Our cat died today. He was only a year old. He got sick early in the week, though in retrospect he was probably sick for two weeks. Last week it seemed as if he was trying to cough up a hairball. Other than that, he was active and normal. On Monday of this week he stopped eating his normal amount of food. On Wednesday he was only nibbling and having trouble breathing, so I called the 24 hour emergency vet here in town. The receptionist told me to bring him in Thursday morning, but I couldn't get off work. I asked if it would be okay to bring him in Friday after my class instead.
We were amazingly worried, but had no other option. Wednesday night we could have brought him in, Thursday we couldn't because if I didn't work we couldn't pay the rent. I took him in this afternoon at 2. He laid down in the carrier while we waited for 3 hours to see a vet. In that time, he passed away in his carrier while sleeping.
Des is heartbroken, and so am I. I can't help but blame myself over this. Had I taken him in last week, when we thought it was a hairball...or had I fought with the receptionist Wednesday night on the phone...or if I had not gone to work yesterday....or even if I had put up a fuss that he had to see a vet right away when I got to the office this afternoon...
Instead, our cat is wrapped in a blanket in my Jeep tonight, so we can bury him tomorrow on a corner of my parents' land.
I feel like this whole thing is my fault.
I'm going to bed.