Mache is Terminal
Jan. 10th, 2014 06:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gwydionShe has been sporadically making a smell. It could have been serious tooth decay or organ failure, the smell had elements of both. It was hard to tell which. For the last couple weeks shes also been have sporadic trouble eating hard food. Given her age and fragility of health, I didn't want to crate her and transport her twice in the space of a week, so I set up the appointment for cat transfer day. I figured fifty fifty she needed dental work or she was dying.
It is a rapid growing extremely aggressive mouth tumor, of the type most common in cats. It is completely inoperable and likely has been since before the symptoms were noticeable. I did not bother with the biopsy as it's the feline equivalent of hospice care either way.
She is still alert and cuddly and herself. Her quality of life is still good, so I took her home to the new apartment. Tomorrow I will go out and buy a variety of soft foods, since it's her ability to eat that is the real limiter here. She can still handle soft foods and on a good day she can still get a little of the small kibble chunks down. Eventually, her throat will close to the point where she won't be able to eat at all and I will take her back in to spare her a slow death from starvation.
They think her life span is measured in weeks. It might be a month if we are lucky.
I left her enthusiastically scarfing down goosh with her boy after hours of cuddle napping in the new bed. I have figured out a way for her to get into the bed herself, but I don't think she can get out on her own. I set up a temporary floor mest for her and there are boxes her height to sleep on. I hate leaving them alone in the new place, but I need to be over here to work on things, and Squirrel needs the car.
While obviously, she did not want to change dens, when she saw all her stuff was over there, she set about exploring with characteristic curiosity and boldness. I hobbled around after her for a bit, making sure she knew where food, water, and litter are. I gave her the pettins in various locations, then went back to get Hector, who howled the whole way there. When they saw each other, the last of the tension went out of her. She's always been a sensible, practical little creature. She clearly figured out that if we were both there with her along with our stuff, this must be the new den. They gave each other a good sniff, then rushed out, shouldering each other out of the way in the race to see who would find interesting stuff first. I stationed myself by the food bowl and gave Hector reassuring pettins each time he darted back to make sure the food was still there. I then puttered around a bit, but I had to do bureaucracy, which waits for no cat. After I got back, I calmed Hector down again, then set about establishing the usual before sleep rituals and getting them used to the idea of the new bed. We then had a nice group nap.
Since Mache's near death experience a few years ago with that infection, I've known she was on borrowed time. She has always been prone to illness due to starving and a serious infection as an adolescent when we first rescued her. The last three years, I have done everything in my power to make her life as comfortable and as full of love as it could possibly be, on the assumption that she might not have long and any given Winter might be her last.
I plan to make what time is left the best it can be. I only regret that she likely will not get to ramble on the lawn between the patio and the gazebo as I imagined when I first saw the apartment. I don't think she'll make it to the part of Spring when the weather warms up enough for arthritic old ladies to bask in the sun.
She is the best cat I have ever lived with, rivaled only by a Siamese boy of my childhood: a perfect companion, loving, low drama, fond of cuddling and pettins. She is by far the best Queen I have ever known or am likely to know, my right hand Kitty, the Zoe to my Mal. She was Skye's cat first, but over the years I have come to love her beyond the expressing of words, and she has been the most loyal and sweetest of furry companions. I love hearing her snore like Cultists summoning a Great Old One in the distance. I love the dove cooing of her urr and the ridiculous squeak of protest that is her most common vocalization. I love the way she lifts her chin to demand a scritch and the way she captures my hand for a pillow. I love the way she perks up when she hears an interesting sound or is embarking on an adventure and the way she leans into my arm when I curl it around her. I love the way she flings an arm over Hector's body to hold him down for grooming when he is panicking and the way she stands bravely in front of him to protect him when he's scared.
It will be nothing like as good without her.
Damn.
It is a rapid growing extremely aggressive mouth tumor, of the type most common in cats. It is completely inoperable and likely has been since before the symptoms were noticeable. I did not bother with the biopsy as it's the feline equivalent of hospice care either way.
She is still alert and cuddly and herself. Her quality of life is still good, so I took her home to the new apartment. Tomorrow I will go out and buy a variety of soft foods, since it's her ability to eat that is the real limiter here. She can still handle soft foods and on a good day she can still get a little of the small kibble chunks down. Eventually, her throat will close to the point where she won't be able to eat at all and I will take her back in to spare her a slow death from starvation.
They think her life span is measured in weeks. It might be a month if we are lucky.
I left her enthusiastically scarfing down goosh with her boy after hours of cuddle napping in the new bed. I have figured out a way for her to get into the bed herself, but I don't think she can get out on her own. I set up a temporary floor mest for her and there are boxes her height to sleep on. I hate leaving them alone in the new place, but I need to be over here to work on things, and Squirrel needs the car.
While obviously, she did not want to change dens, when she saw all her stuff was over there, she set about exploring with characteristic curiosity and boldness. I hobbled around after her for a bit, making sure she knew where food, water, and litter are. I gave her the pettins in various locations, then went back to get Hector, who howled the whole way there. When they saw each other, the last of the tension went out of her. She's always been a sensible, practical little creature. She clearly figured out that if we were both there with her along with our stuff, this must be the new den. They gave each other a good sniff, then rushed out, shouldering each other out of the way in the race to see who would find interesting stuff first. I stationed myself by the food bowl and gave Hector reassuring pettins each time he darted back to make sure the food was still there. I then puttered around a bit, but I had to do bureaucracy, which waits for no cat. After I got back, I calmed Hector down again, then set about establishing the usual before sleep rituals and getting them used to the idea of the new bed. We then had a nice group nap.
Since Mache's near death experience a few years ago with that infection, I've known she was on borrowed time. She has always been prone to illness due to starving and a serious infection as an adolescent when we first rescued her. The last three years, I have done everything in my power to make her life as comfortable and as full of love as it could possibly be, on the assumption that she might not have long and any given Winter might be her last.
I plan to make what time is left the best it can be. I only regret that she likely will not get to ramble on the lawn between the patio and the gazebo as I imagined when I first saw the apartment. I don't think she'll make it to the part of Spring when the weather warms up enough for arthritic old ladies to bask in the sun.
She is the best cat I have ever lived with, rivaled only by a Siamese boy of my childhood: a perfect companion, loving, low drama, fond of cuddling and pettins. She is by far the best Queen I have ever known or am likely to know, my right hand Kitty, the Zoe to my Mal. She was Skye's cat first, but over the years I have come to love her beyond the expressing of words, and she has been the most loyal and sweetest of furry companions. I love hearing her snore like Cultists summoning a Great Old One in the distance. I love the dove cooing of her urr and the ridiculous squeak of protest that is her most common vocalization. I love the way she lifts her chin to demand a scritch and the way she captures my hand for a pillow. I love the way she perks up when she hears an interesting sound or is embarking on an adventure and the way she leans into my arm when I curl it around her. I love the way she flings an arm over Hector's body to hold him down for grooming when he is panicking and the way she stands bravely in front of him to protect him when he's scared.
It will be nothing like as good without her.
Damn.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-11 03:57 am (UTC)Give her extra scritches from me...