The Sweetest Photos

Like the past nine months were just a bad dream...and now Leo will always be the sweet guy in these photos.

They were taken in January 2006, just a couple days before I began this blog, and about a week after the dental extraction that led to the discovery of his tumor.

They have never appeared before (in small part because my vanity doesn't usually allow for posting makeup-less photos :)

Mostly, I held them back with this posthumous moment in mind, because the pictures are just so "Leo" - I wanted them to linger here as a testament to all that he was.

Which was: a furry creature that loved to just pour himself all over a person. A cat who would actually rest his head on your shoulder.

A big, fuzzy, loving thing that seemed like a favorite stuffed animal come to life.

The Journey Ends

(Con't from last post...)

The unfortunate part of a long illness is that one has too long to contemplate its resolution. In other words, I had spent way too much mental energy imagining Leo's demise. And my reaction to it -- which was to be anguish, a breakdown in the car ride home, uncontrollable tears (with maybe a little gnashing of teeth thrown in for good measure) which would continue for days and days.

Imagine my surprise when my main reaction after the euthanasia was: relief. As well as I can remember at this point, my tears stopped with Leo's pain. My peace came with his peace.

In all my mental conjuring, I had never once dared picture his passing as being so easy, so uneventful, so perfectly graceful.

So, there we were, with our furry guy's body in his carrier placed carefully in the back of our vehicle, on our way home. And somehow, everything seemed okay.

First order of business once home was to phone my parents and inform them of the morning's events. My mom told our girls, who had been expecting this and took it in stride.

Strangely, I was able to tell my mother the sad news in a normal matter-of-fact tone, and it was she who became choked up during our conversation. Everyone knows how much I loved Leo, how close we were, and she felt deeply for me.

Plus, Leo was the kind of cat who wanted to make friends with any human who entered his territory. Pre-illness, any family gathering would be an occasion for him to strut into a crowded room and make the rounds as if to say, "Feel free to adore my gorgeousness at your leisure!"

Once the phone call ended, my husband and I wordlessly (yet somewhat simultaneously) launched into clearing the house of the signs of Leo's illness -- the towels covering the furniture, the medications, the stacks of unopened Fancy Feast cans - bought just a week before, when Leo had been eating furiously.

It was with great pleasure and gusto that I threw the dreaded piller into the trash, in Leo's honor.

Through the process, I found lame excuses to go into the garage...and I would check on Leo in the carrier. Sounds morbid, but I needed to acknowledge his presence, that his body was still there. We had put the carrier on the floor of the garage, so it was easy to just stop by and say hello (yeah, weird grieving thing.) His eyes had remained open after the euthanasia, but since he was on his side, you couldn't see them...so it just looked like he was sleeping.

At one point in our cleaning, I came across Leo's favorite catnip toy. It was perhaps the only catnip toy every purchased that actually held its scent, and so I would put it in a plastic bag between uses. That toy hadn't been touched for many months, as Leo had long since lost interest in playing.

But I just couldn't throw it out. And so I placed the toy in the carrier with him. At first, on top of the towel covering his body. But another visit to the garage prompted me to open the carrier, lift the towel blanketing him, and place the toy between his front paws, just as he would have held it in life (in a stoned-catnip state.)

Just one of those strange gestures...that somehow seemed appropriate. Even so, I approached him gingerly, apprehensively, quickly re-covering him; not wanting to disturb his body in its repose.

Okay, now the weirdest part of my story: then my husband and I went shopping. We had errands we needed to do before heading back to my parents with Leo.

When we climbed into the car, I said something along the lines of "See ya, buddy" to Leo. To which my husband said (gently) "I don't know why you're talking to him -- he's not there. He was hovering over you when you threw out the piller." Which I thought was just the sweetest thing to say -- because I had thrown it out in Leo's name, and I hope he knew somehow that I hated harassing him with that thing so many times a day.

Anyway, somehow my husband and I managed to go out and shop and have a perfectly pleasant time.

I hope this doesn't sound callous. In fact, my reality was anything other than normal, what with functioning on one hour of sleep and not a bite of food thus far. (We did pick up a couple of grande frappuccinos, does that count as food?)

But I was happy to have my husband/best friend with me to support me (he was just wonderful throughout the weekend) and I had such a sense of everything being right now.

Errands completed, I had one more thing I wanted to do for Leo. To write a note to be buried with him along with some photos (the ones I posted the day he died on this blog)...just in case his body was ever unearthed. Just another way to ease my mind, and to mark his significance in my life.

And I placed these photos and this note in multiple plastic baggies, with some vague hope that this would protect the contents from the elements. Maybe not the most practical idea, but at least I tried.

And then it was time to take Leo home. Carefully, he was put back into our vehicle and somehow the mood during the hour-plus ride to my parents' house wasn't oppressive or gloomy. I suppose we were both trying to forget what was going on, as we listened to and discussed the music playing.

As we got closer and closer it all felt more and more right.

And then...a spot was chosen on a woody hill. The sun shone through the trees as my husband dug, with Leo in his carrier nearby.

And I was happy. Happy? An irrepressible happiness I can't explain, except to hope that it was Leo's spirit joining with mine. If there were tears, they felt more like tears of joy than sadness.

I gave the girls the option to be present during the burial. The 10-year-old did not want to, but the seven-year-old was extremely curious and wanted to see Leo.

When the hole was dug, I brought her out. "He looks just like he did before, like he's sleeping," I said. She looked into the carrier, said something nonchalantly like, "Oh, okay" and then went happily bouncing down the hill leaving an "I'm going back to watch TV..." trailing behind her.

Morbid or not, I did take some photos. I present them here, in an effort to show the beauty of the day, of the moment.

The hill, as my husband digs

The view

Leo's body, waiting

My husband and I were alone as I placed Leo into the ground. When I lifted Leo out of the carrier, using the towel underneath him as a sling, it was obvious that rigor mortis had set in over the course of the 8 hours or so since our vet visit that morning. Forgive me for noting this morbid detail, but it only served to reinforce the notion that this was no longer our Leo, just the vessel that used to hold him.

Still, once in the hole, I couldn't stop from lifting the top towel over his head to cover his face, and pull it down to cover a bit of bushy tail that had snuck out of the bottom. I didn't want the dirt to touch his fur.

And then I placed my plastic package on top of the towel. The note inside read:

HERE LIES THE BODY OF LEO *

FELINE EXTRAORDINAIRE

MAY 1993 – OCTOBER 8, 2006

If one should ever uncover these remains in the future, I would like to tell you a bit about the cat that once occupied this body.

Leo was born on my grandparents’ property next door to this property. A stray cat gave birth there, and luck (or fate) brought Leo into my life.

He was adopted as a tiny six-week kitten and spent the first 2 years of his life in the Manayunk section of Philadelphia, with humans Cindy & Denise *.

In 1995, Leo moved to Southern New Jersey, and lived out the rest of his thirteen years with Cindy & Randy *.

He was a most loving and affectionate cat. Intelligent and well-behaved. Vocal in his pleasure and displeasure – the loudest purr and a wide range of “talking” to communicate his needs.

He was extremely personable, enjoying the company and attention of his humans, who adored him beyond the scope of the words that grace this page.

Leo was a most singular and unique spirit, the likes of which I doubt I will meet again in cat form.

He battled an oral tumor for nearly nine months before losing his battle on October 8, 2006.

The property on which he is buried is the property where I grew up – a place he would have loved to explore endlessly (if he had ever been permitted to in life!)

He will be missed most sorely, and never forgotten.

Cindy *

(* surnames were present in the note, but omitted here for privacy's sake.)

My husband filled in the hole, and we pressed the dirt down to protect the body below. I had brought an empty jar of baby food to mark the spot, so I would be able to find it in a future visit, which I filled with dirt and then pressed into the ground, leaving just the lid showing. More logically, my husband picked up a nearby field-stone and set it on its end as a more visible monument.

And then we went inside and had dinner.

It only occurred to me later that the catnip toy I had somewhat impulsively placed with Leo earlier that day was a rainbow. As in the "rainbow bridge." Whether or not I believe in such a thing didn't seem to matter as much as it just seemed another piece of the picture that had glided gently into place.

