My sweet Catherine. I finally know what she's probably known for some time. She's dying.
Catie was a street cat in Chicago when I found her in January 2007. She was not feral, but definitely street smart. She was sweet in her way, with a healthy distrust of humans. It was bitterly cold when I found out from someone in my condo complex that people had been feeding her outside for some time, but no one wanted to take her in. I couldn't let that stand. One can of cat food later, I had lured her close enough for me to snatch her up and take her to the vet. They checked her out, she was full grown, probably spayed, and had a chip. The vet would contact her owners and let me know if no one claimed her in 3 days. I called every day anyway. I offered to pay her bill even if she couldn't come home with me but they refused. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with her because I already had two very bonded male cats. On the third day I called and they said the humane society that put in her chip didn't really want her back and there was no other contact info for an owner. If I didn't take her, she'd be put down. I questioned if I was crazy, I had only ever adopted male kittens, this was a fully grown, testy female. I went over and picked her up.
It took some time for me to gain her trust. And it took time for her to learn to play without drawing blood. But slowly, she became my little lady. She hated my mother from day one, and still hisses when she gets too close, but it is more out of habit now than the blind rage of the early years. She's a lap cat, even gets up and lays on my hip if I take a nap on my side.
I knew she was slowing down. I started to see it after the first of the year. Last year had been so brutal, the bonded pair that I had when she came home both passed, I knew Catherine was older and had always assumed she would go first. I hadn't been prepared for them. So when I noticed the slow down, I tried to prepare myself, just a little. Over the summer she stopped eating. The vet did tests and said it was very early kidney disease. (I think that was actually wrong.) I started administering fluid and she perked up some and started eating.
Then she started wiping her mouth on things, hard. So back to the vet and they said she needed a dental visit, I knew she had tooth resorption, but they thought maybe they were now infected. The vet put her under, removed a few teeth, but she said once she got the teeth out, she was pretty sure there was a tumor. And yesterday they confirmed it. Squamous cell carcinoma. The same tumor that killed one of my boys last year. The vet said it is common with older cats. With dogs, you can remove part of the jaw and they do OK for a while. Cats do not.
They said with pain meds she could make it weeks, maybe until the end of the year. But that the tumor would grow quickly and spread. She would have fewer and fewer good days. I should take the time I need to say goodbye. When the bad days outnumber the good, it is time to let her go.
But how can I let my sassy spunky girl wind down until she's a shell of herself, just so I can cling to her longer? She doesn't feel well now, even with the pain meds. She doesn't sit on the porch, in the warm autumn sun watching the squirrels, she goes upstairs and lays in my bed. She's not sitting on my lap or by my side as she normally would be, she's upstairs laying on a blanket I put down for her in the closet. She still eats well, but that is just not good enough.
So this Friday morning, in her home, I'm letting my girl go. The travel vet will be here at 10. Hopefully she still have most of her dignity. And know I love her.
I miss her already.
The first day I found her. Her white tummy dirty from living outside. Not at all sure who I was or what I wanted.
With her brothers, early on.
Sleeping with her younger, fuzzier, brother.
Peacefully sleeping earlier this year.
Catie was a street cat in Chicago when I found her in January 2007. She was not feral, but definitely street smart. She was sweet in her way, with a healthy distrust of humans. It was bitterly cold when I found out from someone in my condo complex that people had been feeding her outside for some time, but no one wanted to take her in. I couldn't let that stand. One can of cat food later, I had lured her close enough for me to snatch her up and take her to the vet. They checked her out, she was full grown, probably spayed, and had a chip. The vet would contact her owners and let me know if no one claimed her in 3 days. I called every day anyway. I offered to pay her bill even if she couldn't come home with me but they refused. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with her because I already had two very bonded male cats. On the third day I called and they said the humane society that put in her chip didn't really want her back and there was no other contact info for an owner. If I didn't take her, she'd be put down. I questioned if I was crazy, I had only ever adopted male kittens, this was a fully grown, testy female. I went over and picked her up.
It took some time for me to gain her trust. And it took time for her to learn to play without drawing blood. But slowly, she became my little lady. She hated my mother from day one, and still hisses when she gets too close, but it is more out of habit now than the blind rage of the early years. She's a lap cat, even gets up and lays on my hip if I take a nap on my side.
I knew she was slowing down. I started to see it after the first of the year. Last year had been so brutal, the bonded pair that I had when she came home both passed, I knew Catherine was older and had always assumed she would go first. I hadn't been prepared for them. So when I noticed the slow down, I tried to prepare myself, just a little. Over the summer she stopped eating. The vet did tests and said it was very early kidney disease. (I think that was actually wrong.) I started administering fluid and she perked up some and started eating.
Then she started wiping her mouth on things, hard. So back to the vet and they said she needed a dental visit, I knew she had tooth resorption, but they thought maybe they were now infected. The vet put her under, removed a few teeth, but she said once she got the teeth out, she was pretty sure there was a tumor. And yesterday they confirmed it. Squamous cell carcinoma. The same tumor that killed one of my boys last year. The vet said it is common with older cats. With dogs, you can remove part of the jaw and they do OK for a while. Cats do not.
They said with pain meds she could make it weeks, maybe until the end of the year. But that the tumor would grow quickly and spread. She would have fewer and fewer good days. I should take the time I need to say goodbye. When the bad days outnumber the good, it is time to let her go.
But how can I let my sassy spunky girl wind down until she's a shell of herself, just so I can cling to her longer? She doesn't feel well now, even with the pain meds. She doesn't sit on the porch, in the warm autumn sun watching the squirrels, she goes upstairs and lays in my bed. She's not sitting on my lap or by my side as she normally would be, she's upstairs laying on a blanket I put down for her in the closet. She still eats well, but that is just not good enough.
So this Friday morning, in her home, I'm letting my girl go. The travel vet will be here at 10. Hopefully she still have most of her dignity. And know I love her.
I miss her already.
The first day I found her. Her white tummy dirty from living outside. Not at all sure who I was or what I wanted.
With her brothers, early on.
Sleeping with her younger, fuzzier, brother.
Peacefully sleeping earlier this year.
