Cypress' ultrasound results came back, and I didn't say anything, because suddenly it was maybe not good news, so they scheduled her for surgery, which happened yesterday, and now it's definitely not good news though we still don't know how bad yet.
Stop reading here if you want, this is going to be miserable.
The ultrasound found a thickened intestinal lining, which might have been diffuse lymphoma or inflammatory bowel disease, neither one of those is great, but they were leaning towards the latter. So they opened her up and took some samples and took a look and they're now pretty sure it's lymphoma, but we won't have positive test results until next week.
She's here with me, sleeping on my foot, and she really seems like she's okay. They shaved a bunch of her fur off, and she looks kind of funny, but she's not acting any worse than she usually does. She's never been a really playful cat, more solemn than anything else. But she just had fucking surgery, so by any stretch of normal she should be absolutely miserable, and the fact that I can't tell that doesn't say much for my powers of discernment, which means I'm not going to know when something's critically, emergency, wrong, which at this point could happen at any time. She really deserves better than this.
So right now she's getting whatever she'll eat, and antibiotics, and prednisone, which is both an anti-inflammatory and a chemotherapy drug, so it's what they'd be trying next on her no matter what the diagnosis turns out to be. She's got a five-day pain med patch on her paw, and she's sprawled on my carpet looking grumpy but really no different, behaviorally, than she's looked for years.
The vet loves her, they all love her, they're so nice to her and they tell me she's quiet and well-behaved and does what they need her to do without fussing, and that she purrs when they pet her. That in itself leads me to believe that she's either really sick and desperate for someone to do something about it, or she was terrified. Either way, I don't blame her. But I'm glad they like her, and they probably like her better than they like me, so they'll want to do what's best for her, not necessarily what's best for me. Because I don't have any confidence that I'll know the difference.
So that's where things are now. Nobody's optimistic. Nobody's happy. She's at least not in pain right now, apparently, and she's eating okay. Both lymphoma and IBD are treatable, but evidently not easily nor reliably treatable. I think she's going to be gone by the end of the year. I miss her already.
On the other hand, when we dropped her off for the surgery, I didn't think I was ever going to see her again, so at least she's home and being petted and told we love her. But this sucks, and I wish I had thought to get a second opinion last year when she stopped eating the first time. She deserves so much better than me. I love Iala too, but Cypress is my baby, she's my favorite, and I don't know what I'll do without her.
If you can, if you want to, go ahead in the comments and tell me about your kitties, or dogs. I don't need stories about how they recovered from lymphoma, or anything like that. But maybe just tell me about something fun you do together, or why you're glad to have them, why you think they might be glad to have you, whatever. I think I could stand to be reminded of why we put ourselves through this. If you don't have anything you want to say, I can understand that. She's sleeping on my bare foot, and that's a reminder, too.
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Pyewacket was an unholy bitch, but I loved her very much. She lived to be 13.
I don't think there's anything I can say to help, except that I really do understand.
Oh, shit. I've lost two wonderful cats (they're all wonderful, really) in the last 10 years. I think it's worse than losing people friends. Not quite sure why, but that's what I think. (Maybe because, as you said, they deserve better.)
Enough. My current (feline) roommate was left to me by my mother (dead since Feb.) who found Princess Lillie (my mother's name for her, not mine) in a cardboard box on the sidewalk, infested w/ fleas, eight days or so old, dehydrated, the vet wasn't really sure she'd make it. Well she did, & is a bit over eight ears old now.
As you might imagine, Lillie was completely imprinted on my mother, never having had a real feline one, & would follow her all around the apartment, hear her coming home & run to the door meowing, etc. Lillie was also very anti-social, couldn't stand being touched anywhere past her head & neck (& I've the scratches/bites to prove it) though she does like a good shoulder massage. So when my mother was hospitalized I was worried Lillie would not be able to deal w/o her mother, & indeed she spent most of her time under the bed, until I closed the bedroom door & made her hang in the living room w/ me. Even then she would get under the sofa cover, making a lump in front of the sofa, as the sofa's too close to the floor to get under. (This wigged me out the first time she did it, as I couldn't locate her & thought she'd gotten out to look for Mme. Bouffant.)
