Thelmalu99-

When I was a little girl, about 6, we got a Siamese and named her Samantha. She had a litter, of which we kept one, Bean. My father always groused about the cats, how much trouble they were, he wished we didn't have any, it was too hard when we moved (he was a pilot in the Air Force, so that happened frequently). When she was 10, Samantha was hit by a car. She died in the car as we were pulling into the vet's parking lot. We were all wrecks, all but my Dad being his stoic self. But when we were back home, and we were all standing behind my dad as he dug her grave, we saw this shoulders shake as he silently sobbed.

Before all us kids came along, my mom had two cats, Mickey Chick and Jimmy Jim. Mickey Chick got caught in the door of the refrigerator and was paralyzed from her tail on down. The vet suggested she be put down, but my mom refused, even though that meant she would have to be carried everywhere and needed assistance for her elimination. Amazingly, Jimmy Jim immediately took it upon himself to be her nurse. He would drag her outside to go potty, and then would stimulate her like a mother cat does her kittens to help her do her business. He would carry kibble in his mouth to her, and drag her to the water bowl. Remember, Jimmy Jim was another cat! Contrary to the vet's dire prediction, Mickey Chick eventually regained the use of her legs, bladder, and bowel and fully recovered after several month.

Many, many years later, one of my inside cats escaped. I finally found her the next day, and realized she had been badly injured. Although she was walking, it was clearly painful for her. Then I realized her tail was hanging limp - she couldn't even hold it up. I pinched her and realized she had no feeling in it. After a few hours, in which she just lay almost motionless on the floor, I realized she was leaking urine. I took her to the vet, who immediately recommended euthanasia. But I remembered Mickey Chick, and I remembered my own diagnosis several years ago of "irreversible" nerve damage, and me and Mickey Chick both survived. Besides, Thanksgiving was a week away and turkey was Boosie's favorite treat. Also, my son had not even been able to say goodbye. So I told the vet I would bring her back in a week, unless I saw some improvement. She assured me Boosie was probably not in pain, so said she would wait for us, but not to expect anything. Within that week I saw little, but some, improvement. She got turkey on Thanksgiving, we took lots of pictures of her, and then I took her to my own vet (I had previously been to the 24 hour vet). He said she looked bad, but refuted the other vet's contention that she had absolutely no bladder control. He saw weak flexing of the pertinent muscles. When I told him that they had been completely slack, he said, well, I guess she's gotten a little better. Well, that's all I needed. Her tail had been so mangled that it had to be amputated, but I did not put her down. I made little diapers for her by cutting apart pampers and velcroing them to those little doggie panties. As the months went on she needed them less and less, first all the time, then only during the day when she slept most, then only during the day when we weren't home to rush her to the box when she started looking anxious, then never. She did finally completely recover. She's at the rainbow bridge now due to an unrelated passing, but I am so thankful for that extra year we were able to enjoy her in our lives.