Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Calliope

My 19 year old kitty Calliope might have cancer (she was in the comic book for one panel, peeking in looking like Bill the Cat).

She had cancer right when Mom was sickest, just a patch on her little kitty nose. A great friend of Brian's is a vet, and got rid of the cancer for free for us by using Calliope as a test subject for a new laser. I really appreciated that, because I couldn't have taken losing her at the time. And she has had a great life since! Probably the best years of her life.

Totally come out of her shell and been feiiiisty. We nicknamed her Pissy. She rules the roost over Hero and Nurse Sis' labrador Stat, and loves every minute of being the Queen.

Anyway, for the last 6 weeks her eye and what's left of her nose has been goopy, just on one side. The doctor was worried about putting her under to explore her one tooth and nose, because there's always a risk with anasthesia. But that was six weeks ago. Now that the problem has persisted and her nose looks bloody, the doc is thinking cancer. He's going to put her under with just gas tomorrow or the next day so he can get a head x-ray and clean her teeth.

I'm very sad, but not unrealistic. I know I have to say goodbye to my little girl someday. But for now, she's still so feisty and happy. I swear I'll do right by her as soon as she's in pain, but just today she was outside sunning herself, purring away. It's just hard; I've gone to sleep with her on my bed for nineteen years.

Oh, and I had a dream last night about Scully and Skinner. So weird. No People Movers. Mom still wins for originality. She pretended to be a good sport about the posting about her sleeptalking, cuz she's a trooper. But she totally remembered her dream.

3 comments:

Andrew Ironwood said...

Understand what you're going through with the kitty -- we've had a bad run of FIP (feline infectious peritonitis) in our house the last couple of years, dropping our brood of cats from 6 to 3 (and currently my 9-year-old 'daddy's boy' is *very* slowly showing signs of succumbing to the same thing hisself -- so thoughts are with you and Calliope...)

Dave said...

My cat Al was 23 when he died last year. We had seven cats and he was the last to go. I had already moved out of the house when he died, and I knew it was coming. I was sad but not overly distraught when Mom called to tell me, and I was surprised at how well I was taking it. A few months later I was browsing around the web and came across a picture of a drenched and unhappy-looking cat sitting on a tree branch in a flood -- and I completely lost it. Bawled and bawled. I think I got caught with my guard down. I hope things go well for you and Calliope.

Kid Sis said...

Thanks, guys. I don't want to be one of those whiny people who places animals above other humans. I mean, this isn't Hillary Swank's character in Million $ Baby.

But man, it's still rough. I've never dealt well with death and would rather ignore the whole thing all together and not think about it. The hard part about being the owner for 19 years is that spiderman-heavy responsibility...at what point do you call the game on account of rain? Plus it's the only creature I've ever been a mommy to at an age where people are looking at me queerly because I'm not a mommy, plus geez, Pissy doesn't want to go anywhere yet! So, vet bills it is.

Dave, I had the same type thing happen with my grandma's and grandpa's deaths last year. It's weird what triggers emotion.

Thanks for the well-wishing. Fingers crossed, we'll make it to 23!