Svelt...

Seriously, I swear he is getting skinny.  Not in an emaciated way (although really, he is not back to normal) but I used to cringe watching him walk away with that roundness BULGING out of him.  Well, I just look and think, I am going nuts, but it is smaller.  Like a grapefruit, not a cantaloupe and although he is bonier, he shoulders are not as bad as they were when he was really sick!

So.
Anyone know what will create an appetite?  I mean I am personally shoving all the food I can into his little mouth.  I know it is not enough but it seems to be what he needs to feed the medicine into that tumor!

Today we did enjoy TOGETHER some chicken from the grocery store.  He had about 5 or six begs and DID eat them when tossed for a while.  Then a break and a couple more.

I tried again in about an hour and he ate.

The trouble is, anything he SEEMS to like one day, he just turns his nose up at the next.

So I am wearing some Fancy Feast fish flavor today.

Long Weekends.

He greeted me with a half-hearted stretch this morning.  I think the belly is stretching his skin a bit much and he stops after reaching out with his paws.  He doesn't follow through all the way to the tip of his tail like he used to.  We slept with the window open and it was wonderful.  I don't keep the air conditioning very low as I don't actually DO much around here in the summer anyway, so I don't mind, but I have worried that he may be uncomfortable.  He has a corner in the office/studio that is on the tile and he will sit in there while I type.  Sometimes he stays after I leave.
He has started protesting being petted.
He was NEVER a cuddler, but when he was sick before we would commune.  He would not put up with my lap but always found a flat spot from chin to belly on me to sleep most of the night.  In the winter, I think he found it too warm.  He will pop up beside me (always just as I am starting to doze off....) and say hi, but when I pet him, he backs off.....
I notice him staring off into space.
Last week he had a couple of tummy upsets but he is eating the wet food (OH, how much I hate that stuff!  I was so proud he never bothered me with opening cans because I gave in to begging etc.  NOW he will brazenly reach up to sniff the french fries I bring into the house... just in case he wants it!) and it moves past the mass quite handily.
What a trouper.
He doesn't like fingers.  He bites.... but he LOVES to rub against my toes.

The Photos of the End

I have to show you what stopped my life cold last month.

The Dude now looks like a pregnant girl with a four or five kitten litter ready to pop.  I must say, he actually acts that way too.  But... I was explained that the BIG WHITE BALL (a month ago... this was about the size of my fist) is a tumor.  Nothing more or less.  The little blip open space at the high spot near his spine is his stomach, the couple of blops at the bottom are  his bowel.

He has been eating soft food and I am setting my own time table:  When he doesn't have a bowel movement for three days or he begins vomiting a lot, I will know it has taken up all of his digesting space and we will have to make arrangements.....

..... but..... this time there is NO good outlook.  Anyone who has a vet in town that actually thinks they want to whittle him away would be welcome, but I cannot pay.  I am reactivating my go fund me account, to see if I can give the extra to my own absolutely wonderful vet who has worked with me so long and been so generous.  I am WAY behind, and fighting to pay the other bills. JUST something to feel like I am useful.

MEANWHILE, he is absolutely normal.
I was thinking of renaming the blog "Dead Cat Walking" but although morbidly humorous, I can't sustain the giggle that I had when he merrily waddled away and took a swipe at my foot on the way.

This post may not last long.  I just needed to vent... I mostly just watch him sleep and see him inhaling and exhaling and it makes me happy.....
Thanks to you all.  I really can't tell you how much I appreciated EVERY single one of you.
dj*

BAD news.

After a year of my same old aloof, snotty, judgemental cuddly beautiful guy back, a month or so ago, he decided he liked dark rooms more. Nothing much, just sleeping a lot which is a good response to the heat. Then a couple of weeks ago his fat belly seemed not to go down after he ate. So today we went to the doc and he has a tumor, literally baseball sized, squeezing his guts and she says there appear to be some nodules on his heart.

In a perfect world, we would go to an oncologist and find it operable and it would all be covered under some research grant.

I fear my pals who helped so much last year are just going to have to know we gave him a really great year, but his timer is going to run out at about 13. How suitable for a black cat.

I have prednisone which may reduce the inflammation and slow it, but from the speed I saw it grow, I don't think he will see Halloween.

SOOOOOOOOOOoooooo sad.....

Normal Doesn't Feel Normal

But it is.

I actually have no idea what to expect from him. Other than looking aloof. One might think he would be a little aware of all of the hubbub going on around him, and at least act a little grateful.