But she's warmed to me, and though she doesn't follow me like Mary's little lamb, she's always lying around on the ottoman in front of my chair, or on the floor w/in a few feet of the chair. (Likes to be on the plastic bags & newspapers that litter the floor. I leave the bags there for her. The newspapers are, well, just there.) She still doesn't like to be picked up, or held on my lap, but she doesn't scratch or bite to get away now, just struggles after a bit. The best things she does, though, are that even though I'll bring her (resisting) into the bedroom, in a vain attempt to get her to sleep on the bed w/ me, she'll go back to the living room, but when I wake up she'll be sleeping on a box on top of the dresser. And then, every morning (or early afternoon) she'll come running after me to the living room, anxious to start rubbing her cheeks on my feet & be petted (all the way down the back, no more head & neck is the limit, pal). It is a little disconcerting that when we're performing the mark my feet as hers ritual she sticks her kitty-booty all the way up in the air (yes, she's been spayed) but it's really just affection. She's still cranky sometimes, if she's lying there otherwise perfectly relaxed but flicking her tail franticly it's just as well not even to move one's hand toward her, but most of the time she's just fine.
I actually think she may have had some brain damage when she was on the street, as her pupils are sometimes not the same size (indicates possible concussion, at least) & she doesn't have much of a voice, nor an audible purr, I'm assuming due to dehydration at a tender age. I was actually surprised to feel her purring one day not more than a few months ago.
Thanks for the forum here, I won't dwell on the fine felines I've been lucky enough to have over 50+ years. And I would never post something like this @ my cynical, snarky hate-filled "web log." (Oh, look, Lillie has come to lie at my feet now. Also in the fan's blow zone, but I won't be cynical. And is enjoying a cheek rub on the feet as I type.)
So D. (if I may) thanks again for the chance to vent, I hope all turns out well, for you, your partner & Cypress. Don't neglect Iala too much. And as my mother (often a nag & pain, but...) would say to me, "Lillie sends a wave of the paw," to all up there (which I say 'cause I have the impression that you're in Seattle, where I lived in the '60s, hit puberty, etc.)
M. "Chas." Bouffant
P S.: Did I go over some of this territory commenting on a previous item you wrote about Cypress? Pardon any redundancy. Chas.
OK, I just looked. That was another cat (also found by my mother on the street, though in fine shape). Pookie used to retrieve thrown objects, though she wasn't the best at bringing the objects all the way back to the thrower. Perhaps wanted me to get off the chair once in a while.
Yet another cat, Bobby Bunny (AKA Robert Rabbit) mostly my mother's (& yes, she found him wandering the streets as well) used to visit the neighbor's yard and bring back avocados that had fallen from her tree. He'd bring the 'cado through the fence, & up the stairs to the second floor, then meow in front of the screen door to show what a good cat he was. Much better than mice as tribute/offering!
He was a big Maine Coon Cat, made it to 16 or so. Used to soil his fluffy hind parts whenever he went to the vet, or on the occasional trip to/from my pad, if late mother was going away & I was taking care of him, just 'cause he didn't like to travel, but otherwise a perfect gentlecat.
Jeezis, I'm in fugging tears here, so kind of hostess D. to to let us work through our own parental/feline agonies here. The above are just some of the reasons we're glad to have them & they put up w/ up us.
Always remember the good stuff, or the at least cute if somewhat trying stuff.
I'm very sorry for what you're going through. Just wanted to say don't be too hard on yourself. I think when it comes to those we love, whether people or animals, we all have that desparate feeling of inadequacy when they fall ill. I know that when my child was little, I would never be sure if he was really sick, or a little sick, or if I maybe ought to be calling 911. It's a horrid feeling.
My vet wishes my cat was like your cat. The last time we took Kitty Cheese to get her annual maintenance vaccinations, she took a pretty good hunk out of the vet. I'm thinking that as she seems to get more vet-hostile each year, next year we should just shoot her with a tranquilizer dart in the parking lot before we even try to take her in.
Candy, I'm like your cat. :-) Doctors suck, and are not to be encouraged when they prod.
M, no, I don't think you have said any of this before but I can't imagine I'd care if you had. I'm notorious for having the same conversations with people slightly too often.
Cypress is partly her cranky old self again, I'm not sure why. She's still not eating much, and what she is eating is the food that's hardest to find--of course. Not the most expensive, just the stuff only one store in town carries. We're going to get her a ton of it probably tomorrow, and I expect her to decide she hates it by Wednesday at the latest.
We've pretty much established that it probably doesn't matter what she eats, so if there's even a chance she might like it, regardless of how junky it is, she can have it.
