Cords and Fleece

Goodnight, sweet Exene. Remember when we first met at the pound? All the other kittens hissed at you when you walked by. You were an outcast, our little rebel, so we named you after a punk and a poet, Exene Cervenka . You leapt out of the cat carrier and claimed our tiny garden apartment as your own. You were so confident, so bold, but I still worried when we left you alone with Klaus for the first time. Thankfully, you were still alive and unharmed when we returned from work, and thus began our 14-year life together. Do you remember your lusty cravings before we spayed you? Remember howling at the windows and doors, spraying the furniture, and slinking in front of Klaus, hoping he might satisfy your desire for kitty sex and kittens? Poor Klaus -- at least he tried, right? How many homes did we live in together? Six? From cold Chicago apartments with steam heaters that hissed and warmed you, to San Diego houses that fired your desire to sit in the sun. You were a steady comfort to us t...

It's important to remember the basics of life. Exene spent some quality-time at the vet's getting IV fluids on Wednesday. It's done her a world of good. Armed with steroids and antibiotics, I brought her home and sent her outside immediately to enjoy the fresh air. Her prognosis is both finite and open-ended: 1 year (if she's lucky), and 2 months if she's not. For now, she's eating more and has reintegrated herself with the family; showing up at mealtimes and sleeping in the rocking chair. It still hurts to eat, so we mix soft catfood with water, followed by a pill-chaser. (Which reminds me, we need to trim her nails. Ouch!) I tell Exene she's beautiful, as if she might be self-conscious about her facial deformity. Talk about projection. We feed her privately and often, away from distractions. While I used to worry about her portly midsection, now I push food her way like an old-world Italian mother. Eat, eat. Looka you, skin and bones. You eata this a nice ...

If you haven’t met her before, this is Exene. I found out yesterday that she’s going to die. Of course, time is slowly killing all of us, but Squamous Cell Carcinoma is killing my cat. Facial cancer. Why does it have to be her face, her loveliest feature? She has such beautiful, high cheekbones and a petite black nose; very feminine. Why does it have to be her face, making it painful to eat, and denying her the only pleasure we allow her to enjoy? Why couldn’t the cancer invade her leg? Then we could cut it off and at least she could keep eating. My beautiful fat cat. My Big Girl. Why her face, making it too painful even to enjoy her favorites like Costco rotisserie chicken or tuna straight from the can? We’ve denied her everything else she ever wanted or craved. We listened to vets and other pet-owners who convinced us that prison was better than death. We were told about the numerous pet diseases she could catch “out there”. Not to mention coyotes and cars and other cats. We loved he...

I don’t want to know if my cat has cancer. Does this mean I’m a bad person? Last Saturday we took our 14 year-old cat Exene to the vet. Her left cheek looked like she had a giant gum ball stuck under her fur. For a week prior, her eye had been watering. Fortunately, when I noticed, a fellow friend and mother was visiting. She suggested I take Exene to the vet that very moment. (See, this is why mothers are super heroes. She had no qualms about staying at my house unexpectedly with four children under the age of four. She played with them, changed them, fed them, and kept them from swallowing small marbles. She rocks. But I digress...) It turns out my cat had a tumor in her cheek that they excised this afternoon. She looks like Franken Kitty. A tube runs out of her cheek then around and into her mouth. Poor sweety. Total cost: $693. Now they want to know if we want the tumor biopsied to determine whether it is malignant or benign. My instant and truthful reaction is “no”. Except for her...