One very cooperative thing he has been doing is isolating himself. I like to keep the back room shut off. It is on the west side of the house and I don't tape it, but I shut the door and the vents so the heat from the sun on that side is not being cooled all day and costing A/C. He sneaks in and seems to like the warm. Or actually, I think the windows have a better view and I am not there wandering around. At least once a day he has run in there for a few hours. Looks up at me all smiley and happy, not hiding in the dark or anything, right there where I would step on him if I didn't look. Just stretches and looks at me.

He used to like to go in there and raid my socks drawers. LOVES my socks.

So.

Normal is just normal.

I am in the middle of art again. It is a lot easier than worry. The thing is, I have a headache now, so the typical thing is come in here and blow my eyeballs on the computer, give them a break from the drawing board!

An Issue.

On the way home they were leaving me a message. The fur ball we pulled out was pinkish and it was not color from kitty treats, it was apparently a bit of blood.

We suspect ulcers. They wanted to inject an anti nausea and some tummy meds. The barfing is about parr for his usual behavior but the blood is not.

Nor is the fur ball. He throws about three a year.

Normally he binges, eats a lot of dry food, tosses it and comes back to it later (if I am not there.) I wonder if it is the actual vomiting or the stress that is causing him to eat then vomit. He was doing it a LOT before we took him in. When the disease kicked back, he was pretty hungry but not really good at telling what he needed. I understand that is a little normal for HyperT - all the systems run in overdrive. Good news it that it is putting on weight.

The question is why blood?

I am going back this afternoon, as I saved up my geiger counted minutes so I have about 20 more. Not at all sure if he is happy to see me or mad that I did this to him. They think he is improving. His attitude is tolerant of them much more that the last few days.

This is trauma. Actually as freaked as I am I really DO believe more for him. What have I gotten myself into!????

Visiting Day

I got a call that he was receiving visitors at 3 and I put a cheese stick and jar of his treats in my purse and headed out.

I got some very bad photos, but there are some informative ones.

They gave me purple gloves and a big gown. I was NOT to let him out on the ground or hug him if possible. . . ha ha ha!

A big bank of rather lavish silver cages with stainless floors and walls. There were two cats side by side on the bottom and smaller cages above.

The still drugged, somewhat damp Dude sat in his cubicle, and greeted me with a very nasty hiss and growl. He is obviously not a happy drunk. Melanie alerted me to avoid punctures and bites, as (like Spiderman and his bug....?) he was still radioactive.

First thing he whacked at me. As usual, no real attempt to scratch, just the usual threat of violence. Can one have a verbally abusive cat? If he was talking he would have been bleeped on tv! He did not want to make contact really but I gave him a treat and instead of eating it, he shoved his head against my hand. When he realized it was food, he had a very hard time locating it. When he realized what it was, his aim was not so good and nearly got a finger. He was definitely a cat under the influence.

Finally I was rubbing his head. Aggressively. He was very fidgety and seemed like he needed a jog around the block. He was happy to have me there, but still more upset for all the activity going on around him. I think he may have just gotten into the big cage from the tiny ones.

I got half an hour visit today. That is all we get - 30 min. Tomorrow I will make it two 15's one early and one later. It was a little upsetting to see him wacked out. I want to see MY cat tomorrow.

Hopefully these work.

This is the treatment table in the isolation ward. There is a little lead lined box where they inject him then move him to one of the 6 small cages for three days.

The isolation ward

This is a bad shot of his new little cell where he will lounge for a couple of days, now that he is out. It is pretty spacious. He can dash around if necessary,

and the shot of his fond farewell as he growled me off into the sunset.

Thinking About Rescue and Adoption.

I sort of have said all this in the beginning of the blog but many of my rescue friends have been telling their stories of ill cats and I think a lot of what came to be my experience with how wonderful bringing a pet into your life is why the Dude being sick makes me think about The Kid (his namesake).

My first very own cat, the ORIGINAL Kid, and The Dude were neither officially adopted. The two loves of my life were little unwanted micro life forms that nobody wanted.

No humans that is.

THE Kid was brought into Bel Ray Institute in Denver in a pregnant Siamese mom whose life was ending. The litter was born but the mother was lost. My best girlfriend was studying to be a vet tech at the time. Perhaps I will have to credit (blame???) Barbara for all this rescue work I do. Her obsessive love of animals somehow found me driving across town with a shoebox full of litter and an oozy-eyed egg-sized life form that looked like it had black chicken pluckings glued on it. He was NOT a pretty sight. As we drove, I remember the FIRST amazing Siamese YOWL that nearly drove me off the road! Tiny body, but a full-throated wail that nearly burst my ears!

