unnoticed for years, but they’re a ticking time-bomb, and unfortunately Luna’s fuse has burned down.
Luna has had at least ten years chopped off her lifespan considering how active she normally is even at eight and a half years old. I feel bad for her mostly because it’s patently unfair, but I also see a faint glimmer of my own future in her tribulations. She’s about 51 in “cat years,” and I’d be lying if I expected to live as long as her without some kind of surgical intervention. Then again, that’s surgical intervention cats can’t have–no artificial valves, pacemakers, or transplants for kitty. So, I’ll baby her for a few months and let her go. At least I tried.