Loki received glowing yet reserved comments from the doctor this morning during his annual exam.
He has gained a tiny bit of weight, something not unexpected given his asthma diagnosis almost a year ago to the day. With an enlarged heart and the persistent struggle for enough oxygen, his normal activity level has been curtailed severely, tempered by his own body’s inability to keep up with the devil inside. He receives daily medication, yes, but even that cannot contain the whole of the problem.
Approaching 11 human years of age does not help. That equates to 58 cat years. While still active and quite the rambunctious devil, I recognize on a continual basis how tiny shavings are removed almost daily from his heretofore daring escapades. When I’m his age, I hope to be as profoundly vigorous as he is, especially considering his health.
Overall, the veterinarian had good things to say about his condition. His lungs sound good, although the echo of debris was evident. His heart sounds good despite its enlarged state. His muscle tone is quite excellent, something for which Loki has always been known, yet the slightest bit of degradation is now evident due in no small part to the steady reduction in his activity. His temperature is perfect for a feline.
Despite the evidence of age and disease, my little soul stealer was sent home with glowing remarks and the continued warning of needed vigilance for his welfare. Much unlike Henry before him, Loki’s true and only mentor, it’s doubtful that this god of mischief will live another decade. But I still have hope. . .