As I was packing up the car to go home, I walked to the top of the hill and looked towards the stone upright that marked the spot where my Leo rested.

An incredible joy filled my being, and I couldn't help my myself -- I threw my arms out, like a child playing airplane, and ran down the hill gleefully with a huge smile on my face. Unseen by any other being, except perhaps the spirit of a fuzzy orange cat.

Wanted to just stay there and do it over and over again... just as I could see Leo in my mind's eye, romping through the trees and leaves and bounding down the hill beside me.

But, it was time to be a sensible grown-up. So, I skipped (very maturely) across the driveway back to the house.

It was right. It was good. And Leo will always be there, running free and happy, just as he was meant to be.

The Final Hours

(Continuing from the last post...)

I finally managed to get to bed at 6 AM Sunday morning. At 7 AM, I was jarred from my sleep by the sickening sound of Leo's body hitting the floor (twice) and his plaintive cries.

I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to find him two rooms away from where I had left him. He was at the top of the basement steps, probably in a last-ditch effort to visit his litter boxes (even though I had brought one upstairs, he was a good kitty that wanted to go in the usual place.)

Didn't mention in the last post that Leo had so little control during the night that he had peed twice in the spots where he had been lying.

If there was any bright side to the heartbreak of the past twelve hours, it was that there was absolutely no doubt that it was "time." I told my husband we had to go now, and he quickly dressed. I apologized for needing him to go with me -- I had taken our other cat to be euthanized by myself, but with Leo (who I was so much closer to) I was really afraid I wouldn't be able to drive through the tears.

Since it was Sunday, our only option was an emergency vet. Luckily, I had found one online that was less than 10 minutes from our house.

That settled, my husband and I had a discussion that I had been dreading. What to do with Leo's body. It's something I had given a lot of thought to.

When Leo's brother Zeke had to be euthanized last year, our vet had simply asked if we wanted a communal cremation or for him to be cremated alone. Since I had no intention of taking ashes (I respect any individual's wishes, but pet cremains don't appeal to me) I opted for the communal cremation.

When I returned home from Zeke's last vet visit, I was extremely disturbed to see the term "bagged pet" used on the forms I had signed for his "disposal." My tortured mind saw this equating him with a bag of trash that would be tossed on a heap of other remains.

Sure, probably not the case. But my imagination haunted me, with the question of whether his body was treated with respect.

And this is what I dreaded most when I had contemplated Leo's demise through the course of his illness.

Sometime in the past months, I had asked my husband about burying Leo in our backyard. He looked at me as if a second head had suddenly sprouted on my shoulder...or, "Who is this woman pretending to be my (practical) wife?"

My husband believes that the body is just a shell, and once life leaves, the body has no significance (except maybe to gross him out.)

Subsequently, I had begun to wonder about burying Leo on my parent's rural property. A number of my childhood pets were buried in the woods there. But that would require driving an hour-and-a-quarter with a dead animal in the back. I couldn't imagine being composed enough myself to drive that journey safely.

But on this Sunday, my husband and I were already going back to my parents' place to pick up our girls. And I had mentioned something to my dad the day before, expecting his resistance. Instead, he said that he thought that it would be a perfect final resting place for Leo.

So, before we left for the emergency vet, my husband and I needed to discuss what we were going to do. He kindly volunteered to do whatever I wanted, even bury Leo in our back yard. What a guy.

But in my previous ruminations, I hadn't been able to think of a decent place in our small suburban yard where I could be assured that Leo's remains would not be disturbed by future landscaping, fence replacement, etc.

And he had been born outside, next door to my parent's house. In effect, Leo would be going home.

We didn't even know if New Jersey allows people to take their deceased pets (after all, my regular vet office didn't even ask me with Zeke.) It was agreed that we wouldn't push the issue, but would take Leo if allowed.

7:50 AM -- Even in his weakened state, Leo wasn't crazy about being put into the carrier. Luckily, we have a large-door-on-top model, so I could place him inside, lying down, with little effort.

He did meow his usual car-ride scared cry when we first set off, and struggled a bit inside the carrier, but soon settled down and was quiet for the ride.

Animal Emergency Service of South Jersey operates out of Mt. Laurel Animal Hospital. The lobby of the building has skylights, and the morning sun shone through into the room when we arrived.

As we stood at the reception desk, it seemed as if a ray of light was shining down right onto Leo's carrier. I felt good about this place.

We were asked if we wanted Leo to see a vet for an exam, or just proceed with the euthanasia. Was there anything to be gained by a vet exam? No. There was no recovery for Leo, and an exam would not likely give us any definitive answers anyway.

Meanwhile, Leo had been crying in the carrier. All I wanted was for his suffering to be over.

And then, we were asked if we wanted to take the body or use their cremation services. So thankful that this was an option that we didn't even have to ask about. Relieved that we didn't have to leave Leo behind.

We were shown to a quiet room. A vet tech took Leo into the back to have a catheter inserted into his leg. My husband and I made casual conversation, sitting on a wooden bench in the room, both trying to stay composed.

I expected Leo to be sedated when he returned.

Instead, he was carried back a few minutes later lying on a thick sheepskin-esque pad, in the same state of consciousness as when he left.

In contrast, when Zeke was euthanized, his vet injected a sedative into the scruff of his neck (with me present) and then let me spend time alone with him, until they took him away for an IV euthanasia. I had opted not to be present for that final step, and the regret had stabbed at me in the days to follow...that I had not been present for Zeke when his spirit left his body.

Leo lay on his side with the IV port taped to his front leg. We pet him and tried to calm him, as he meowed sadly and made occasional futile efforts to get up.

I had to reach into the box of tissues on the counter more than once.

Then the vet entered the room. She introduced herself, but I can no more recall her name than I can remember her face. All I cared about was that she was there to end Leo's pain.

She explained that she was going to inject three syringes into the IV port. The first, a sedative and then a barbituate that would effectively OD Leo and cause his heart to stop. She explained that there could be a loss of bodily fluids, and that the body might twitch or shudder in the process.

The vet asked me to stand where Leo could see me (although I don't think I quite made it into his direct line of sight because the vet was in my way - oh well) and I stroked his head between his ears as the vet began the injections.

"Rest in peace...rest in peace," she said softly as she inserted the first syringe of medication into the IV. And then, "No more pain...no more pain...no more pain," as she swiftly emptied the syringes in succession.

Just as quickly as it took me to type the previous paragraph, Leo was gone.

No shuddering, gasping or loss of bodily fluids. More importantly, no more pain.

And then, the most surprising part. Instead of collapsing into a puddle of grief, I was calm.

It was as if a huge crushing boulder had been removed from my heart. Leo's spirit had been set free -- awakened from the nightmare of his suffering.

I placed one of the towels from his carrier next to him, and gently slid his body on top, then wrapped the towel around his body. Carefully, lovingly, I lowered my friend's remains into the carrier. Still on his side, his little head exposed with the rest of his body covered.

We felt no need to remain in this place any longer. We walked outside...where the sun was bright and warm, the air fall-crisp and the morning seemed as beautiful as the night had seemed cruel.

(The end of the journey to follow...)

Leo's Final Days

For the first time in 13 years, I am without a pet.

My darling Leo left his earthly body behind Sunday morning, with the help of a caring vet...his favorite humans at his side.

It only seems right to finish telling his saga. Picking the story up from after my Thursday afternoon post. At that point, I was fairly certain I would be taking Leo to be euthanized the next day.

But then, something surprising happened.

THURSDAY EVENING

Here's what I wrote in a couple of e-mails to concerned friends:

"What's wrong and what finally prompted him to eat - don't know. I came over with a spoon of ice cream at about 5:30 PM to where he had been laying all afternoon (staring into space) and he licked a little, didn't want more. But then he got up and went into the kitchen and started eating baby food from his dish. Ate just a little, but then came back for more later."

"Leo did eat a little tonight, so I'm hoping to put off any decision until after the weekend.
He still isn't normal, but as long as he is eating something and not meowing or seeming to be in pain, I don't feel bad about waiting at least until after my birthday."

Yes, all this was happening just days before my birthday. Out of 365 days in a year. Bad timing, indeed.

