Meet Tiger. He is rambunctious. He is also dying, apparently.
I took him to the vet about a month ago because he was getting skinny for no apparent reason. The vet said he was not underweight and, even though he had lost an entire pound since his visit in the fall, I should just keep an eye on him and bring him back if he continues to lose weight.
I took him back today and he had lost another whole pound, which is a lot for a kitty. Factor in that it happened in a mere month and it is very bad indeed. Last visit, the vet felt a hard mass in his abdomen but said it could be poop in his intestines. He did not say he wanted to x-ray it and expressed no concern whatsoever.
This visit, he took x-rays and it is definitely a mass somewhere outside his intestines. So not poop. I could have them do exploratory surgery but the vet gave me virtually no hope. He said he has seen this many times in his twenty five years of experience and the mass, always cancer, has usually branched tentacles into various organs and is essentially inoperable. It would also be very expensive and, were it successful, would only extend Tiger’s life for a few months. But, again, he did not give me much hope that it would be successful. If he had, I would so do it. But he did not.
The vet gave Tiger about thirty days to live, shot him full of prednisone, and sent him home.
My two prior kitties lived to the ripe old ages of fifteen and eighteen. Tiger is six.
Adding to the awfulness is that I leave in two weeks to travel very far away for another two weeks, which rather uses up Tiger’s thirty day life expectancy.
So let’s see, spend bittersweet quality time with Tiger for the next week or so, have him put to sleep, then tra-la-la go and try to enjoy my vacation as I grieve for him? Or leave him in the care of my house sitter (who BTW did not sign up for kitty hospice duty,) hope he lives until I return, and worry about him the entire trip with the added bonus of looking forward to putting him to sleep when I get back?
Bah.
