C Is For Cat

And C is for Cancer.

2016 hates everyone.

Nerve sheath cancer, specifically. This type is not known to spread. But it's unknown if it will come back. The vet who removed the tumor wasn't trying to remove cancer so much as to simply clear Tricksey's throat so she could breath and eat again. So, there's a good chance she didn't get all of it.

Feline oncology, here we come.

7 thoughts on “C Is For Cat

  1. Countme-In

    cleek, I’m sorry. Yes, 2016 is an awful year (the small (b) beatle in me always leaned toward Lennon’s “It can’t get no worse” as counterpoint to Paul’s sunny and irrepressible “It’s getting better all the time”, and this year proves it.

    2016 is like being beaten to a pulp on an ill-lit street by a gang of sadistic ghouls, politically and with the Grim Reaper’s plucking of so many musical talents and other legends from amongst us, and now Tricksey’s diagnosis must be as if one of the ghouls has turned his attention back to you as the others stalked off for more prey and lands one last swift kick in the nuts to your already bruised carcass.

    However, remember, if you or I had croaked this year, Leon Russell, Prince, or Brainbug wouldn’t have noticed, so there.

    I hope Tricksey has no recurrence and lives along life, but maybe there is comfort in knowing that he/she isn’t worrying about that eventuality, though who knows. Sometimes cats LOOK worried, in a metaphysical sort of way.

    I’m a cat person. My cats through the years have been people cats. I think you could write a person’s biography as seen thru the eyes of their pets, with each pet thru the years assuming ….. personifying (kittyfying) the phase of your life they witnessed.

    My son’s (now 27), cat, Chase, a beautiful, multi-colored, long-haired creature, died earlier in the year from old age .. she was 18 or so. She lived with my ex-wife and was her companion during these last few years since our divorce and since my son had gone off to his various educational pursuits. We three were of course hit hard by that, but when I heard the news I cried like a baby (my mother had died a couple of months before that and I didn’t cry, so I think I was saving it up), because that cat came into our lives during happier times, which she shared. I remember taking my son when he was nine years old to the shelter and watching him immediately being attracted to Chase and sticking to those guns as we met the other cats. He knew.

    Chase didn’t purr for the first couple of years she lived with us. Who knows why and what treatment or abandonment she had previously experienced, but my son loved that cat to pieces and finally she came around and I remember the first time she finally purred. It was as if a human baby/little kid hadn’t spoken a word until six or seven years of age and then at the dinner table one evening had come out with “How bout them Yankees, huh? Could you please pass the salt?”

    My wife and I had a previous spooky black cat, Ali, (not Muhammad, but rather the actress Ali McGraw (Goodbye Columbus), after whom I had named an even earlier spooky black cat too when I was in college and who sadly became a flat cat when she was way too young). The second Ali died a couple of years from kidney failure after my son was born. My wife and I had worried that Ali wouldn’t take to this tiny human interloper, but she did and would sit on my wife’s lap when she breast fed my son and would find a higher perch over his kid carrier or bassinet and sit and watch over him with endless curiosity.

    The vet offered to keep her going with feline kidney dialysis, but at the time I had a sister who was on kidney dialysis and we decided that was enough of that. I, of course, was the one who had to take Ali in for her final “procedure”, my wife not able to face it, and I petted her until she was gone.

    Ali also witnessed and shared better, happier times with us earlier in our marriage and the birth of our son.

  2. Rob Caldecott

    Poor T. Sorry to hear this cleek, I hope she will get through this. She’s not going to thank you for all those visits to the vet though. The very sight of the pet carrier turns Boo completely feral: my wife has scars. He went in for his annual vaccinations recently and the student vet got both barrels.

    Boo is 17 and I’m frankly amazed he’s still going. His kidneys are pretty much gone, he’s rake thin, he sleeps even more than usual and his teeth have pretty much all rotted away so his tongue kind of pokes out of his mouth all the time. His breath could fell an elephant. But cats can be hardy little beasts and Boo spends most of his awake time purring and being spoilt rotten so he’s having an awesome life. He really feels the cold nowadays and sometimes sneaks under the duvet with us at night… and we let him… because he’s old and we’re suckers.

    I bet Trickery is waited on hand and foot, gets to do whatever she wants and probably loves the attention. She is also one of the most photogenic cars I’ve ever seen! All that fur!

    Fuck this year sideways though.

    1. cleek Post author

      T’s only 11. so we’re hoping we can get through this so that she can reach actual old age. she’s starting to slow down and get a little grumpy, but we can still get her to play. so she’s not there yet.

  3. Girl from the North Country

    I’m so sorry cleek. Good luck Tricksey for further treatment.

    Count, I’m sure you know how badly you are missed, but on the other hand I’m certain you have your reasons. And then again, at the moment, the other place (as the House of Commons and the House of Lords call each other by tradition, just like Macbeth is always called The Scottish Play) is having convulsions of its own. All I can say is, I bet I’m not the only one who has you so frequently in their thoughts. I hope you’re OK, or even well.

  4. Jewish Steel

    Tricksey, if you can hear me, we’re going to need you to give it all you’ve got. Me and the rotten basenjis of Illinois, we’re all pulling for you.

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