Help Coriander Get a Cystostomy

Coriander has never been a typical cat.

Take the day I met her: My sister was working as a traveling nurse, going door to door to administer care to homebound patients. She was parked in front of a patient’s house when a small shadow flitted into the back seat of her car. She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw two jade-colored eyes — framed by bars of black and gray fur. A stray.

One thing led to another, and I found myself fostering this strange cat while my sister looked for her owners. She was timid and emaciated, her belly bulging with whatever meal she filched from the trash the night before. Her right canine was cracked — a battle wound from a fight with another animal, or worse, a sign of abuse.

On her first night at my apartment, she slept as far away from me as she could — still unsure she could trust me. But as the days went on, she moved closer and closer to my bedroom, until one morning I found her curled up at the foot of my bed.

Fast forward three years. No owner ever came forward, and I’ve fully adjusted to my new life as a cat dad. My living room is dominated by a rambling cat tower, frayed and dilapidated from long nights of clawing, climbing, and other acrobatic feats. Cat toys are tucked into every cabinet and crevice. And if you listen carefully, you’ll hear the constant burble of Cori’s filtered drinking fountain.

But despite filling her world with the best food, toys, and other feline comforts I could find — I couldn't protect Cori from her share of health issues.

Beginning in December of 2019, she began having recurring urinary problems. You can imagine the horror of looking into her litterbox and seeing drops of bright red blood. I knew she was in pain. But after countless vet visits and thousands of dollars spent on urinalyses, x-rays, cultures, prescription foods, specialized cat litter, and antibiotics — I didn’t know how to help her.

Then, on January 25, I knew something was very wrong. I couldn’t find Cori. At first, I thought nothing of it. She likes to hide around the apartment and jump out at me when I walk by her hiding spot. But eventually I found her in my bathtub, squatting over a pool of blood.

I rushed her to an emergency pet hospital, and five hours and $475 later, I learned that she has at least two bladder stones large enough to appear on an x-ray. The doctor told me the only way to remove them was cystostomy — a surgical procedure that costs over $3,000.

If left untreated, one of the stones could migrate to her urethra, leading to a potentially life-threatening condition.

Your help — no matter how small — would let me keep Cori safe and healthy. The sooner she has the surgery, the less likely she will experience complications.

Please consider donating or sharing this page with your friends.

Thanks so much,

Eric <3