Play finds a bed. Not a usual behavior.

About a week ago Play, our heroic diabetic three-legged cancer survivor, began to exhibit different behaviors: he’d park himself outside my office door, jump up on a bed, camp under a table. Not all that unusual but enough for me to give pause. (paws).

This animal is always ravenous: he gobbles his food and that of his mother and brother. He is territorial and demands to be treated as alpha male, approaching his quiet brother, sitting on his back and biting his head. A little unnerving on my part but all in a feline’s day’s work.

So, you could imagine my concern when Play would eat less and less each day, stop depositing his usual stuff in the box. He no longer seemed to care about his territory. After a number of days of diminished eating it was evident something was going on. “He must be all stuffed up,” I thought as it happened several times before and in fact, his first visit to the vet years ago was for something so seemingly–at this time–mundane. I upped the prescribed laxative. It didn’t seem to matter, as the food intake was significantly diminished.

But to complicate matters, this guy, is not easy to shove into a carrier and it causes me much worry and angst, however, finally, finally my son and I managed to get him into the carrier yesterday and away we went. Play let out a wail. One cry. It was the first and last of any vocalizations. He probably knew where he was going. He probably knew he had to go.

While at the vet we saw three other golden boys there for checkups. I was the one with the golden boy who had the big problems.  Play had not seen the vet since his October to almost January sojourn when he was healing from the leg amputation. Had we not taken the leg he would have been gone quickly from a virulent osteosarcoma. It was explained at that time that the cancer would spread from the leg to the internal organs and Play would stop eating. I did everything right to extend my golden boy’s life for months and it sounded like he had a number of years ahead of him.

I rattled on and on: “He’s not eating like he usually does, I can’t give him his insulin if he doesn’t eat, last night he ate nothing but it appears he drank a huge amount of water…” On and on I blathered. My favorite vet tech weighed Play. He hadn’t seemed to have lost weight, he was still 12.6 pounds, significantly down from seventeen pounds when he was diagnosed with diabetes the year before,  But then again, he was also down a leg. He looks a bit chubby on the sides, not at all sickly. His blood work was “good, normal.” His blood sugar, considering that there had been no insulin for twenty-four hours, was 194, “not abnormal just a bit higher than usual, possibly due to stress.”

But we needed an X-Ray.

It was not normal. It showed a mass in the abdominal cavity. And if I remember correctly, that would be right where the vet said the cancer would spread if we didn’t remove the leg.

I was beginning to feel sick. Though no one said the “C” word, my gut was getting worried. However, the problem was this: as much as the vet said he “didn’t like” the picture, both he and the tech felt the picture was “not clear” and a sonogram was needed. They do not do that on the premises, a woman comes in with a machine and they couldn’t do it before Tuesday, the only day next week. This is Memorial Day weekend.

I have my own medical appointment Tuesday. It has to wait another week.

I went to the back room to visit the area where two of my cats stayed with health issues each for two months. Moo was still there and she remembered me especially since I brought her treats …

Moo

A few doors down were the new kittens, a couple of weeks old, that were residing together, learning how to eat. You know how kittens do something to me.

That was good to warm my heart. Then back to reality.

Play is back home. He can eat anything he wants. Even the pancakes he nearly jumped into my plate for a couple of weeks ago. I made them special this morning. He ate a little bit of his regular food and walked away. He sniffed the pancakes and walked away. He ended up at the back door of the deck taking in the air and listening to birds.

I had put the bottom line together. If this is the best we can do this is it. I don’t want this poor guy opened up again and taking months to heal. I don’t think the “odds” would be good under these circumstances. As the vet tech said, “don’t worry yet.” He also said, “animals get finicky about food. Change it up.” I have been for years. Buying the best, every type and flavor. It would be great if it were just that simple.

I keep thinking of the word “mass.”

It’s all about time now. Something I am much more aware of.