The clinic gave me extremely large syringes with which to force feed her baby food, and I'm wishing I could explain that to her. I have a feeling she'd rather eat it herself, if she understood her options.
She's waking me up on the rare occasions I get to sleep by stepping on my arm and slamming her head into my nose. It's effective, I'll say that much. But it's also pretty cute, so she can get away with it. Really, at this point she could chew my partner's fingers off and I'd go "Awwww, cuuuuute!"
She's marginally tolerating being held on occasion for three minutes, tops. Clearly, she loves me.
And Iala's feeling neglected, so we're considering taking her to the vet to have her fur shaved in interesting patterns as well. Hey, I don't want to play favorites, here.
This week appears to have been going on since approximately the beginning of time, and I'm tired.
After the last vet visit, during which we wrote a check for two thousand dollars, I thanked my partner for being good about this. The response? "Hey, it just means the kid has to pay for her own college." I snickered.
I have a feeling there are going to be a few more "Why in the name of all the gods do we attach ourselves to creatures with shorter life spans?" moments in the next few days, but I'm remembering a few of the reasons. So here's a couple of them, and then I'm going to have to sleep for a while.
When I take a bath, she falls asleep on my clothes. I think she's just keeping them warm. And she's learned how to open the CD drives on my new computer. Which can be somewhat aggravating when I'm trying to do something. On the other hand, I can't shake the feeling that she's probably more tech savvy than I am.
They are worth it, aren't they. I hope they think we're worth it.
Thanks, to all of you. As they say, misery loves company, just sorry it had to be you guys.
Well, I could leave my sympathies (which I do) or tell a story of the loss of my Max (which was devastating), but I think now's the time for some riotous kitty humor. If I'm wrong, you don't have to read it. :)
We can start with Max. The coolest cat I have ever owned. His official name/title became "Kittius Maximus, Eater of Bugs, Shredder of Papers, Attacker of Innocent Feet, Reaver of Sanity, and Destroyer of All that Makes a Pretty Tinkly Sound When Broken".
He would sit on my counter, looking at a glass, possibly full of liquid. He would look at the glass, and then look at me. He would look back at the glass, raise a paw, and look at me again. Finally, after making sure he had my full attention, he would knock the glass onto the floor, shattering it. And then run away.
He was terrified of the doorbell, and would bolt into the hallway. The hairpin turn required of him there would slow him down, so he had to do a mad scrabble, hind legs whirring, to get back up to speed. He'd then shoot off into my bedroom to hide behind the waterbed.
He liked chocolate pudding and always licked my husband's pudding tops. He ate the pickle slices that I discarded from my sandwich with every sign of enjoyment, apparently afraid that my astonished stare meant that I might try to take them away. And he drank Mountain Dew - getting his head stuck in a glass and nearly drowning himself in the stuff at one point.
One of my favorite memories is the time he ran into the room, onto the bed, and leapt up the wall, falling behind the bed with a thud. He gave me a "What are you looking at?" look, and walked sedately from the room as though nothing had happened - only to repeat the performance 2 minutes later.
I once saw him jump from a sitting start to the top of the sliding glass door, because there was a grasshopper up there on the other side.
And I will never forget how much he tortured my husband. When we first got the sweet little kitten - whose appearance never betrayed his now-apparent demon heritage - my husband fell asleep with the kitty curled up on his chest. I decided it would make a cute picture, so I took one. The flash woke and startled Max, who dug his claws into the chest below him and bolted, leaving my husband to scream himself awake.
At 3 in the morning a few months later, I woke to find Max flying through the air as my husband sat up with a yelp. Apparently, Max had wandered in and attacked my husband's foot. With all four claws and teeth at once. It took me a minute to wake up before I could start laughing properly. =P
The final torment was when my husband was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He was wearing his PT shorts - the old ones, which were very thin. He never wore anything under them. Max was in a playful mood, and went for anything that showed movement. I think a claw may have snagged as he batted at... you get the drift. It's amazing that after all that and more, the man still loved that cat. :)
Now I have Mina (who as a kitten would attack anyone or anything, up to and including furniture. At thigh height. The sight of a tiny kitten cornering my sister's 20-pound tom - all muscle, he was huge - is a sight I will not forget) and Lucy (the most laid back cat I have ever seen. During the time that Mina was upset about this new intruder in her house, Lucy would sit, calmly cleaning herself, wondering what Mina's problem was). Our final addition (so far, of course) is a small Pom mix named Gizmo, who likes to stare at me and try to climb on my lap while I'm in the bathroom.
