The Big C

Cancer. It sucks.

I've known old, young, middle-aged and now the 4-legged, all who succumbed to cancer. It affects all the living. And it sucks.

My poor kitty of 13 has a HUGE tumor. And it seems to have grown over night. Or at least it caused him to stop eating and drinking over night.

Leo has driven me nuts over the years. He's that cat that would meow or pull at the covers at night to get some lovin. While I was sleeping. Deep sleeping. But he was always persistent with the claws pulling at the sheets, or my face and lips, until he got what he wanted.

He's been known to shake picture frames or mirrors off the wall at 3 am until you give him attention.

Yes, he was relentless. Until recently.

Now he just slowly walks. Every step looks like a challenge. He barely licks his "treat" food of wet ground chicken or tuna. It looks awful to me, but I'm assured it's a treat to the feline persuasion.

His meows are quite mellowed compared to his usual annoying loud tone.

My gut has told me for weeks now that something was drastically wrong. But due to my fiscal challenges, and denial, I didn't bring him to our vet until yesterday.

Down 3-4 lbs from his normal hefty 13, he was looking quite trim. And being that he didn't grace our presence downstairs for what I think was at least 36 hours, I felt it was time to see what our great vet had to say.

Of course the estimate for "tests" was around $700. But we talked them down to at least half that. It seemed our vet already knew the outcome after her palpitations of his abdomen. She just wanted to make sure that yes, we were dealing with the Big C and it wasn't just kidney issues. A common "old" age issue for kitties.

Nope, it was the Big C. And Big it is indeed. I saw the X-ray. It's about the size of an apricot or so. On his left side, where his left kidney should have appeared in the X-ray.

We have four four-legged creatures in our family. And numerous fish (too many to keep track of, really.) I often affectionately refer to our "zoo".

But our four-legged friends were our first children. Before we ever thought we'd have a daughter. They were our kids for almost 10 years of married life.

Leo was our second. He is the runt turned champion.

A co-worker of mine had a stray momma cat show up on her property and give birth to a litter. She asked if we wanted a companion for Pepper (our lonely one year old kitty) and we said SURE. Of course.

We went to her home to pick out our second.

And when we saw the five or six kittens running around the living room, and witnessed the littlest one tripping over his own paws, we were sold. He was too dang cute not to bring home.

Then Pepper tried to kill him. Yep. She was not having a companion in her home.

But after a few weeks of living in our apartment, in separate rooms of course, they became fast friends.

And when we saw him leap for that first time, so fierce, so regal, he was our Leo.

I know he's "just a cat". But he's our cat. He's our menace. Our little lion. And he'll forever be one of our first kids.

Today Chayse said to me after I was telling her to leave Leo alone because he's sick, "Mommy, is Leo going to die?" My girl is a smart little four year old.

I said, "yes, Leo's going to die. He's very sick. Too sick to get better."

Chayse said, "Where will Leo go when he dies?"

"To kitty heaven," I say, of course. What else am I to say?

"But I'll miss him mommy. Can we visit him?" she says with a trembling lip and tears begging to stream down her face. Ugh. Four year olds. Love her, but really. How do I answer that?

"No, sweetie. We can't visit him. But we can visit him in our dreams."

He's not gone yet. I am no longer getting annoyed by his demands for attention. I am trying to treat him with all that yummy wet food. And I'm cherishing the times he just sits on my lap or lays on my legs.

I guess that's why life ends in death. To remind us that all the annoying things are really things to be cherished.