Cat with a Hole
Life at the moment is going fairly smoothly in general--it's a halfway, debt-incurring, hobble of an equilibrium, but at least things feel stable, pending my next change in phase. But meanwhile, there's the small, quiet, slow-motion horror of my cat's lung cancer moving through her body. It's metastasized to her skin, creating at first a tiny opening (only slightly larger than a pinhole) in her side, but now a hole nearly the size of a dime, oozing serous fluid and occasionally something thicker. The cancer is eating away her skin.
Ennui has always been an ornery, difficult creature, one of those dim but dangerous cats who'll creep into a visitor's lap and then crouch there growling and hissing. She's a bit of a biter, especially if you make the mistake of touching her anywhere near her tail. She's had asthma/bronchitis forever, and her breathing trouble has made her seem old for a long time now, although she's only turning 13 next month. Ennui's never been a candidate for feline Mensa, either--it took her forever to figure out how to get through a door standing open an inch. But she's my girl, very affectionate and cuddly (with me), loyal through break-ups and illness and that depressing apartment in the Mission with the dark brown shag carpeting. (She was also, interestingly, very protective of Cassie when she was a baby--my mom called her Nursery Cat--sitting vigil for hours, then yowling and even hissing at us when we weren't attending to Cassie's crying quickly enough.)
What's weird is how cheerful Ennui has seemed lately. Her chronic breathing problems actually seem better than they have in years--she's not wheezing and coughing nearly so much. Her appetite is, likewise, the best it's been in recent memory. Her grooming is good, and her coat is lustrous and soft (except, of course, on her side near the disgusto lesion, where she licked all the fur away, and strangely colored bare spots near what would be her underarms--whether from the cancer or from the heating pad the vet recommended for Ennui's comfort is not clear to me). She plays with a dangled piece of dental floss and laps the water off my legs when I get out of the shower, and yells at me when her bowl is empty. She hangs out with me in the bathroom or my study and purrs companionably as I brush my teeth or answer my e-mail.
I had a dream not long ago in which I had a wound in my right temple just like Ennui's wound in her side. In real life, my shrink had recently told me that given what she was seeing (she cited a lack of self-protective behaviors), she thought that the likelihood of my having recurrent major depressive episodes was very high. So there I was in my dream with a hole in my head, looking into a mirror with a grim matter-of-factness, fingering the ragged bloody spot and wondering what now.
What now is the question, I guess. With Ennui, I'm being as attentive as I can be (given the rest of life--3-year-old, husband, crappy temp job). The vet pretty much said I'd know when it was time to bring her in to be euthanized. And I guess Ennui is telling me that it's not time yet. As for myself, well, I'm still thinking about it. The hole in my head might yet be treatable. At least I've probably got more time than the cancerous cat.
Ennui has always been an ornery, difficult creature, one of those dim but dangerous cats who'll creep into a visitor's lap and then crouch there growling and hissing. She's a bit of a biter, especially if you make the mistake of touching her anywhere near her tail. She's had asthma/bronchitis forever, and her breathing trouble has made her seem old for a long time now, although she's only turning 13 next month. Ennui's never been a candidate for feline Mensa, either--it took her forever to figure out how to get through a door standing open an inch. But she's my girl, very affectionate and cuddly (with me), loyal through break-ups and illness and that depressing apartment in the Mission with the dark brown shag carpeting. (She was also, interestingly, very protective of Cassie when she was a baby--my mom called her Nursery Cat--sitting vigil for hours, then yowling and even hissing at us when we weren't attending to Cassie's crying quickly enough.)
What's weird is how cheerful Ennui has seemed lately. Her chronic breathing problems actually seem better than they have in years--she's not wheezing and coughing nearly so much. Her appetite is, likewise, the best it's been in recent memory. Her grooming is good, and her coat is lustrous and soft (except, of course, on her side near the disgusto lesion, where she licked all the fur away, and strangely colored bare spots near what would be her underarms--whether from the cancer or from the heating pad the vet recommended for Ennui's comfort is not clear to me). She plays with a dangled piece of dental floss and laps the water off my legs when I get out of the shower, and yells at me when her bowl is empty. She hangs out with me in the bathroom or my study and purrs companionably as I brush my teeth or answer my e-mail.
I had a dream not long ago in which I had a wound in my right temple just like Ennui's wound in her side. In real life, my shrink had recently told me that given what she was seeing (she cited a lack of self-protective behaviors), she thought that the likelihood of my having recurrent major depressive episodes was very high. So there I was in my dream with a hole in my head, looking into a mirror with a grim matter-of-factness, fingering the ragged bloody spot and wondering what now.
What now is the question, I guess. With Ennui, I'm being as attentive as I can be (given the rest of life--3-year-old, husband, crappy temp job). The vet pretty much said I'd know when it was time to bring her in to be euthanized. And I guess Ennui is telling me that it's not time yet. As for myself, well, I'm still thinking about it. The hole in my head might yet be treatable. At least I've probably got more time than the cancerous cat.
posted by Rosie Bonner at 12:49 PM
4 Comments:
A hole in the head is not always what you think: my favorite client asked me to define what kind of computer training an employee with a bullet in his head needed!) The bullet was a war injury, had been there for 20+ years, and the guy had been through all kinds of rehab, very successfully, but couldn't grasp the Windows file directory system. It's a long story, but the guy is now a whiz at HTML, more productive than anyone ever thought he could be. (I don't think your cat will do HTML for you, but I'm glad she's still feeling OK.)
I remember Ennui. She sprung out of hiding to attack me once, for no reason at all. I wouldn't be surprised if that cat was too contrary to die for years yet.
But I'm glad she seems happy. Maybe she's found inner peace.
Oh, Rosie. I think the vet is right. We lost our little dog a year ago, and one morning I woke up and had a look at her and I knew it was time. The day before she'd been looking very deep into my eyes as she tottered around, barely able to stand any longer. But on the last morning of her life she was just barely, barely, barely there, only a tiny sliver of her was left. On the way to the vet, my partner drove and I held the dog and told her stories about what a good dog she had been, and in the middle of the drive she just lay her head against me, too tired and sick to listen any more. For what this story is worth. It was terrible and I know it will be terrible for you too. But then for about two days after she was gone, I could feel this wonderful sense of how much she and I had enjoyed and loved one another. It was very comforting, like the very best part of my relationship with her was lingering just long enough to help me get through.
My pets are very important to me (remember Art History?) and I do feel this with you.
--Angela
I do remember Art History! What a beautiful dog she was. (She was female, right?) And I remember you and F calling across campus: Art! History! Art History! at the top of your lungs.
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