I think I'll save the Mina and the Amazing Midnight Car-Light Game story for another time, since this post is already approaching novel length. But I hope it's given you at least a few chuckles. :)
I had a cat incident last night, right before I went to bed. I was sitting in the, um, reading room, when Kitty Cheese wandered in. She looked at me expectantly; I turned on the faucet of the sink, and she jumped up to get a drink, as usual. I was idly perusing a catalog, not really watching what the Cheese was doing. Apparently, she'd finished drinking and decided to walk onto the toilet tank behind me. I don't know what happened, but I'm guessing that she slipped. My first awareness of this was the claws grabbing at my back. I guess she didn't get as much purchase as it felt like she did, because she next fell off onto my left ankle, and that time she got plenty of purchase! I screamed, and the old man, who up until then had been sleeping peacefully, leapt from bed and came running in, certain I was being killed. He bandaged up my bleeding leg, looked at a not-very-contrite Kitty Cheese, said, "Damned cat!" and went back to bed.
Yeah, she's looking at me now, all sweetsy-poo... spawn of Teh devil.
I like the "opening the CD drives" a lot. They're much cleverer than we give them credit for.
And when she's slamming her head into your nose, it's 'cause she loves you, or at least is marking you as her territory. They have glands in their cheeks that leave territorial markings for other cats to smell, so when a cat is rubbing his/her cheeks on your ankles, or the furniture legs, or your nose, it's 'cause you (or the furniture, or the doorjamb) are hers/his!! No higher compliment in the world of felinity. (And a better way of making territory than leaving urine all over.)
Further cat trivia: Other than lion prides, the only social relationship in the feline world is between mother & kitten, so remember they feel like you're their mother, if they put up w/ you.
Last point: The fact that we love these comparatively short-lived creatures is more proof to me (along w/ human backs & knees that don't work vey well) that there's no god, for how could this sort of thing happen in a "designed" world?
Tracy, you are not wrong. I laughed a lot. My best friend's husband was one morning washing dishes in just a robe, which apparently their cat found interesting. I swear every married couple has a story like that, and it's every wife's favorite anecdote.
A couple of apartments ago, we had the furniture set up in such a way that Cypress could easily, and apparently did enjoy, turn the lights off and on. The switches are out of her reach at this point, so she's had to try out new party tricks, I guess.
I don't know. We fall in love with people, too, and there's no guarantee of lifespan there, either. I'm not saying this means there's a god, but more the comprehensively unoriginal "Emotions suck". Frankly, unless there are aliens wandering around eating people in the new Nichole Kidman movie, I can't figure out what she's so scared of.
Meanwhile, I need to call the clinic today and let them know she seems to be eating more, anyway, and is more talkative than she's been. I'm kind of hoping they don't have test results yet, because not knowing for sure how bad it is is slightly less worse than knowing for sure. Denial is a tool: Use it wisely.
We've established that my partner will be optimistic about Cypress' chances, and I will be depressed about the whole thing; this is my skill set. It's important to know what you're good at.
We spent a lot of yesterday looking for live catnip and cat grass plants (which wasn't too hard) but also a certain trout-shaped toy which Cypress has always enjoyed. We didn't find one, so I came home and eviscerated the old one, washed the fabric of it, and when it was dry crammed the fluff and new catnip in and sewed it back up. I'm sure it's not as good, like getting a homemade present from your parents instead of the shiny one in the store, but she's graciously pretending she likes it.
Incidentally, I think she wakes me up with a smack in the face mostly because she's saying, "Look, stupid, if I don't see some food right now, someone's gonna find themselves replaced by a new slave, got it? And it better be the right food, too."
Oh, I've got a million of them. And if you need some laughs and I run out of pet stories, we can start on my "Conversations with 2-Year-Olds" segment, which can go on for days. The most recent went like this:
Me: Michael, let's go get ready, it's time to get Allie from school.
Michael, in an exasperated, "Duh, Mommy" tone: I got shoes on!
Me: Yes sweetie, I see that you have shoes on. Good job.
...But you have no pants.
On a more relevant note, I'm so glad to hear that your kitty is likely to hate you for quite some time yet. :)
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