The vet called yesterday with our cat Friday's test results: she has liver cancer that's progressed so far as to be inoperable. All we can do now is keep her comfortable, feed her anything she'll eat, and be sensitive to how she's feeling so that we don't prolong any noticeable suffering.
So far she's still moving from room to room, answering when we talk to her, and purring when she's petted. She slept on my chest all last night and I had a heck of a backache when I woke up. Even so, we can't deny that she looks really rough. I fear that we're only looking at a few days before we have to make the decision to euthanize her.
Friday was born in June of 1990 to a stray cat. A couple took in the hugely pregnant mother alley cat and ended up with a big vet bill when she required a C-section.
I was looking for a companion for my cat, Kato, and found out about the litter from my vet. The owners screened prospective kitten adopters as though they were giving away their own children. I'd been tempted to take the one male of the litter, but the people didn't think that two male cats would get along. Thus, I chose a very active female tabby kitten who enjoyed climbing up people's backs.
I named her Friday after the Robert Heinlein heroine.
Because I grew up with barn cats, I thought nothing of letting my cats outside when they were young. Friday apparently had a very extensive territory. She also had a very clever method of safely crossing the street: she'd go down into the storm drain at the corner of the yard and emerge on the opposite corner.
After I met my eventual husband, we moved to an apartment where the cats were confined indoors, then to a series of condos. Friday roamed outdoors again at the condo complex and seemed to feel that it was her responsibility to keep the local rabbit population in check. When we moved from one part of the complex to another, she observed what we were doing and met us at our new front door that evening.
She remained an outdoor cat after we bought our house until someone shot her through the back leg with a pellet gun. After that, I decided it was best if she stayed inside with the rest of us.
Even though she's never been particularly cuddly, Friday has been my favorite of our cats for a long time. I often used to have dreams about her, probably because I worried about her when she was outside. It's going to be very, very difficult to say goodbye, but at least I know she's had a long, happy life.
Oh. Wow. I really don't know what to say. It will be odd the next time I come over and she's not trying to escape. :-(
Hang in there and I am really sorry for the sad news.
Posted by: cagey | January 11, 2007 at 03:26 PM
I'm very sorry to hear about your kitty. It sounds like you've had a wonderful life with her. :'-(
Posted by: bitterkat | January 11, 2007 at 04:35 PM
Oh, I'm so sorry to hear this. I know that you have a real soft spot for Friday and it will be hard to say goodbye to her. I'll be thinking of you guys.
Posted by: me | January 11, 2007 at 05:05 PM
I'm so sorry.
She sounds like a great cat--smart, too.
May I suggest that when the time comes, you have the vet come to your house to euthanize her? We did that when the Boss got too sick to continue, and it was so much easier on him not to have the trauma of a final car trip to the vet.
Posted by: Rozanne | January 11, 2007 at 07:16 PM
I had to have my cat put down 20 years ago and the times I still dream he's jumped on the bed and is walking up my legs as I lie there (a habit he used to have when he wanted me to get up in the morning and make his brekky).
Posted by: Keith | January 12, 2007 at 02:01 AM
Oh, Jane, I'm so sorry about your kitty. It sounds like she's had a great life, and that you are doing everything you can to make her more comfortable. Give her some pats for me.
Posted by: MLE | January 12, 2007 at 09:50 AM