critters

For the last few days, Sosta has begun to get worse. She’s all but stopped eating, drinks a bunch of water, and misses the litter box. Her eyes have lost their color and spark, as well.

When she made it through mid-October, we were so happy. That was longer than the vets anticipated. Truthfully, after she recovered from the surgery, she was far better than she had been before it. Having her for Hallowe’en and Thanksgiving was great. …but we neither one think she’ll make it to Christmas.

We’re going to call the vet tomorrow to see if we can manage any discomfort she’s having…but unless they can do something to improve her appetite, we suspect her time left with us will be pretty short.

Several of you have asked after Sosta. We appreciate it! I just wanted to give a quick update.

She seems to feel just fine. Her only behavior change is that she is now my own personal play-by-play when I’m at home. I can’t leave any room of our 2/2 apartment without her following me. Wednesday, I took ~10 steps to move something from one room to another and when I turned around, she was there. I try to tell her to stay put and that I’ll be right back….but she follows me, anyway.

The lump on her belly seems to be stunted in growth in some way (knock on wood). It seems quite a bit smaller than it was when she came home from having the stitches removed.

We are spoiling her like crazy and she’s taking full advantage. She’ll beg for wet food and climb all over us until she can find the blue “woobie” afghan that I crocheted a couple of years ago. (It’s usually resting across the back of the couch.)

Anyway, she’s doing quite well given her prognosis. I’m glad to have the extra time with her. I hope the last few weeks of my life are as decadent.

After spending some time with the Little One, I decided she needed a better name. I wanted her name to have alliteration so I wanted it to start with an S. A friend dug through an Italian verb book and found the word sosta, a noun for stopover.  Since she used to stop over at my patio every night, it was perfect. It was easy to add Themis (in honor of Zeta Tau Alpha) as her middle name. Sosta, Sosta T., and Sosta Themis all had a nice ring to them.

There was another benefit. She has never responded to “here kitty kitty…” but has always been responsive to a “pss pss pss” sound.

To get her used to her name, I’d whisper it over and over while she was drifting off to sleep. “Sooooo-sssssta” went the lullaby.

It always amazed her Grand-pa-pa (her nick name for my dad) that she liked the “pss pss pss” sound and didn’t care for “here kitty kitty…” Of course, at that time in life, he’d never had a cat. He used to hate them, even. He would have much to learn from the Little One named Sosta.

I always wanted a cat, but I had different plans for how it would come to be. I grew up in a dog family. I imagined getting married (no, there were no marrying prospects in my life at that time) and buying a house. Then, I wanted three dogs and two cats. I wanted a little puppy-in-my-pocket that I could take everywhere with me. I also wanted to large dogs and two cats. I wanted them to grow up together and love one another. I wanted them in pairs so they would have company when I was at work. I had this big elaborate pet fantasy.

The Little One has a short learning curve and made her appearance at my apartment every evening after the other critters vanished. She made sure to stick around long enough for me to notice her. Her reward was a nightly meal.

After a few days of this pattern I went out of town for the weekend. I was so excited to come home and hoped that my absence didn’t cause her to wander too far away from being able to find me again. I put food out immediately and waited and hoped for the Little One’s return.

I wasn’t even unpacked from the short trip when she wandered up the door! She was a little hungrier than usual and seemed quite happy that I had come back.

Over the course of the next few nights, she’d stop by to eat and then I’d invite her inside. At first, she’d only stay a minute, but each visit grew longer. By the end of the week, she was napping in my lap after her supper and winning my heart.

By the weekend, she didn’t want to back outside when it was time for bed. So, she stayed the night. She had me wrapped around her little paw.

Sosta’s adoption of me messed with that fantasy pet plan big time. At the time, however, I didn’t even notice.

In Orlando, near the UCF campus, I lived on the ground floor. My apartment was on the back side of the building and backed up to a wooded area.

A girl from the third floor of my building lost her ferret and had knocked on my door to see if I’d seen her friend. I hadn’t, but I bought a small bag of cat food and put some on my patio. I figured if the ferret found the food, I’d catch the ferret and return him to her. She didn’t have the same opportunity from a balcony, of course.

There were a lot of feral animals in that little patch of woods. Each evening, I’d watch opossums and raccoons and cats come to the patio to eat. I never did find my neighbor’s ferret, but I found love. Each night, after all the rest had had their fill, one smaller cat would come to the patio. I’d put out more food for the kitty I called Little One.

I’ve decided to share some stories about Sosta. She’s been simply wonderful to me and everyone I’ve ever cared about. Her love is worth sharing.

Dear Sosta,

You are a dear and precious kitty. Your sweet and gentle nature have cured many heartaches.

If there is anything you need, anything at all, I’m here to serve you….for the rest of your life.

Love,
Momma

Sosta got her stitches out this morning. Her scar has healed nicely and she was freed of the Elizabethan collar at the same time. She’s a much happier kitty, now.

Upon looking at her scar this morning I saw what I though was another tumor. While I’m not a vet, the lump seems exactly like the other three that she just had removed.

Days ago, our vet agreed that we had made the right decision to just keep Sosta as comfortable and happy as we can. With the immediate return of another tumor I know that we and she are right. Otherwise, she’d be having back-to-back surgeries and weekly chemo. It’s not what I would want for myself without a greater chance of beating it altogether.

So, for now, we spoil and love and hold her as much as we can.

The oncologist didn’t have any good news. The initial and follow-up reports revealed exactly what I expected and feared. Mammary cancer in cats is among the worst. The odds are high that Sosta’s has already spread.

They estimate she has one to four months left without treatment. Even with treatment (weekly vet visits for shots of chemotherapy and blood work), they can only estimate 6-10 months.

You know what the vet thinks is best when you hear the words “quality of life”…

It’s not fair, of course. If any critter deserves a long and healthy life, it’s her. She’s the sweetest—and most intuitive—creature I’ve ever known. I certainly don’t deserve the years I’ve had with her. And, I’m very glad for the time I’ve been home during the day and can spend it with her.

We heard from the vet today. Sosta’s masses were in fact, mammary cancer. They think they got all the visible cells, but the odds of her having microscopic cells that have already travelled to her chest and lungs is pretty high. Dr. Bryant is going to talk with the oncologist more today or tomorrow to get a more detailed interpretation of the results, but, as expected, the news is not good.

The stats on cats with mammary cancer like her’s show survival rate of 12-21 months. We aren’t yet sure if this is with or without chemotherapy. Of course at this time, we also don’t know if Sosta would be a candidate for it or of she would have a better/longer quality of life that would offset the treatment and side effects.

If she can be reasonably treated, the next step will be a chest xray. I have no idea how that can show microscopic cells, but I’m not good at science. When I look at an x-ray, I’m lucky if I know what part of the body it is. And I can never see a baby in a sonogram.

So, hopefully, we got it early enough that she’s on the long end of the estimated survival time. Hopefully, too, those are the stats without chemo.

Hang in there, Little One.