Caramel Petunia, the mother, still a kitten herself, who brought me her children.

Ampersand and Play

Play now

“Play” 10/24/13

Nine years ago when I was recovering from a mastectomy, a mother cat brought her kittens to my door. I was toying with the idea of getting an orange Pomeranian or a Black and White Shitzu. What came to the door was an orange kitten, a black and white kitten, an orange and white kitten and a young, tiny calico mother. I named the kittens, “Romp” (who was adopted by my neighbor) “And” (the black and white fellow who became known as Ampersand, and Play, the orange fellow, who loved to play. The mother is my darling Caramel Petunia.

Play seemed to be the one who was the strongest but who suffered from one thing after another. To make matters worse, we had a terrible time getting him into a carrier and over to the vet. I have never even been able to pick up Ampersand, but Play would frequently sit with me on the couch, the only one. He’s been through some hard times:

• he has lived through painful bowel blockages and needs ongoing meds;
• he was diagnosed with diabetes six months ago, and needs insulin by needle twice daily; I can’t tell you what a major upset this was, how scary for me. I didn’t think I could do this but I did and I do. It was my test.

And then this happened: he began to sit strangely. It looked like he had three front paws. His right rear leg was sitting along with the front two and the hip was popped out. Arthritis? A sprain? He’s been climbing and jumping and happy, playful. But …

Getting him to the vet is never easy. He had to go, he needed to have his glucose checked as it has been six months,  and while we were there this foot needed to be looked at. We tricked him into the carrier with treats and got him to the vet. It was as if something pushed him in for us.

It’s bone cancer. Osteosarcoma. The worst cancer around. Each of the two vets were very upset. There I was babbling about his blood sugar, changing the mental subject and the vet smacked me awake with, “that’s the least that I am worried about.”

Cancer. The illness that I had had when I took this feline family in.

Am I being tested again?

I am drowning in talk and thought. Realistically, I see thousands of dollar signs floating past me. I am told that the cancer hasn’t spread to the lungs which is inevitable. It is the most highly aggressive, no-win carcinoma. But the cat might have a chance if we lob off his leg to the hip and let him live like a tri-ped for however long he lasts.

Honestly, this surprise clobbered me. I always had a way to think magically: there’s so much one can take and then the Universe says, “let’s move on, she’s had enough.” No such luck. It just keeps coming.

Is the Universe whispering to me that it is time? Do I let them operate and give him a chance, he is a strong formerly feral guy who might be able to last for years. Will his diabetes complicate things? Might it have spread?

I just want some cliché peace and quiet. No more phone calls, bad news, stuff to do. Let me sit in a catatonic blob and rest, please, for now. Cat-atonic.

I am waiting for more information. I am not sure yet. Could I give up on a good friend?