Help Frank Recover From Urinary Blockage and Heart Murmur

Frank has Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease, and his bladder occasionally fills up with struvite crystals. Passing them has always been uncomfortable for the poor guy, but I could tell that this was going to be different.

This past Thanksgiving ended with him screaming every time he tried to pee, which he unfortunately tried to do over and over. I've heard him vocalize in pain before, but the sound that came out of his little body that night almost made me crawl out of my skin; it was so visceral.

After a sleepless night, my fiancé (Mack) and I took him to our primary veterinary clinic. They administered some medication to try to relax him enough that he could pass the blockage without needing more serious or costly intervention. We were then sent home to wait and watch and see if he peed. Several hours passed, and he had barely moved from the place he laid down when we got home. We were rapidly approaching the "if we don't leave for the Veterinary ER now, his bladder is going to explode and he's going to die" hour, so we put him back in his carrier and headed to Cornell's Companion Animal Hospital. I was told it would be a minimum of $500 to get him in and that the estimate for a male cat presenting with a urinary obstruction was between $1,800 and $2,500. We didn't have the money and we still don't, but we took him in anyway. There is truly nothing like the feeling that you might not be able to afford to keep your furry baby alive. I thought I was going to be sick. But we kept driving and carried Frank into the hospital. We were able to pay Cornell upfront. Paying off yet another credit card bill is another story entirely. Fortunately, Cornell happens to be one of the best Veterinary Schools in the world. So our experience with the medical staff was exceptional. Before we went home, I was offered a chance to give him a little love. He was hooked up to an IV, catheterized, and very, very sedated in his hospital crate. I started crying, seeing my sweet, handsome boy so vulnerable.

The next couple of days were rough. I didn't sleep much.

I was told that they discovered a heart murmur while he was sedated. This came as a bit of a shock because he's always passed his annual exams with flying colors. But I can't blame his primary vet for never catching it because Frank is such a sweet and loving boy that he has purred through every exam he’s ever had. I was also told that it will be another $500 to $700 when we see the cardiologist in March to assess the severity of the murmur.

We picked him up Sunday morning. He was shaved on his belly, his side, little bands around his legs for an IV, and his hindquarters. I always get compliments on how soft his fur is, so I couldn't help but miss his gorgeous coat. Even though he was home, I was still barely sleeping. I had to monitor his fluid intake and urination frequency and figure out creative ways to administer medication that he very much did not want to take.

Fast forward to Monday, January 6th. He still doesn't seem like he has fully recovered. In fact, he starts screaming again late in the evening. The next morning feels like a nightmare on repeat. We take him in to his primary vet. They need to catheterize him and keep him for a few days. We're presented with an estimate. Another $1000 to $1200 or so. We tell them "okay." That's where he is as I am typing these very words.

Our ask: This campaign is to help us cover his handful of recent visits to his primary veterinarian, his hospital stay at Cornell, his upcoming EKG, as well as any prescriptions he might need to keep him comfortable as he recovers. I have provided the receipts and estimates I was able to locate (it's the holidays, so a few documents seem to have grown legs). And for full transparency, we have decided to round up for necessary follow-up appointments not included on his estimate and any other unanticipated care needs.

Now that you know why Frank needs help, I'd like to tell you our story:

Frank chose me.

He was bullied by another cat at the SPCA I adopted him from. This made him very shy with most prospective adopters, but when I saw him in his little hidey-hole, he came right out and bumped his head against my hand. I picked him up and he loved on me. He climbed his way onto my shoulder and rubbed his head on my cheek. That was it. I was in love.

He is my soul cat. I’ve loved every cat I’ve ever had, but Frank and I are bonded. I take care of him. He takes care of me. He knows when I’m sad, sick, or in pain. Which, as a brief aside about me, can be pretty often. I’ve lived with severe chronic migraines, endometriosis, and kidney stones the entirety of my adult life. He provides me with so much love and adoration through it all. He is my son. My boy. He is the most gentle cat I’ve ever known. He gives delicate little kisses.

He's special in so many ways. It took him three years to learn how to make biscuits even though it only took him two days to learn how to open almost every cabinet in the house (and half the doors). He knows how to come when called, sit, stand, and grab my fingers when I hold them above his head. He knows to hop up on a counter when I tell him up. And he knows to get down when I tell him down. He knows that when I say “use your words” I want him to show me what he wants by walking to it and looking at it then at me. Most of the time it’s food, but sometimes he wants me to open the blinds so he can see out the window or lift the covers so he can curl up under my knees.

Anytime I think of something happening to Frank, I hurt. Not just emotionally, but physically too. My chest tightens, my throat closes up, and I can hardly breathe until I can hug him and bury my face in his fur.

Frank was 2 when I adopted him. He’s been a part of my little family for the past five and a half years. To say that I’d really like for him to remain a part of my family for many more years is a profound understatement.

His adopted feline sisters, Penny and Olive, miss him very much. Especially his little sister, Olive, who barely eats when he is gone. She idolizes him. It's beyond adorable.

Mack misses him. They play together every morning as Mack gets ready for work. The house is too quiet in the mornings when Frank isn't home. And I miss him the most. He's a mama's boy. My boy. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Any donation, no matter how small, or any way you can share Frank’s campaign will help ensure his return home, his journey to a full recovery, and a healthy future. And for that, we couldn’t be more grateful.