What I wouldn't do for my cat

Feb. 8, 2008 | Our cat is 6 years old, black and white, and he spends most of his time lying on his back, a loudly purring pillow for our 1-year-old son. He is so loving and gentle that when a hippie neighbor gave him to me and my husband as a kitten, we named him Ferdinand after the peace-loving bull in the children's story. Our Ferdinand carries stuffed animals around in his teeth and leaves them at the foot of our bed each night. I love our cat.

And yet, I still don't know if he's worth $1,300.

One morning, as I was making coffee, I noticed Ferdinand seemed sluggish. In the past, he'd had some urinary tract trouble, common among neutered male cats. When we'd taken him in for this complaint, he'd been treated with a change in diet and occasional tablets. So I called the vet's office expecting more of the same. But when I described the way he was acting, they seemed to think this was more serious.

"You have to bring him in," the receptionist said.

"Now?" I asked.

"Now."

My husband, Neal, rushed him over, then called an hour later to say the vet had put in a catheter and was keeping Ferdinand overnight.

"The vet said he could have died," Neal said, "that it's good we got him there in time. He said it's very common and easy to fix, but that he'll have to be kept at the hospital for a couple of days."

I was alarmed that the cat had been so close to death. If he had died, I would have been devastated. And yet, with some guilt, I also worried about the cost.

"How much did the vet say it would be?" I asked.

"Hundreds. And then the vet looked at me like he was daring me to flinch."

Neal handed over his credit card.

This scene is played out every day in veterinary clinics across the country: vet quotes high figure; pet owner turns pale but finds some way to come up with the money. Part of it is that we love our animals; part of it is a lack of alternative. No one wants to feel like a monster for refusing to pay for a pet. But should there be so much shame in acknowledging cost as a factor?

In a Slate piece called "How to say no to your vet," Emily Yoffe described what she saw as the two factors leading to the rise in veterinary care costs: "One is the increasing acceptance of the notion that pets are family members (thus the movement to change the word owner to guardian). The other is the convergence of veterinary and human medicine -- pets can get chemotherapy, dialysis, organ transplants, hip replacement, and braces for their teeth."

Another factor, I think, is the luxur-ification of every aspect of American life. For those who can afford it (and for those with credit cards, able to pretend they can), there's no shame in spending disgusting amounts of money on stylish sweaters, "doggy daycare," Prozac and $400 pet strollers (yes, pet strollers). But our cats don't have any of this stuff. They have no more than a catnip mouse or two.

When Neal went to pick up Ferdinand, the total charge was $1,300 -- more than a month's rent, more than all our electronic equipment combined, more than two months of baby sitting. It was depressing; we'd just gotten out of debt. And now Neal and I were spending more on this one vet bill than we had on our own medical care over the past few years.

Of course, unlike the cat, the baby and I have health insurance. While pet insurance is available, it's still pretty expensive, often about $300 a year. If we'd had it, we wouldn't have blinked at the bill, but we also would have already paid in about $1,800 to the insurance company, plus deductibles.

According to MSN Money, "Pet insurance is a nonstarter for many pet owners, simply because they take a pragmatic approach to their animals. If the cost of treatment got too high, they would choose to put the animal to sleep."

l'm not saying we would have chosen "economic euthanasia," but I was surprised it was never offered as an option. I guess I expected a vet to say: "To save your cat will cost more than a thousand dollars. We can put him down for $100. I'll leave you alone with your decision."

Instead, the vet told my husband, "It's such a routine, simple procedure," as if this urinary tract blockage was a common cold. But common colds do not cost $1,300 to remedy.

Recently, I called our vet, Dr. Timothy Mann of Northside Veterinary Clinic in Brooklyn, N.Y., to ask him what would have happened if we hadn't opted to pay for surgery.

"We don't believe in putting animals to sleep because of money," Dr. Mann said. "If someone can't afford or won't pay to save an animal who can be saved, we'll save the animal and then keep it or find it a good home."

The thought of Ferdinand being adopted by another family because we wouldn't pay for his surgery made me miserable and ashamed. But what if it hadn't been $1,300? What if it had been $13,000? There has to be a limit, right?

Next page: "What's more important, a dog or a car?"