Cello had hepatitis, which he ultimately passed away from. We were in and out of veterinary clinics for three months trying to make him feel better. Because of that experience, I've become pretty well-versed with Japanese vets, as well.
Here are nine tidbits I learned from my 10 months as a pet owner in Japan.
One: Home centers have everything.
When I merely owned fish (also against the contract...), it was hell finding anything. Department stores usually have small animal things, as well as cat and dog food, but not much selection; supermarkets usually only carry dog and cat food, period. When I got my first fish, a little green puffer fish that I won in a crane machine (yes.) , I needed everything from the ground up. I ended up finding a little tiny aquarium shop that also apparently catered to the terrarium crowd as well. The woman that owned it was a very sweet older lady who took the time to ask me where I was from and share pictures of her daughter (who had married an American), but the shop itself was expensive. I bought the smallest tank set available - a little 10"x10" cube, just big enough for one fish or three guppies - and it was $25. It needed to be ordered, as well - there wasn't enough space to keep anything in stock. Granted, it came with gravel, a hanging filter, food, and treatment, but I needed to buy different food (puffer fish don't eat goldfish food) as well as seasonal goods - a heater for the winter and a fan for the summer.
Getting a cat was worse - finding beds, carriers, and nutritional food was almost a nightmare, but luckily by the time I adopted Cello I had found the secret: Home centers.
Home centers are stores like Lowe's or Home Depot that carry everything home-related. Lumber, power tools, gardening goods, you name it. They also have an impressive collection of pet goods, including fish tanks, beetle cases, rabbit hutches, and cat/dog goods, and for very nice prices. I ended up getting most of my cat toys at home centers.
Some common chains in Japan include Kahma, Dio World, and Komeri. They usually say ホームセンター on the front, but even if you can't read Japanese, don't worry - you'll find them by the gardening center out front.
Two: Read food labels very carefully, and consult your vet.
Now, I don't want to blame Japanese pet food, but in America, we fed my cat cheap cat food for all 13 years of her life. She never got sick, until the very end, and she was always energetic. We did give her canned food as well - especially in her last few years, as she obviously preferred it - but the point is that giving her fairly cheap dry cat food didn't damage her.
Cello, on the other hand, started to show signs of liver disease after I switched him to the cheapest food I could find (we had pretty empty pockets when we first adopted him). The vet says that he was probably born with liver disease, and that changing the food would have been of little consequence, but after the first time he got sick we promptly changed brands. Nothing helped, really.
But checking the labels of these foods, I find that the quantities of (really necessary) nutrients vary wildly by brand. Protein can be anywhere from 10% to 30%. Many brands don't list taurine or vitamins, which says to me that they either don't have them or they're in such minuscule amounts as to be irrelevant. Fat is across the board as well.
The oft-considered "better" choice of wet food varies just as wildly. In addition, one package (they don't usually come in cans) is only enough for one kilo of kitty - you'd have to buy 3-4 per day for an average-sized cat. They're about 75 cents each, or $2.25 per day... which means $70 per month! Much more expensive than a $6 bag of dry food. I wouldn't necessarily mind paying so much if only the nutritional benefits were more clear!
Three: Apartment owners really don't like animals.
In my experience, most American apartments, or at least the older/less luxurious ones, allow cats or small dogs, in addition to caged animals that cannot escape. Fish not being allowed is practically unthinkable. On the other hand, finding an apartment that allows large-breed dogs or multiple cats may be a bit more difficult. That's pretty much the Japan experience, except much more difficult, much more expensive, and including every animal.
"Pet friendly" apartments are expensive and extremely rare. When searching for a new apartment last year, I found about two apartments that would allow animals - if (and only if) you paid an extra $1000 up front. Those apartments were also in barren, public transportation-less wastelands, far from any convenience store or train station. New apartments being built are occasionally pet-friendly, but the rent on those is also more expensive than a comparable, older apartment.