Even after eating nearly a jar of baby food, he went back to lying on my daughter's bathrobe at the bottom of the stairs. (As in photo from Thursday post.) It wasn't one of his usual resting spots, but from there he could monitor the comings and goings of the family.

He wanted to part of the family activity, even as he was feeling lousy.

FRIDAY MORNING

We woke up to discover Leo had made it upstairs and was waiting for us outside our bedroom door (his usual early morning routine.) Just the fact that he made it up the steps made me optimistic, since he had seemed too wobbly to do so the night before.

He licked at the various flavors of baby food I put out for him, but didn't really get anything into his system. Milk was offered as well. Still, he seemed more normal, and I went about my business that morning with the thought that maybe whatever had been bothering him was passing and by the end of the day he would be back to eating normally.

FRIDAY EVENING

Leo took a turn for the worse Friday afternoon (of course, our vet office closes early on Fridays.) I really didn't want to have him put to sleep in a strange office...but he didn't look good.

He seemed to want me to be with him - crying when I wasn't in sight, calming down when I came to him.

So, I spent several hours off and on Friday evening lying next to him at the bottom of the stairs. At times I would cradle his head in the palm of my hand, or rub his paw.

Both seemed to help him relax and at times I was sure he was dreaming as I saw his nose and ear twitch, even as one eye was always slightly opened. I was hoping he was thinking about his time in the back yard the day before and dreaming of romping through the grass.

Every once in a while, he would get up and try to walk into the kitchen, but his legs were so wobbly that he stumbled more than walked. So, I would pick him up and bring him into the kitchen to see if he wanted to drink or eat.

I brought a litter box up from the basement, because he was in no state to go up and down the basement stairs. I put him in the box, but he was unable to go.

After each excursion, he would wobble back to lie down at the bottom of the stairs. And I would join him there. All the while wondering if I should be finding an emergency vet to take him to.

Maybe it was a product of hours lying half-asleep on a hardwood floor, but as I stroked his fur, I imagined he was telling me, "I'm okay. I'm not in pain. I want to stay here with you." His breathing was even - not labored or shallow. He just seemed exhausted and weak, but not suffering in any way. I really felt as if he was telling me not to worry and just "be" with him.

But it did seem as if his body was beginning to shut down.

Eventually, Leo did settle down enough that I was able to go to bed. By the time I got to sleep, it was past midnight and thus officially "my birthday." And I just didn't know how I was going to manage to do any sort of celebrating.

We had arranged to take the kids to my parents for the weekend -- something that only happens a couple times a year -- and reservations had been made for a family lunch with my parents.

Not to mention that I owed to my children and husband to put on a happy face for my birthday, since they had spent hours Friday working on birthday cards, banners and wrapping gifts.

My sweet, well-meaning oldest daughter kept saying to me Friday evening, "I hope Leo makes it past your birthday...I hope Leo doesn't go on your birthday..." this during my moments away from Leo, when I was doing laundry and bathing her, until I finally had to tell her to please stop reminding me about that possibility. Then I realized she was just trying to work through her own feelings about Leo's imminent death and that she was worried about me.

She had discovered me crying quietly as I lay with Leo on the floor earlier that evening, and had tried to cheer me up with funny faces. My kids don't normally see me cry... and she is a very sensitive soul.

So many emotions took their turns with me as I curled up facing Leo that night. Sadness turned to wistfulness turned to peace as we both catnapped together, just as we had so many years ago when he was the tiny kitten who stole my heart.

SATURDAY MORNING

Sometime during the night, Leo had left his "sickbed" and my husband found him Saturday morning perched on the back of the couch, one of his normal night-time spots. This was a good sign, and basically all I needed to give him another chance at recovery. And maybe salvage my birthday.

Plus, he had used the litter box overnight.

Call me the eternal optimist, but Leo had knocked on death's door before and then come back as if nothing had happened. Maybe this was another one of those times.

So, I opened gifts from the girls and then we went off on our journey out-of-state to deposit the children with my parents. Somehow I got though the family lunch without feeling too anxious about the cat left behind.

SATURDAY NIGHT BLENDS INTO SUNDAY MORNING

Husband and I returned home Saturday evening, and as soon as we opened the door we heard Leo calling out to us with a thin meow. He was under the dining room loveseat -- another normal spot, but one usually reserved for times he wanted to be left alone.

I pulled him out from under the loveseat, and it was painfully obvious that he was in terrible shape. That it was only a matter of time.

My next twelve hours would be spent by his side. (So much for a romantic birthday evening without the kids.)

There was a short time when he calmed down and slept about 11 PM -- long enough for my husband to give me his gifts...but the mood was definitely less than optimal. Around midnight, it seemed as if I might be able to get to bed.

But pretty much as soon as my head touched the pillow, I heard Leo calling out. I left my husband sleeping, and went downstairs.

The hours that followed can only be called "tragic." Over and over, Leo would lie nearly motionless as I tried to comfort him and then would startle and struggle to get up, only to collapse onto his side a few inches away from where he started.

I gave him his pain med, hoping it would help him as it had the night before.

When he seemed to go to sleep around 2 AM, I tried to go back to bed, only to hear him calling out to me again before I could even lie down.

Through the earliest morning hours, he seemed only to want me near him. A few times, he let me hold him and settled down in my arms. And I heard the faintest whisper of a purr.

About 4 AM, I tried to help him drink water, holding him up by his dish... since it seemed he had been trying to get into the kitchen. But he struggled away from my grasp and collapsed on the floor.

As he lay on his side there, I took his med eyedropper and dripped water into his mouth.

Then I put a bit of baby food on the dropper and he lapped it down. Perhaps reflexively, but I got at least a little food into him mouth. I repeated the process over and over, hoping that it would give him enough strength to at least allow him to stand without falling.

Instead, I think it gave him just enough energy to be really pissed at me for forcing the food into him. From then on, he became more agitated.

Each time he tried to walk and failed, he would meow in the saddest way possible. Not an "in pain" meow, but more like the meow he would use on the way to the vet. Frightened.

When he fell over, I would pick him up, and I felt his heart racing. It was at these times that he let me hold him for a few moments and he calmed down in my arms. But little time would pass before he was twisting to get down.

He wanted me near him, but petting and rubbing him wasn't comforting him anymore.

He struggled to bring himself the bottom of the stairs, so I carried him up. I think his intention was to get into my bedroom, but I didn't want to disturb my husband.

In the upstairs hall, I saw Leo become even more frustrated as he tried to go into the upstairs bath, only to slide down onto his side on the floor.

Even as he was too weak to stand, Leo never stopped trying. He was so determined and relentless. It was heartbreaking. It was horrifying.

And it was my fault.

The tears came relentlessly, as guilt overwhelmed me. Why didn't I end this yesterday? "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I told Leo.

Later, after I had carried him back downstairs, he managed to struggle upright, wobbled and bounced off the walls, fell down and got up - several times in a row -- all to make his way from the front hallway to underneath our grand piano in the next room.

I was ready to give him time alone (since it seemed he had purposely deposited himself in a remote corner) but when I got left the room he started crying out.

The crying stopped when I rejoined him. But when I went under the piano to pet him, he got up again...stumbled into the dining room and went back to another of his "spots" next to the loveseat.

I think it was about 4:30 or 5 AM at this point. I started surfing the net (on my laptop in the same room as Leo) looking for an emergency vet that we could bring him to first thing in the morning.

And then I heard Leo throwing up. His body was rejecting the little bit of food I had managed to get into him.

There was absolutely no doubt that this had to end. Soon.

I contemplated waking my husband up and going then and there, but we had a long drive back to PA later that day, and he needed at least a modest amount of sleep for safety's sake.

At 6 AM, Leo had fallen asleep (or was too weak to move) on the dining room floor. He seemed peaceful enough that I felt okay with trying to sneak in a little sleep.

After all, I had been up all night and I had a daunting day ahead.

(Due to the extreme length of this post, I'll finish this later...things can only get better from here folks...)

May 6, 1993 - October 8, 2006

LEO "Fluffmeister Von Kittycat"



FELINE EXTRAORDINAIRE

Just A Glimmer Of

...to get through the weekend.

Picked up the eyeshadow in the supermarket last night. Drawn by the colors, and then I saw the word. Hope. Is there? Dare I?

