Horror show.
I adopted a sweet and severely neglected cat who was supposed to be "turning the corner." When I first met this kitty, she was just a fragile 5 pounds, thanks to being starved and abused, but I was struck by her gentle nature. She eagerly reached out for affection. Tragically, we would only spend one day together.
According to shelter volunteers, the cat had an unknown history, except for the fact that she was abandoned by an animal buncher who was institutionalized with a mental illness. Her age was "unknown."
The kitty's medical "history" only mentioned malnutrition. I was informed that she had diarrhea, but was told it was stress related and highly likely to resolve at home. I inquired about the etiology of the diarrhea -- has she been dewormed? Tested for parasites? Carrying conditions, or suspected of any, that may be dangerous to my other cat? I was told that she was completely healthy and fine.
Once my fur baby was home, I knew something was wrong. At first, she just seemed deeply grateful to be out of the Seattle Animal Shelter house of horrors, and immediately purred and jumped onto my bed. She kneaded, cuddled into a ball, and sighed deeply before purring and falling asleep. Never have I seen an animal so grateful to be at home.
But the cat soon started to have uncontrollable bowel movements. I would characterize it as explosive diarrhea, highly unusual in smell and texture. As a former shelter volunteer, I've seen a lot of gross shit -- literally -- and this was horrible.
I spent the night cleaning her up repeatedly. There were so much feces, and it was running out of her like a faucet. I couldn't keep up with the mess. Around 4:00 am I fell asleep, and awoke to see that all my efforts had been for naught. My walls, floors, curtains, laptop bag, shoes, and a dry cleaning bag full of my work suits were covered in watery, grey puddles. I also noticed an unpleasant puddle around my feet, where she had been sleeping. It had seeped through my covers and soiled my pillow top mattress.
I spent that morning cleaning up, only to have the poor thing continue to defecate uncontrollably. This was waaaaay beyond "stress related diarrhea" that "could have been triggered by a change of environment or diet." The fragile little thing mewed pathetically, in obvious discomfort. I knew, even with my experience caring for cats (trapping and taming ferals, fostering, and bottle nursing orphans), that I was in over my head.
I called the shelter and expressed my shock: never have I seen a cat in so desperate a condition. I asked for details about her history, which Amanda, the woman who helped me process the adoption, continued to say was "just unknown." I reviewed with Amanda the cat's care sheet and discovered that it had this unusual diarrhea
and dehydration for 40 days.
I got extremely upset with Amanda, "do you think it's normal for a cat to have diarrhea for 40 days? How would you feel if you had diarrhea for forty days and nights?" Through conversation, I learned that the cat did have an initial vet visit 35 days ago, and that the poor thing was never followed up on as ordered.
Despite my concern and indignation, the best Amanda could do for me is tell me to take her to the vet, Lien Animal Hospital.
I went to Lien and the vet was shocked to see me. After a compassionate discussion, the vet said frankly, "this little girl never came back to us when she was supposed to. Because of how poor her condition was, the staff and I just assumed she had passed when Seattle Animal Shelter didn't follow up."
I was given a subsequent print out of the medical history. I learned that I was lied to by the Seattle Animal shelter about the following, because all of the following were on the client records given to the shelter (and notes say that they also called staff):
1. The cat's age is known: 12 years
2. The cat was given immediate comfort measures but the shelter never authorized screening for parasites, though Amanda told me, during the adoption, that she *had* been screened for parasites and was "healthy."
3. Severe IBD was suspected. The shelter never gave her prednisone, which was subscribed by the vet.
4. Her intestines were thickened and possibly inflamed.
5. Blood work suggested dry FIP, possible intestinal lymphoma.
Reading through the records, I saw the word "hospice" and "comfort measures" over and over.
Amanda, I hope you're reading this. I realize the word "hospice" and "healthy" both start with "h," but is it possible you were confused?
Lien offered to give my little one comfort measures and told me that euthanasia, given the cat's horrendous suffering, may be the most caring option.
This poor thing was placed in isolation, ignored and in hell, thanks to people who were supposed to be her advocate. Instead, they compounded her suffering by literally letting her shit herself to death.
I feel for any animal unfortunate enough to end up at SAS. And prospective adopters beware! read more