The rest of the apartments are strictly anti-pet. When I was signing the rent agreement, there was a clause near the bottom that said "No pets." I asked what they meant by "no pets" - no cats or dogs, or no anything? The answer, of course, was "No anything." No cats, no dogs, no rabbits, no lizards, no fish (though that one's covered in the "no water/heavy objects" clause below that.)
Now, of course, people do own pets while living in apartments. Maybe not the one-room apartments, which are just barely big enough to hold one average-sized human being, but in the slightly larger apartments in happens. They usually stick to smaller animals - rabbits, fish, lizards - but some brave souls like myself do own cats. I don't think there are too many secret dogs out there, but I could be wrong. But if they're found out, they face immediate eviction.
Four: Being a secret cat owner is tough.
As I just mentioned, being found with an animal can and will lead to immediate eviction from your apartment, so owning a cat can be a very strict life. Removing all cat hair before going out, ok. Making sure your cat can't be seen from the front windows, that's tough. Putting any and all pet waste/goods in an opaque bag before throwing them out. Making sure to hide your cat and all goods before anyone even slightly related to the apartment comes over - plumber, electrician, internet service provider.
Then there's getting to the vet. Naturally, you're not allowed to own a pet, which means you really cannot show your neighbors. Getting in and out of the door with a pet in tow is an adventure that always leads to the theme from Mission Impossible being stuck in my head. First, you stick your head out - are your neighbors home? Yes? Hmm. Are they outside? No? Clear. One person opens the door, the other person - holding the cat carrier - rushes out. The goal is to get to - and in - the car before the cat meows. Getting back in is worse - if you can't get the keys into the door quickly, the cat will almost certainly meow, and you'll feel your heart jump.
Thanks to that, we put off getting my cat to the vet the last time until noon - there was a new family moving in and they were in and out of the apartment. We would've been out the door at 10 A.M. if not for that.
Five: The quality of vets varies just as much as the food.
We went to two vets with Cello. The first vet we visited was local, and was recommended by everyone we knew. He's cheap, they said. He's a bit gruff but he gets the job done.
A bit gruff indeed! He had no aids, so every time we took Cello we were expected to do the grunt work. Rectal temperature? Hold the cat down. Medicine? Hold his head. Ultrasound? Flop the cat on his back and hold him still. It was shocking for both me and my cat!
We decided that he was just a bit too gruff - and a bit lax - for our tastes, so we took Cello to a different vet about three months ago. They were wonderful. The vet was a younger guy and spoke very gently to Cello, as his aid helped with the procedures. They scheduled follow-up visits, and gave us a care package for choosing their clinic. It including a full bag of veterinary-approved nutritional food, a can of soft food, and two samples of kitten food (just in case he wouldn't eat anything else). They also gave us a care booklet - a little notepad to write dates, medications, etc.
The only problem was, it was much more expensive.
Six: Even the good vets aren't very helpful.
It took us about three visits to the old vet to find out that Cello had liver disease. Even when we had the tests done, he just said "Cello has hepatitis." His liver was inflamed. That's not helpful - what do we do now? What caused it? What kind of food should we be giving him? Does he need any medicine? What is his prognosis? The questions that we didn't know to ask were never answered.
We changed vets specifically because we weren't getting any information (and because, again, it took 3 visits to get any tests run.) But even the new, gentler vet wasn't very helpful. He had heard that the other vet had run tests...so he didn't. He told us that the most important thing was to make sure that Cello was eating, but... that was it. The end. Again, no information about food, medicine, what to look out for, prognosis...
We left the vet basically thinking that Cello would be fine. And he was, for two months...
Seven: They're especially not helpful when your pet is dying.
It's been almost a full week since Cello's passing and I'm still angry over this.
We took Cello to the vet last Monday, August 11th, because he had started vomiting. He had been less active and had a diminished appetite for a few days, and completely stopped eating (and started vomiting) the night before.