Leo has a will that is stronger than his body should allow, and a spirit that will endure even after his body ceases to be.

Darkness and Light

Our fearless hero is not looking good today, folks.

He basically hasn't eaten since Tuesday -- nearly two days without substantial food. And he looks weak and sad and all the things one looks for when one is answering the questions about quality of life.

This morning I tried a/d food (which he hasn't had in a few weeks.) He was very excited as I opened the can, and prepared it for him...but then just licked a little and turned away. Same story for every thing else I've tried -- baby food, pureed Fancy Feast.

Reminds me very much of the situation when his brother Zeke had kidney failure last year. With Zeke, we didn't realize how dire it was -- I made a vet appointment to have him checked, and by the morning of the appointment, Zeke was so weak that he had lost control of his bladder and couldn't stand.

I don't want Leo to get to that point.

I had promised myself that, if the end seemed near, I would take Leo out to the back yard -- a place he's desperately wanted to explore these 11 years we've been in this house -- but he hasn't been allowed outside for 13 years -- since the day I took him home from outside my grandparent's house, where his mom had shown up one day (from who knows where) to give birth.

So, I carried him out this morning...walked barefoot in the dewy grass and placed Leo down. He was not frightened, as I thought he might be. He did not freeze (as he had the couple times he had managed to sneak out the back door onto the back steps during his lifetime.

Instead, he strolled around, smelling the trees and plants and walking the periphery of the fence. Occasionally, he would brush past me in that way that cats do to say hello.



I wondered, is this like a dream to him? To finally walk the ground that he had stared out at for so many years. To sniff up close the grass that he had only caught a whiff of on the breeze for oh, too, long.



Amazingly, even as he wobbled a bit, he never stopped exploring.



But he nearly fell as he jumped up on a side table, and he looked unsteady as he debated on how to get down.

So, I scooped him up and brought him back into the house. He purred loudly when back on the familiar carpet, but only moments later he walked to the screen door and let out one loud meow...an obvious wish to be able to roam freely again.

Since then, he's basically just been lying around, not making a sound. Occasionally venturing into the kitchen to sniff at the food I've left out (and I try to offer him anything I can think of to tempt him, to no avail.)

I did force feed him a little it before I began to write this -- pushing a baby spoon of baby food into his mouth and trying to get him to swallow. In the past, sometimes just tasting the food in his mouth would be enough to get him started eating.

But this time, he began to growl as I insisted in pushing another spoonful into his mouth. And so I let him go - literally. In the figurative sense, perhaps soon...



He doesn't seem to be in pain -- just weak and wobbly. I've been holding him off and on through the day -- sometimes he purrs loudly and other times he's just been staring, staring into my eyes.

The blank look I remember Zeke had in his final days.

36 1/3 Weeks Post Diagnosis -- The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

(I had completed one of my typically wordy posts and was ready to upload photos when blogger crashed -- not that unusual -- but this time somehow I even lost my saved "draft" version. So, here is a less-well-written version, because I just don't have another hour to spend being eloquent.)

THE GOOD

Leo ate tons last week - like 30 jars of baby food. I'm happy to see him start to fill out again. But it's expensive!

Friday, I dragged out a non-used mini Cuisinart and got Fancy Feast into the same consistency as the baby food -- and Leo loved it! We'll save money - Yay!

Out buying more Fancy Feast Saturday -- when we returned, I reached down to pet Leo -- his fur was ... Soft? Silky? It could only mean that somehow he was able to clean himself properly - which he hasn't done in months and months.

Happy kitty with clean fur -- and his Fancy Feast mush.

It was so wonderful to hold Leo and feel that soft, silky fur that I had loved for so long. Suddenly, all the crap he has been going through seemed worthwhile.

I really felt that things had made a major turn for the better, even as part of me wondered if this was just some sort of "last gift" of a short-lived nature.


THE BAD

Seems it was short-lived. Monday morning he wasn't too interested in food - just ate one dish, not the 3 dishes or so he had been tearing through at a sitting recently.

Gave him an extra midday 1/2 dose of pain med, which only seemed to make him more weird.

Meowing a lot (a "I want something" meow, not a "pain" meow. The same meow he uses when hungry, but he didn't want what I was offering.)

Did eat an entire jar of baby food Monday night, even though he seemed a bit shaky before doing so. I think he also finished up a Fancy Feast dish I had left out from earlier in the day. (Or maybe just finished an earlier baby food...can't remember...)

Before feeding, I looked down and was freaked by his eyes -- they seemed different in some way, but could be my vision (not the best closeup vision these days...)

He needed me to wipe food from his face again -- his miraculous cleaning abilities appear to have vanished with the weekend. But he's barely drooling at all nowadays.

Tuesday: Leo wanted to look out the window as the kids got on the bus (as usual) and I was holding him. I felt something crunchy under the skin of one of his back thighs. Can't explain better than "crunchy" -- except when he was put under anesthesia for his dental (when tumor was found) I felt that same crunchiness under his shoulder skin afterwards. He didn't like me rubbing there and jumped out of my arms. (I wouldn't attribute anything unusual to that necessarily -- he has never really liked his back legs/feet touched.)

Tuesday was his pred day -- wondering if that would perk him up. Didn't. Seemed even more uneasy afterwards. Hard to explain - he didn't seem to be in pain, but I wasn't seeing the happiness I had just two days ago. Not purring as much as usual when petted.

He meows for attention pretty much all day long, but I'm not sure why. Hungry? Ate some baby food, but not all of it in the morning. Ate an entire jar Tuesday night, but he had been eating 4 jars a day last week

Wednesday (today): has barely eaten. First offered Fancy Feast salmon (the flavor he had gone nuts for on Friday) -- didn't try it. Then offered baby food, but he licked a little and turned away.

This morning -- after rejecting food. Leo doesn't usually lie in the kitchen and this body position seemed a signal that something was wrong -- looked weak. But a few minutes later, he was walking around again and I took the photo below...

Last minute babysitting of my 5-year-old nephew sends Leo off into a self-imposed exile. He comes downstairs when nephew and I are eating tuna sandwiches. After we're done eating, I put a little mayo tuna mixture on my finger -- Leo licks it off quickly, happily. But doesn't want any more after the first tongue-full.


THE UGLY

Don't know why -- but his eyes are not open to the same size. Not sure if the tumor side eye is smaller (due to tumor somehow pushing up fur) or if the lower eyelid on the other side got pulled down somehow (by my wiping or Leo's cleaning.) There seems to be more black showing along the lower eyelid on the larger eye.

Not really "UGLY" in comparison to his previous drool photos, but the asymmetry of his eyes gives me pause.

Whatever is happening with my little buddy...my birthday is just a few days away, and the best gift I could receive is to not have anything tragic for Leo be tied to that date for eternity.

Mixed Blessings

Leo's tumor has definitely gotten bigger over the past couple weeks...although it seems wrong to call it a tumor, since it's grown off into two separate areas -- the left side of lower jaw big round protrusion and the inside the mouth extravaganza (which seems to be at least two smaller lumps.)

The growth inside his mouth (popping up on the left side) had been pushing the tongue off to the side. In my last post I mentioned that Leo's tongue wasn't hanging out the side that day...

...and it hasn't hung out the side since.

Looks like the tumor must have grown, so now that it's not only next to his tongue, but also under his tongue.

Although that sounds bad, in fact, it has been very good. It's made his tongue move back more into its normal place.

Sleepy kitty! This photo shows how his tongue is back where it belongs. The arrow is pointing to where the tumor has also grown out on the side of his mouth.

When his tongue stuck out the side and he had to lap food up in a convoluted way from that side of his mouth. Now, he's back to lapping up in the front like a normal kitty.

Consequently, he's eating way faster -- and more! Maybe because it's easier now, he's just wanting to eat all day long.

Since the tongue moved back, I've been able to crush up pain med into mayo (yes, cats like mayonnaise) and let him lick it off my fingers. When I tried that with the side-tongue, I ended up having to just stick the mayo-mixture into his mouth and most of it ended up on his chin.

However, most of the time I'm still just pilling him the usual way, just to make sure it's all getting into his system.

