After weeks of watching Claude dissolve from a beefy, affectionate, confident cat to a hiding, distant, skeletal version of himself, the downward spiral stopped abruptly 10 days ago. No one (including his wonderful vets) are really sure why. But on Sunday the 6th when I came home from running errands, he was there at the door like he always used to be, meowing his indignation loudly, face upturned with fire in his eyes, demanding treats.
When I dropped the groceries and fell to my knees to pick him up and hug him, he stared at me with eyes that seemed to say, what? did you think I was giving up without a fight?
Since then, he’s been on a seemingly magic cocktail of subcutaneous fluids and a morning pinch of anti-nausea pill. And where he has not gained weight – he still will only eat treats and a few licks of canned food – he has not lost any more. Which means I won’t be losing him to starvation or fatty liver disease before the cancer has its chance to get in the ring with him.
He’ll never be like the Claude of old, but the New Claude no longer looks miserable. He purrs and blinks and even bites – yes, Claude was a notorious nipper. (Pet me! Pet me! Pet me! Oh, that was three seconds too long... <CHOMP>)
Faced with the difficult decision of whether to put him on chemotherapy in an attempt to prolong his life, I’ve decided against it. After almost losing him to the chemo that he took for just two weeks, I can’t fathom spending even one more day of his few remaining, watching him suffer and hide. So I’ll give him the best life I can, with shameless amounts of treats and cuddles, for as long as he has. I get the sense it’s what he wants.
St. Francis, much gratitude for this respite from the pain of loss. I aspire to be as brave as this boy, who knows only the present and doesn’t fear the future.
But I thought you were St. Francis!!
Much Love, Maggie
what a handsome boy! hugs to you both.
He looks content. That’s all one can wish for