A long while since my last blog. Sorry about that. Things happened.
The Big Thing that happened was that I was diagnosed with a lymphosarcoma and ulcers in my stomach. So I co-opted Staff's 401(k) savings contributions and have been getting chemotherapy for nearly a year. A recent endoscopy showed that the original tumor has disappeared and the ulcers have cleared up -- but biopsies found similar cancer cells in my intestines. So the chemotherapy will continue until either (1) Staff runs out of money or (2) my weight drops to the point that I become the Cheshire Cat -- naught but a pair of gleaming golden eyes and a devilish grin.
Staff says the chemo, despite the expense ($250 per session every second Monday, $1500 for endoscopy and biopsies), has been worth it because I would've died before last Christmas without treatment. Before chemo, I was throwing up after every meal. After chemo began, the barfisodes almost stopped completely (maybe once a month). Chemo doesn't seem to cause any serious side effects in cats like it can for humans, although all my lovely whiskers fell out and have been replaced by stunted little hairs that make Scully chortle madly whenever she looks at me. The worst part of a chemo day is having to be dropped off at 7 a.m. and sit in a cage for 13 hours -- for a 15-minute session -- until Staff can pick me up after work at 8 p.m. But I get my own back -- I bitch nonstop for the 20-minute car ride home. And baby, I can wail like a banshee.
Another Thing that happened was Staff replaced the bedroom carpet -- my favorite place for barfisodes -- with some wood laminate flooring. So when I do barf there on occasion, a little Windex cleans it right up. Staff wants to do the entire apartment with this stuff. I hate it. When I hide under the bed, Staff just has to grab me by the scruff and slide me out like a furry curling stone.
Another Thing is that we've been visiting my regular vet every day. Yes, EVERY DAY. I don't like taking pills. I REALLY don't like taking pills. So Staff slides me out from under the bed every morning, sticks me in the carrier, drives me 2 miles to his vet at 7 a.m., and holds me while Dr. Cameron pries open my jaws with one hand and shoves two 5-mg pills down my gullet with the other. 7 a.m. EVERY DAY. Except Sunday, when it's 8:30 a.m. Or Chemo Days, when the animal hospital gets that pleasant chore. And even though I've become somewhat resigned to Dr. Cameron's masterful touch, I still won't let Staff do it on his own. A cat's got to keep the help in their proper place, you know.
I also acquired an opportunistic viral infection in my eyes over the summer, but antiviral eyedrops cleared that up in about six weeks and for about $600. So Dr. Cameron also puts prophylactic drops in my eyes three days a week now.
Anyway, that's how things stand now. Life is pretty much the same as long as it's not Chemo Monday or the 30-minutes from 6:45 a.m. to 7:15 a.m. I still rule Staff's lap with an iron paw, eat only a very select menu -- Fancy Feast Appetizers tuna and chicken, Fancy Feast shredded tuna fare, and Soulistic Sweet Salutations chicken and tuna -- and sleep on my fleece blankets or in two Petco shipping boxes lined with crackly kraft paper that drives me bananas because I know there are mice under there making those crackly sounds!
Catch you on the flip side, 'mkay?
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