On the negative side, his mouth was bloody this morning -- dark blood, so it was from overnight. He's hardly bled at all in the last few weeks since being put on the pain medication, so that was a surprise. However, it didn't bleed any more when I pilled him this morning or get any worse when he ate.

Also, yesterday I started back on the half-dose of antibiotic twice-a-day regime. Being a wily cat, Leo was managing to spit out quite a bit of the Clindamycin when given the full dropper's worth. This with me holding his head up, rubbing his throat and just waiting...waiting...until it seemed he must have swallowed the liquid. But he'd just be there biding his time with it pooled in the back of his throat and as soon as I'd let him go he'd shake the liquid of out his mouth.

So, at least with the half-dropper I can drip it in slower and he is getting most of it into his system.

Anyway, it's really all pretty good here, at least in comparison to a month ago. So much less slime drool! If I hadn't gotten Leo on the torbutrol (pain med) I don't think he'd be here today.

Eight Month Mark

Yesterday marked eight months since the tumor was found on Leo's lower jaw.

This will be a short post, but I wanted to update on his medications and his condition.

The puffiness under his chin I wrote about earlier (a week and a half ago?) went away by itself (with the help of his regular ongoing antibiotic.) And he has been eating well (mostly just meat varieties of baby food.) In fact, some days he's in and out of the kitchen all day lapping at food.

He's probably eating about 4 jars of baby food a day. I try and get him to eat a little a/d food to get cat-centric nutrition, but at this point, I'm just happy he can eat anything.

About 10 days ago I started making the intervals between his prednisolone doses longer. This was not under his vet's directive, but my own decision...and a few days ago I changed the dosing on his antibiotic as well.

Regarding the pred -- it's now just 5 mg every other day. He has seemed much less jumpy on this regime. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure the tumor grew larger on the side of his mouth. And today, his tongue started hanging down in front (as opposed to its previous sassy hanging-out-the-side position.) I don't know if this is a new trend or just tongue position du jour.

He's got some bald spots on the right side of his face (non-tumor side) and underneath where the puffy spot was. The underneath part he scratched off himself(maybe it itched as the presumed infection healed) and the side bald part are mostly where I had to cut mats off his neck.

Anyway, it makes him look even more off-kilter, but he doesn't mind. He even likes me to rub where there is just bare skin. Actually, he's got a peach fuzz growing back in most of the spots.

Look at Leo's face (left side in photo) and you may notice his lack of fur on one side of jawline/neck.




Leo still looks pretty good from the back -- he even has a bit of a milk-mustache (beard?) going on here.

Regarding the antibiotic dosing: all along, the Clindamycin drops bottle states cat dosage as being once every 24 hours. For whatever reason, my vet had me giving Leo a half dosage twice a day. Maybe it is supposed to be easier on his system this way. I just started doing once per day about four or five days ago. It seems to be doing just fine in controlling any potential infection.

The rationale behind all this is multi-faceted, but I'll try and explain it in a way that doesn't make me seem irresponsible! Having to squirt/pill Leo five times a day was much stressful on both of us. So much so that I decided to eliminate as much as possible. With the new regime, we're down three meds one day and four the next.

The prednisone is meant to 1) control tumor growth and 2) provide pain relief. Since the pain medication (torbutrol) does a better job than the pred, pain relief wasn't effected by reducing his pred...and as far as #2 -- at this point, well, the tumor's been growing all along. And maybe faster is better than slower after eight months of this ordeal.

The benefits of reducing dosage: long-term steroid use isn't the best thing for any animal. All along it's been making him jumpy and he seems much happier in the last couple weeks and very affectionate.

And another side effect of pred is that it lowers the body's resistance to infection. So I am hoping that by reducing the pred I am reducing chances of infection in his mouth.

I was thinking of trying to get him off pred altogether, but the every other day seems to be working alright for us now, so I'm going to stick with that for a while.

Well...so much for a short post!

Look Ma - No Drool!

Just a couple of photos taken today - hopefully, they show how Leo is looking much better since his pain medication (Torbutrol) has reduced his drooling and improved his eating.

It's all relative, but he looks pretty good to me. Not like his pre-tumor glamour days, but definitely an improvement from the Slime Machine of a month or so ago.

Leo's happy-cat-having-face-rubbed pose.

Mea Culpa for the Cranky

Sorry if I was a bit cranky in my last post.

My kids are in the only school district in the nation - nay, the entire universe - that hasn't started the school year yet. And the parts for my non-functional washing machine have been "in the process of shipping" for two weeks now.

Anyway...

Yesterday I realized the Leo was really looking better. More like himself than he has in at least a month.

(This would be a good place for a photo, but I haven't gotten anything uploaded recently. Maybe tomorrow.)

Looking better aside, his sticky drool still has him smelling like a dank, damp, used handkerchief (if any of you reading this are old enough to remember when people used handkerchiefs instead of tissues and how bad they smelled.) His nickname's now "Mr. Stinky," although I mean it in the most affectionate way.

Smelly or not, Leo's been wolfing down meat varieties of baby food like...well...a really, really hungry baby that looks like a cat with a jaw tumor.

I've been offering a bit of the Hills a/d food watered down too - trying to get at least a little of the cat-specific nutrients into him every day.

So he's put on enough weight that he's more than just fur and bones.

And I can just plop the food in a bowl and he can eat without any assistance from me whatsoever and very little mess. So much easier than the Fancy Feast assisted-feeding routine that used to take hours every day.

And after two weeks since the addition of the pain med, he's getting used to the five times a day I have to insert stuff into his mouth -- he's been much less scared of me as far as the pilling (Pred and Torbutrol) and liquid meds (Clindamycin) are concerned. He knows he will get some sort of food afterwards, so that is his motivation for not fighting me as much.

Not that he still doesn't try and hide pills in his mouth and spit them out when he thinks I'm not looking...!

I also decided to wean him off his prednisone - down to 5 mg every other day. Started yesterday, and so far so good.

Whether the pred has been controlling the tumor growth in the past 7+ months - who knows? But I do know it's been making him a bit jumpy all along, and at this point I'm more interested in seeing if reducing the steroid in his system will make his last days/weeks/months? more comfortable.

We've had a good couple days anyway. Although most of the time I've got the Lisa Kudrow/Friends song "Smelly Cat" going through my head. Continuously.

33 1/3 Weeks Past Diagnosis

Over the weekend, I noticed a soft spot under Leo's chin. About the size of a marble.

It seems a pretty obvious sign of infection, as his tumor is very hard. He'll let me press on the soft spot, but not for long. I'm pretty sure there was already a growth there, so it's probably just puffiness on top of part of the tumor.

Anyway...he's already on antibiotics and pain med, so I decided to take a wait-and-see approach. And the soft area hasn't progressed in size and Leo's been acting like nothing's wrong (well, other than the ongoing so-very-much-is-wrong stuff, like having a giant lump inside his mouth...)

Lately, I've felt more than a bit defensive about some well-meaning input I've gotten from some certainly caring individuals who have given me advice. This advice has ranged from "let him go" to suggestions of alternative treatments that might cure him.

I find myself pretty skeptical regarding alternatives remedies...since all the stories ultimately end the same sad way. I don't need to stretch this process any longer than the 7 1/2 months it's already been stretched. And my wallet cannot afford a wild goose chase for a cure.

As far as it being the time to let him go...believe me, there is nothing that would make me keep Leo alive a second longer if I thought he was suffering significantly. And I'd like to stress that I am not carrying this on for my benefit...because although Leo is still a purring machine, I'm not getting much out of the relationship at this point.

If anything, caring for him is so hard for me mentally, so time-consuming -- trying to keep him (and the house) relatively clean and dealing with his odor...

But I feel like I owe him for 12+ pre-tumor years of maintenance-free love he gave me.

At this point, the only motivation I have is to not rob him of life when he is still energetic, eating, and purring.

That said, I have decided to not take any extra measures to drag this on. If this soft lump under his chin progresses into something more...well...the white flag will be thrown.

32 1/3 Weeks Post-Diagnosis

When I start using fractions in my post title, it's a sure sign I'm going nuts.

But in a good way now, I guess.

As I type this sitting on our family room couch, Leo is laying along the top of the cushion behind me. Just like the good old days.

Since my last post, the pain medication didn't seem to be doing the trick as well.