I was neither mother, nor cat material.

I honestly was saying "No" as it was put in my car as I left her house. On arrival home, the boyfriend was thrilled. His cat Feather, was the first cat I had ever really known to love.

She was a tripod. I also found through her, that indoor cats made less allergies! So in spite of nearly ALWAYS having one reddened nostril from a sniffle, I learned how wonderful living with a cat could be.

FEATHER was not happy. She had been a mother and was not up to any more kids, much less one that oozed!

Kid was amazingly small, but housebroken. His eyes needed a lot of ointment and we watched him carefully. At night we locked him in the bathroom. I am laughing as I type!!! I just remembered that my apartment was a second story in the great Washington Park part of Denver. The floor under the toilet had LITERALLY rotted a bit. There were gaping holes and we stuffed towels in them for fear he would fall through! His isolation at first was trying to be good cat parents. Feather began punishing us from the first. For what seemed like weeks, if he was around, she was missing.

Feather was a three-footed purr machine. She was a graceful and elegant silver tabby with bright green eyes. She was so beautiful, that new guests regularly would GASP outloud hours into the evening when they realized she was missing a back leg - an injury from her wild days in wild lands.

That kitty breath in my face with the kneading on my chest. Wow, the sensation is actually overwhelming now. She was a beautiful spirit.

So....she ignored us and him.... and then one day, in the irrepressible KID-ness of him, he was playing, she was ignoring and he would do his paws up "BIG CAT" thing, and topple to one side and try hard to engage her. She just glowered, then quite suddenly slapped a paw atop his shoulder blades while he was down and began grooming him, as if she had had quite enough of this sloppy little urchin.

So they became fused. She would take on the Border Collie that lived with us a while if he so much as wagged a tail in the Kid's direction. The maternal instinct just took over.

I read online of a real brain damage that I know he had. His twin sister literally had to be put down for her aggressive behavior. All the wicked that ended in her was drained from him. I even remember him purring when we had him put to sleep 18years later. In fear or in love, he would purr.

We knew he was different when after he lived (the name "the Kid" was because we didn't think he had the stamina and he was so ill that we figured if we didn't give him a name, we wouldn't miss him so much if he didn't make it) people commented on his odd walk. He sort of always kicked his back legs behind him as if he had a piece of tape on each foot.

Upon one of my friend's comment on the odd walk, I indignantly replied "He is no funnier than FEATHER!" and realized that she walked pretty funny herself!

Not only the odd gate, but he used to stick to the rug.

When he got over excited, his claws would sort of automatically grab and often he would forget to let go and trip himself on the floor. He used to leap up and run into the other room and miss.... hit the door and try again. He never needed catnip. And oddly I think it never did anything to him.

We got rid of our TV for two years and I honestly never missed it. I watched him approach life every day with excitement and kitty joy!

Once, I was walking around the house coming home from work and heard his howl. When I looked up, there he was. Having just learned to hop into window sills, he apparently thought it might be fun to climb the screen. Up in my window was a very crucified looking Kiddie, stuck - as was his habit, from fear - to the screen. I was laughing so hard when I in the apartment, I believe I may have offended him.

Through a couple more relationships and moves to two other states, I retained the "children" and when Feather finally died of congestive heart failure, I thought her purr would never be replaced. We did get another cat who was much happier outside. Kiddie and I got tighter and tighter.

He woke up my present beau in the night leaping into the tub and missing! He would sleep on my face which made the new relationship a LITTLE tricky, but KID was going to win, and if the boyfriend didn't like it he was gone.

The Kid lived to be 18. I used to say, if he were human, he would have graduated from high school. . . if he had made it through kindergarten! He had small tumors and finally one in his head.

The vet was so wonderful.

When we knew it was terminal, the vet said his quality of life would be fine. I would know when the right time came.

Kiddie began backing up, as if he had a headache about a week before I was due to go out of town. I had a sitter arranged but was torn up over what the definition of "misery" would be. Dr. Saltero said, "Why should he even have to BE miserable?"

I petted him and sat as his loud and fearful purring stopped.

I really love the sense that his WHOLE life was of giving and getting love. Even at the end.

so. . .

THE DUDE was assumed to be his spirit returned. His INDEPENDENCE is a whole other lesson.

Thanks for listening. The vet's office should be calling soon, but I fear the absence of fur in my face is stirring up allergies, because I seem to have runny eyes!!!