Basically as soon as we got in and explained the symptoms the vet told us that it was serious and that we should let the vet take him for IV fluids and overnight observation (this was at noon).
At 9A.M. the next day, the vet called and said that the situation was dire. He might only have hours left.
Or so I thought he said; I can speak Japanese but I'm not confident with my phone skills. When I called my boyfriend, he said he'd have to take a nap before going (he worked the graveyard shift the night before). I was a bit miffed at his lack of concern, but... maybe I heard wrong? Maybe I misinterpreted what the vet had said?
I rushed out from work at 10A.M. and got to the vet at 11, where the vet... acted very normally. He said that he was getting nutrients via I.V., and that because he was so young (Cello was only a year and a half), he might make it. If he got through the night, he would make it.
This was a complete change from the "only hours" I heard on the phone. With that and my boyfriend's apathy, I was lulled into a false sense of peace. I petted Cello through a tiny window on his ICU chamber, but I didn't ask to hold him one last time. I didn't say goodbye, because I was convinced that he would make it if only I let him rest.
I visited later with my boyfriend, and I got much of the same. The vet didn't seem concerned, my boyfriend didn't seem overly concerned. I patted Cello's head one last time and left without saying goodbye.
He died at 1 o'clock the next morning.
Eight: They won't offer to put your animal to sleep.
I read an article not so long ago about a Japanese veterinarian who had trained for several years in America. He said that one of the major differences between Japan and America was that in Japan, no one wants to think about putting a beloved pet down. The owners won't request it, and if the vet suggests it it would just seem like the ultimate insult, on par with suggesting you euthanize your grandfather. I'm not sure if that necessarily means that they don't have pentobarbital on hand, but I wouldn't be surprised.
Because of that - and, again, that I thought he was going to make it - I didn't suggest euthanasia. The vet, of course, didn't suggest it. My boyfriend didn't suggest it. The only person who mentioned it, in fact, was my boyfriend's mother. She said it would be better to put him out of his misery.
I just hope he wasn't suffering.
Nine: Weekend at Bernie's was an instruction guide
In the States, the vet takes care of your pet's last needs. They'd probably ask what your wishes are, but if you opt for cremation they'll take care of it and send you the bill.
My father, grieving over the sudden loss of his cat, Sophie, handed the reins over without considering whether he wanted her ashes or not. He didn't get them.
In Japan, arranging a cremation - or a funeral, for that matter - is completely up to the grieving owners. We arrived at the vet at 9 A.M. on the 13th, and were given a briefing of what had happened. The cat quietly - and peacefully, I hoped - lost his battle with hepatitis at one in the morning. There wasn't any new news. He hadn't had a sudden reversal, or a sudden crash. He just silently stopped breathing.
His body was laid out before us as we spoke (well, as my boyfriend spoke). He was in the same position as when I had last seen him, but now he was cold. They had thankfully cleaned him up before we arrived. I really appreciated that.
And then... they put him into a box (rigor mortis had set in, and he wouldn't fit in his cat carrier), and gave him to us. It was up to us to figure out what to do with him.
Which led to us driving around with a dead cat, in August. We had the air conditioner running but everything felt like it had to be done as soon as possible. And it did! We ended up returning to my boyfriend's house, and even with his AC on, after a few hours (yes, we had to wait for cremation) he looked at me and said, "...something smells dead."
Since we were running against the clock, and had never had an animal cremated before, we went to city hall (as the vet had instructed) to find out what to do. They directed us to Sazae Crematory, and we gave them a call. We weren't able to get him in (this sounds so terrible) until 3P.M. They said to deliver him in a plastic bag, in a box.
The only bag Cello would fit into was a garbage bag. I was shocked at the bad taste of it all and wailed.
We weren't able to receive his ashes. Apparently the crematory just... cremates any and all animals together, so it would have been impossible. I bawled for hours over that, too.
I miss my cat. The apartment is too empty without him.
2013 - 08.13.2014
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