On Saturday, he went most of the morning without eating. It may just be that he's tired of the a/d food, but he didn't want any Fancy Feast either. But then he ate great that night...so it was off and on...

His body language told me he wasn't always feeling as good as he had been when he first started the Torbutrol. Again, it was intermittent -- so a call to the vet could wait until the end of the holiday weekend.

Yesterday, the vet upped the dosage to 2.5 mg twice a day (up from 1 mg.) I halve a 5 mg pill, so it's only 1 pill per day, which saves some money too. This Torbutrol is much more expensive than Leo's prednisolone, which is only about $8 for an entire month. I don't have the receipt in front of me, but think it was about $20 for the 10 Torbutrol pills they gave me yesterday.

Anyway, back to Leo. I thought maybe when I upped the pain med today he would go back to eating ravenously again. Nah. He only wants to lick up watered down food.

I decided to step back regarding feeding...I will provide food for him 24/7, but I'm not going to force-feed him. And when he doesn't want to eat anymore, that will be the sign it's time to let go.

The good news is that the pain medication has significantly reduced the slimey drool. My guess is that some of the drool was due to irritation.

This is a huge plus -- I no longer need to hover over him as he eats to pull off strings of drool sliming out of his mouth.

Don't want to make it sound too sunny. Leo still pretty much always has a gooey chin, but the long drool strings dripping down aren't a constant anymore, and that is a major positive.

And because he's only lapping up food, he doesn't do that hitting himself in the face while he's eating anymore.

And his mouth has barely been bleeding lately. And the jaw/mouth tumor hasn't grown noticeably recently.

On the downside:

I probably spent about an hour today cutting mats out of his mane (is "ruff" the technical term?) Leo kinda liked it (when a mat was released, he purred happily), kinda tolerated it (knowing it would eventually make him feel better), and definitely was looking for an escape route as it dragged on and on.

So there's still a giant lump of knotted fur between his front legs. I really want to get it out, because the mats end up pulling so hard on his skin that he's got a few bald spots.

In addition to my annoying grooming, being medicated 5 times a day has made Leo run away when he sees me coming. Growling is commonplace as I pill him.

I'll admit to shedding a few tears over this. The cruel twist is that I'm working so hard to prolong his life only to have my efforts make him hate me.

In reality, it hasn't come to that.

Still, if he didn't seem to forgive me...didn't still flop down at my feet to be petted...well, I wouldn't be able to stand the pilling and the drops.

I do feel Leo's a little confused as to why his (formerly) nice human is annoying him so much. But I always follow up the nastiness with food or milk.

Which is probably why he's currently lying behind me, with his fluffy tail draped across my shoulder, purring loudly. (A combination that I believe is Cat for, "Feed me, please.")

Update

I'm pleased to have some positive news -- Leo has been eating close to a normal amount the last couple days and actually doesn't feel skeletal at this point. Boney, yes. Skeletal, no.

He's been eating only Hills Prescription a/d food. Amazingly, he's not tired of it yet. I tried Fancy Feast yesterday, but he only gave it a half-hearted try.

The pain medication (Torbutrol) that he started Wednesday seems to get him a little high -- even at the low dosage of 1 mg twice a day. It's prompted him to push his nose into the food while eating, and kinda rest his face in the food from time to time....and he has seemed just the tiniest bit wobbly on his feet (a bit of sashaying while he walks) when the med first takes effect.

But he's jumping on and off things and going up and down stairs without any problems, so he's not too whacked.

Although he still doesn't seem to be sleeping his normal amount, he has returned to spending time alertly looking out the window. He hadn't done that for weeks -- which I didn't really notice until he went back to it again.

Anyway, for informational and amusement purposes (okay, just the first one is mildly amusing) here are some recent photos. Skip the last three if you're not interested in the inside of a cancer cat's mouth.

SATURDAY: HOPING TO START A NEW INTERIOR DESIGN TREND

We've got one nice piece of seating in the house. True, it's a hand-me-down, but a gently-used hand-me-down. Leo showed no interest in it since its arrival about 9 months ago, so the seating surface was unprotected.

THEN, about a week ago, I found drool evidence on both the seat and the throw pillows that suddenly he was liking the loveseat.

So, I covered it in junk (theoretically temporarily) to break him of the habit...evidently, even newspaper couldn't discourage our determined friend.

WEDNESDAY: WINDOWS ARE MORE FUN WHEN YOU'RE STONED

From this angle, he looks just like his old self...

ALSO WEDNESDAY: NOT LIKE HIS OLD SELF


This photo is included to show how Leo's tongue is pushed up and over on his right (your left) side of mouth by the tumor.

OKAY, HERE COME THE GROSS PHOTOS (WITH HELPFUL ARROWS, CIRCLES AND OTHER MARKINGS). AT LEAST THERE'S NOT MUCH BLOODY DROOL IN THESE:

TUESDAY


WEDNESDAY

I've included these simply because I've found very little in the way of pictures when searching for info on feline oral or jaw tumors.

Since I haven't had Leo biopsied, I suppose these are not as helpful as they would be if I knew if he had Osteosarcoma, Fibrosarcoma (vet thought it was one or the other) or whatever...

The only oral tumor that we can pretty much rule out is SCC (Squamous Cell Carcinoma) because everything I've read on that indicates that Leo would have been a goner by now. He's survived seven-plus months with this thing, and SCC seems to claim its victims in two to three months.

Turning Kitty into a Junkie

I just picked up a pain medication for Leo from the vet office. Torbutrol - 1 mg pills.

Can't believe they charged me $18.76 for a week's supply. Upon this realization, I said to the desk-person (in my nicest, most non-confrontational voice) "Wow - that's a lot for only a week's worth. I can't believe I'm going to have to come back here once a week..."

Plus, I had to ask her a ton of questions (which she really didn't have the answer for) because no one had discussed this med with me. I had just gotten a call yesterday at dinnertime saying there was pain med ready for me to pick up.

Suppose I should backtrack to make this make sense:

I had called the vet office yesterday to get Leo's other RXs refilled. I had asked about something to help his mouth pain while eating, but when I came in to pick up the med my request was misunderstood to mean, "What's best to feed him?" To which the answer was "Soft foods." Duh.

So, I told the woman at the desk yesterday that I was asking about pain med and that Leo "didn't have much longer." (In the hopes that sounding ominous would get some action.)

Sooooo....maybe that's why they only gave me a week's worth?

I also picked up some more a/d (high calorie) pet food from the vet. Leo actually ate a decent amount of it (nearly an entire 5.5 oz can) yesterday. It's more finely ground and seems to go down easier. He has these phases of liking and not liking stuff, and in July when I gave him the a/d he vomited. So, I hadn't tried it since then.

He seemed to be a little more like normal last night, hanging out on the back of the couch as I watched a DVD with the kids.

Anyway, back to present tense. It's been about 30 minutes since I forced the little Torbutrol pain pill down Leo's throat. He's sitting near me on the floor. Not sleeping, but looking moderately relaxed.

I'm less than thrilled with my vet office. If only that the process of asking questions via the front desk seems to lose so much in the translation. It would be SO much easier if a vet would have actually phoned me to discuss meds. There are a number of viable pain control options, and I really don't know why this one was chosen. And the kind woman at the desk didn't have much info to impart.

Yes, I suppose a more assertive person would have already insisted to speak personally to a vet.

But I guess I'm overwhelmed -- not only by Leo's care but also day-to-day life. Like, my daughter's upcoming birthday and two parties to organize as a result. The washing machine is broken. School is starting almost two weeks later than usual (September 19th!) and as much as I love my children -- and they are wonderful beings -- we all need a break from 24/7 of each other.

Just went over to pet Leo. He doesn't seem the least bit drugged up (considering he got the smallest dose possible, I 'm not too surprised.) Followed me into the kitchen and he's currently eating his leftover breakfast food.

Wow -- good sign!

Okay, must go and start thinking about lunch for the humans in residence.

31 Weeks Post-diagnosis

In the past week, I've found myself pondering the definition of "suffering."

As in, how much does Leo need to suffer before it is cruel for me to let this continue?

And I am ANGRY -- my sweet, loving, well-behaved and spectacular cat did nothing to deserve this fate. He was never less than the coolest cat I'd ever known.