Good Bye To the Bottle. Can Your Rescue Use It?

For close to two years these little bottles have been keeping the Dude from crawling the walls, yo-yo-ing his weight up and down and allowing him to find a good life. Tonight will be his last dose if all goes well.

The nifty thing about this process is that it only kills cells that make thyroid hormone. The gland that is supposed to is regulated elsewhere and when the tumor cells start going crazy, spewing out the stuff, the gland is told to shut down. Because it goes dormant, we regulate the amount in his system with this drug. And it works well.

For two weeks ahead, we want the bad cells to do their worst! The radioactive stuff seeks ONLY these kinds of cells and chews them up. Also, just in case ANY of the normal cells are functioning, we try to drive them way underground by the sensors in the pituitary shutting the spigot off hard because of all the yuck from the bad guys. We want ALL of the medicine out of the system so the treatment can do its worst.

After the three hot days, when the cat is actively radioactive, before the half lives start breaking the iodine down, the levels will drop as the treatment clears out. By the time the bad cells are gone, the nuclear missiles are too. When the all clear sounds, the dormant gland will be awakened again and there may be a few odd months of him starting to regulate his own levels.

They tell me not to panic for three months. There is no exact prediction, but way into the 90%'s of the cats come out with perfectly normal thyroids. It is rare that a healthy thyroid is damaged by the process. Apparently if the thyroid comes out underfunctional. (hypo) it was already damaged for some other reason. We x-rayed him to be sure no physical abnormality kept him from having it work.

Fingers crossed I will no longer need this half bottle again!

I am going to send this post to as many local cat rescues as I can. This is a good three or four months of normal for a rescuer who has a sick kitty and can use a little help.

IF any of you know a rescue that needs this, drop me a line and we can meet up when my vet says The Dude is good to go. All the generous people that have helped me needs a bit of passing it forward. THANK YOU ALL.

Life is so Hard....NOT!

He has a tall baker's rack that he used to camp on the top tier and just wait. Nowadays, it is the middle one and he bats my butt as I walk by.

This painting was a demonstration for the Fountain Hills Art League some years ago. His essence.

My old apartment had a window just the height of the clear table and he would sprawl the whole length of it. This was a photo of the two of us... he was two years old at the time... showing mom how nicely he fit on her new donation to the house.

He owned it... was upset when I would arrange art shows on it:

And was never happy to have his nails clipped. Our groomer always tried to trick him but...

(just for scale, that was an 18" Spiderman statue that William Whitaker turned a few of us on to in the early 90's. See below, The Dude was BIG)

About 2009, he dropped from 18 to 14 pounds. That is when we went to the doc.

A Story About His Dad.

Oreo.

His family kicked him out permanently when a younger cuter life form moved in. They had a baby and Oreo felt offended. Apparently took a bat at him . . . . So, he just was an outdoor cat. When they moved, Oreo didn't.

The little black female who I am sure was mom, was one of a couple of baby strays that had lived in my complex from when I first moved in the early 90's. Neither of these wild kids was fixed and it was after I had tried to get his step kids to foster care (The Dude, being all indoor, had me worried about bringing stray disease into his overly sheltered life.) with a long evening of traps and long drives to help... SCOTTSDALE STRAYS and their doctors are a really amazing gang. The whole group ended up too ill to save. His mom just was found dead, perhaps a heart issue, perhaps whatever the kitties had, but it was a real heart-breaker. Not just for me, but the overburdened rescue community. (I have tried to donate my art regularly and often allow them to use my images for fundraising as often as possible! EVERY community needs their stray cats and dogs cared for and it is a HARD job.)

Oreo.

He would get in way too many fights. Not only myself but his gang of foster families were taking him in to get stitched up and such. It was after a big tom with a big collar and fully displayed huevos started picking fights on a regular basis that the evil plan of just catnapping the new cat and having him fixed on the sly occurred to me in my dreams, that I figured to help Oreo at least but taking him out of the loop.

One day I put out his food, after calling the local vet and explaining that a neighborhood character NEEDED neutering and I would pay, I nabbed him and drove him down the road.

My favorite nurse nodded and together we walked bad to the doc and she said "neutering". Somewhat absentmindedly he prepped, anesthetized and Snip! Pop! He was out. The nurse gave him a distemper shot and when I got out the credit card, she just shook her head.

Off we scurried and I had him back at the food bowl in less than an hour, tail and foot in the air, trying to figure out what had just happened to him!

I just loved that guy!