I pretty much lost it the other weekend. The stress of the time-consuming caring for Leo coupled with seven months of constant worry about his condition made me snap. Emotions were unleashed with a fury. I suppose I felt better afterwards, in a cathartic kind of way (although I can't say the same for the other members of my family.)

But the question remains -- am I am doing all this for Leo, or to save myself the guilt of an euthanasia decision?

During the past week or so, he has been acting as if he is not getting enough food into his system to satisfy his hunger. Even though there is always something out for him to eat. (I've thrown enough uneaten cat food down the drain in the past couple months to feed a small nation of felines.)

Instead of disappearing after his breakfast (an ordeal that takes up the good part of an hour) Leo has been hanging in the kitchen all morning (and sometimes into the afternoon) with that "feed me" look.

When he does wander off and lie down somewhere, I find him with eyes half-open...and he jumps up as soon as he sees me.

The problem is that he's not actually ingesting a significant quantity when he does eat - food falls out of his mouth without being swallowed during his pawing-at-his-face routine.

Although he starts out enthusiastically, he usually gives up after eating 1/4 to 1/2 of a tiny 3-oz can.

He has a hard time lapping up things too, so that doesn't make liquid nutrition much better of an option (although I did water down some Iams this afternoon, and that kept him off my back for at least an hour.)

He's drinking a ton of water during mealtime (I think he's using it to rinse out the food off his tumor area.)

On the positive side, he seems bright eyed and (literally) bushy tailed. He doesn't appear weakened and his only meowing is when I'm taking the milk out of the frig or feeding the kids something he'd like a bit of.

I take that back -- he just came into the room and announced himself with a low "I'm here so why aren't you attending to my needs?" mew.

My guess is that the tumor inside his mouth has grown (in the back where I can't see it) and in addition to the food irritating the tumor surface, it's making it harder for the food to actually get down his throat. Whether he'll figure out a way around this eventually (as he seems to have done in June) ...well...I'll just have to wait and see.

Or -- is all this just that I've been giving him milk off and on and he's hanging around trying to score some more?

His mouth also started bleeding a lot (drips of fresh blood) last night and this morning. And then it stopped just as suddenly. Leo's not expressing any pain through his facial expressions or body language when this is happening. (Mostly he's just expressing hunger.)

I wonder if it is cruel for me to allow him to be constantly hungry?

Is his hunger a suffering that warrants euthanasia?

But then I pick him up and he purrs loudly and rubs his face on my hands for me to scratch him in all the right spots.

He doesn't look like he's ready to give up. He seems energetic and he prances alongside me (and underfoot) as I walk around. He lies down and looks at me with the "Pet me" look (distinctly different from the "Feed Me!" look, btw.)

He's ragged, smelly, and skeleton-skinny. But his spirit rages on. What a guy.

Cleanliness Is Next to Fluffiness

Post-bathing photos from Tuesday - AKA The Return of the Fluffy Tail.

Tail's still a bit damp, but definitely plume-ish.

His nose is wet, but otherwise Leo's looking pretty good.

A little later -- his face is dry, but the drool is back.

This is Leo's "Quit the pictures and give me milk already!" look.

Seven-Month Mark

Today is seven months since Leo's jaw tumor was discovered.

Since my last post, we've been having some eating issues, but I'm not sure if it's because his tumor got a little bigger or that I made the mistake of giving him milk one day and that's all he wants now.

He's been eating less of his food each meal - maybe 1/2 to 2/3 of the little Fancy Feast can. Plus he still has this finicky thing where I can't feed him the same flavor two meals in a row. And he currently hates his old favorite, Salmon.

But the good news: Leo is now tolerating having his face and front legs washed. I gave him milk one day after doing so, and now he is sitting through it without fighting because he wants the treat.

This is somewhat major, at least aesthetically, as it means I can actually pet him without feeling stiff, sticky fur where fluffy used to be.

He's been letting me wipe off his face after every meal (that I don't reward, and he actually purrs during this) and I washed his front legs three days in a row. His little heart is no longer racing when his leg (I do one at a time) is in the water. I also did his tail two days in a row and it was back to its full plume glory (albeit with a little bit of stuck-together on the ends.)

The legs and tail-washing do earn him a little saucer of milk. So far he hasn't had any lactose intolerance issues to make this a problem. I don't think he can actually get all that much into him anyway, since his tongue sticks out the side his lapping is hampered. (But he doesn't seem to mind.)

For anyone considering washing their unhappy-with-water cats -- here's my patented method. For the face I use a paper towel (Bounty, if that matters!) warm water and just a drop of liquid soap. Squeeze out all water until it's just damp. I can't think of a great way to describe this, but I fold the p.t. into my hand so it's not like a giant wet thing is coming out him. Just enough to go underneath a couple fingers...which I then stoke across his face. I start at his whiskers and wipe in the direction away from his nose. Then I rinse off the paper towel, or get a fresh one that I use just water on.

I used to avoid his whiskers, until I wondered if the reason he was being finicky was that there was old dried food in his whiskers. Once I tried wiping there, I found he actually liked it.

Needless to say, you want to stay away from the eyes..

For his legs, I fill up a plastic container (large takeout Chinese soup size) with warm water and dish detergent. Stick one leg in at a time and use my hand to wash up and down his leg and between his toes.

Yes, it's all a giant pain in the butt. But better than seeing kitty covered in goo and fossilizing cat food.

Leo would not tolerate any of this in the beginning. It's making me realize you can train a cat.

Still, you can't get near him with a dry tissue or paper towel. He runs in the opposite direction.

He has been behaving very badly as far as jumping on counters to try and get to people food. Probably always did this stuff at night when no one was around, but now he is getting bolder.

I took photos of the mostly-clean Leo to post, but time restrictions deem they will appear here another day.

29 Weeks Post Diagnosis

From the reaction I've gotten off-blog, I pretty much grossed everyone out with the photos in my last post.

Sorry about that.

Here's a nicer photo from this afternoon to make up for the last ones.



There have been questions as to whether he is suffering and the severity of the bleeding.

I don't believe the bleeding causes him any pain. It comes and goes - sometimes mixed in with the drool or a clot comes out of his mouth. Less often, fresh blood drips out of his mouth, but usually only a couple drops at any given time.

I can't tell where the blood is coming from in his mouth. It may be coming up from his jaw through his gum-line.

His antibiotic (Clindamycin) is specifically indicated for treating wounds, abscesses and dental infections - so whatever is bleeding should not get infected.

Honestly, if I thought he had no quality of life, I would have him euthanized. As much as I'm dreading that, and hoping that the decision will be taken out of my hands...I will not let him suffer.

It is said that cats are very good at hiding their pain, so as not to let their weakness show to predators (in our house, that would be the kids.) But I know Leo's body language (and meow language) very well. He would definitely let me know if there was anything significant bothering him.

At this point, it's all about Leo, because, truly, the trial of taking care of him outweighs the joy he still is able to bring to my life.

But he does still bring joy to my life. Even though his new nickname is, "Mr. Stinky."

Last night when I came home from work, Leo did not appear by the door as he usually does. I was a little concerned, but sometimes he's sleeping and he doesn't make it down right away.

A few minutes later he appeared. Instead of coming over to greet me as usual, he headed in the other direction.

I assumed he wanted me to follow, as he usually does this when he's trying to lead me somewhere. But instead, he just walked a circle through the downstairs rooms. It was glaringly apparent that he was trying to get away from me (albeit with a casual air, in order to maintain his feline "cool.")

This was a first. But who can blame him? Especially when my next order of business was putting a big plastic tube with a pill down his throat.

He did seem to forgive me eventually, but I told my husband that I felt like I was torturing Leo and I was just going to give up on the washing except for once a week or so.

Cut to this morning: Since I hadn't cleaned Leo up at all last night, his face and front leg fur were completely stiff and covered with gook.

So, I went back on my no-washing vow and dunked his front legs after he ate his breakfast.

He was quite unhappy with the process, but when I went to towel his legs off, he actually started to purr.

The rest of the morning he wanted an uncharacteristic amount of attention, most of which seemed directed at getting me to feed him more.

I gave him a saucer of milk (now every time I take the milk out for the kids Leo thinks he's getting some) although he doesn't seem to really be able to lap it up anymore.

He kept swarming the kitchen, so I ended up opening another can of Fancy Feast. He didn't eat all that much, but it seemed to satisfy him enough that he went off to lie on my bed.

Still, he jumped off to greet me when I came upstairs later...let me comb him a bit and seemed happy about the procedure. Then it was off to the window seat (and the photo above.)

In the "Worth a Thousand Words" Category (CAUTION: gross photos)

Here are some photos of the mess that Leo's eating creates. Mostly on him.

The slimey, bloody mucus-drool gets much worse when he's eating. It drips on his paws, mixing in with the food that falls out of his mouth. He rubs his paws on his face during eating...and when he's done, he grinds the mess in even further as he uses his legs to "clean" his face.

(I had a little slideshow, but it doesn't seem to work here on blogger - drat! Now you'll just have to deal with the photos individually)











Hopefully this shows how Leo has to stop constantly during eating and rub his face with his paws. (I believe it's because food gets onto the tumor in his mouth and that is irritating to him.)

The last photo also shows (kinda) how I have to constantly push his food into a mound while he eats. Otherwise, he can't get any into his mouth far enough for him to swallow.

I've taken to putting his front legs into mildly soapy water as soon as he finishes eating (before he can "clean" himself.) Theoretically, he will then be wiping less slime on his face.

Needless to say, he loves (she says, dripping with sarcasm) this process. Usually it ends up with one of us growling at the other.

I was hoping to do it only once a week or so, but lately it's been every other day. Otherwise, food and slime get ground into his leg fur and form stinky little rotting food lumps that are very hard to remove.


The evil plastic instrument of my cat torture, with it's post-washing dirty water inside.



Post-cleaning (mine and his) -- Leo's wet, but definitely less slimey. He always seems to forgive me...eventually.

More Favorite Old Photos

Leo's condition hasn't changed since the last post - more than a week without any sort of crisis or major distress (besides the ongoing distress of medicating him three-times-a-day and my very-much-against-his-will dunking of Leo's front legs and tail into soapy water to temporarily ungunk him.)

Anyway, without any upheaval to distract me, I managed to scan a few old photos that hold special meaning for me.

Just a little more than Ten Years Ago...

1996 - Three-year-old Zeke and Leo observe the strange creature that entered the house a week earlier.

Leo, a mere three-years-old himself, goes is for a closer look.


A Few Years Later...

1999 - Six-year-old Leo sniffs two-day-old S.

More than anything, these photos demonstrate the difference between first and second children.

The first child is isolated from the cats until she's a week old.

You let the cats meet the second child the day she's home from the hospital. On the floor, no less.

Holding Position at 27 1/2 Weeks

The adventure continues...

Sometime between Saturday afternoon and Monday morning, Leo threw up again. (The time-line uncertainty is due to the fact that the large puddle of regurgitated food was in the basement and not discovered until Monday midday.)

Leo's meds are just about out, so when I called the vet office this morning for the refill, I asked if there was anything that could be done about his excessive mucus drool.

Of course not. I should have known. I'm part of a feline cancer group...if there was anything available someone on that list would have been aware of it, I'm sure.

I think I've started to drive Leo nuts with trying to un-goo him. Probably spent an hour yesterday removing stuff from his fur. I had to cut his chest fur (formerly long and fluffy transformed into giant mats) because there was no way to get a comb or even my fingers into it.

He seems to like the grooming at first, and then get annoyed. So, between that and the medicating, he's started to run away from me when I approach him. Which bums me out terribly.

Oh, I also dunked his front legs into soapy water yesterday to uncake them (where he gets not only mucus drool but food ground in, as he rubs his paws across his face when he's eating.) And then tried to comb out the loosened pieces of food/mucus drool/dried blood.

So, he may have a good reason to avoid me, but it's disheartening when I'm just coming over to say hello. He does relax once he realizes I'm only going to scratch him and rub his head.

But it's so hard to resist pulling whatever out of his fur at the same time. And if I let the stuff stay there the matting gets worse and worse.

So, in the vein of a picture being worth a thousand words...

The masked kitty -- Kitty Libre!

This is what my guy looks like after eating. He does all the right cat cleaning-up-after-dinner things -- licking the side of his front legs and wiping them across his face. But in his current condition, it just rubs sticky slime on his face.

Half an hour later, his face is nearly dry. Then it's up to me to comb the stiffness out of his facial hair. He does like that, at least. Oh, if you look behind Leo you can see his splattered bloody drool on the baseboard. I clean this stuff up all day long...

This is actually the face of a happy cat -- and front legs AFTER being washed just a couple hours earlier. It is the definition of a losing battle.

After I took the photos we continued to have a nice little bonding session. I lay down on the floor and gently loosened up the fur between his front toes. He never let me touch his paws before this illness, so it must feel good. Then I just held his little paw in my fingers and we both started to fall asleep. (Aaaaw...)

Looking at him right now (he's lying on the dining room floor and didn't run away when I just went over to scratch his head) the fur on his one leg is completely matted down again. But overall, he looks pretty cute. (I'm to the point where I don't see the drool anymore.)

So I jump up to take photos. He actually rolled onto his side and posed for this one! He's always seemed to like having his picture taken. Or maybe he's just immune to the process after having me as his human for 13 years.

The Week's News, in Pictures

Call me "The Blogger Who Cried Wolf." Again.

After thoroughly convincing me he was a goner all day Wednesday, Thursday found Leo back to his now-normal routine of drooling, bleeding and, ta da!, eating without vomiting.

I have no explanation for his recovery, just as I had no explanation for his malaise. (Repeat mantra: Expect the unexpected.)

So, I thought I'd share a few of his glorious moments of the past week. Be forewarned that there is blood involved.

Tuesday morning -- he had vomited repeatedly the night before.
I set out a typical kitty smorgasbord --
AKA: Please, Eat Something! Anything!
Notice his practiced nonchalance.

Wednesday morning. Not...feeling...well...at...all.

Vomited, and no interest in food all morning.

Wednesday afternoon -- you can tell Leo was weak because he actually let me clean him up rather thoroughly.

Not in the tub though - that's just for lying on. No, the best I could do was painstakingly comb the goo out of his fur.

Actually, he was starting to feel better by the time I took this and I think he ate something soon afterwards. It's the best photo I've taken of him in a long time.

Thursday morning -- appearances are deceiving -- because this is Leo feeling better -- he actually ate a ton right after I took this photo.

Um, yeah, I did remove the blood clots from his mouth and chin first.

And so it goes...

A Bad Sign

Yesterday, Leo seemed fine again. Sure, he made me put out a kitty smorgasbord before he would eat, but he did eat.

This morning, though, he wasn't waiting at my bedroom door as he is every morning. A bad sign. I came downstairs to find him hunched on the dining room floor. Breathing rapidly.

Maybe 30 seconds later, his sides contracted rhythmically as he made that distinctive "cat vomit" sound. (And, um, he vomited.) It looked like your basic mostly-digested food vomit - nothing weird involved.

Leo left the room as I threw some paper towels over the puddle.

I found him upstairs lying on the bedroom floor. He was stretched out and didn't seem to be feeling too bad. I laid down next to him. He wrapped his paws around my wrist as I rubbed his face. Eventually he went up onto the bed in his usual spot.

Now I have to get my kids ready for camp and clothe myself (because signing your children in while wearing a nightgown is discouraged.) I'm down and up the stairs again.

Back in the bedroom, I find Leo's now lying on the bureau under the window. And he's left a little more vomit for me on the carpet next to the bed. But he seems comfortable.

Bad Sign #2 (or was that the bedroom vomit?) is that when I return from dropping the kids off at camp, Leo doesn't pester me to eat. In fact, he doesn't set foot in the kitchen all morning. I spend most of the morning up with him in the bedroom, giving him as much attention as he wants. And crying, thinking about how this all will end.

I get the girls at noon and we do a brief bit of shopping for my lovely husband's upcoming birthday which is overshadowed in my mind by the cloudy skies of feline mortality.

Leo shows his first interest in food when we return about 1 PM. But he sniffs and quickly goes back upstairs.

I try and accomplish anything, but I keep checking on Leo and obsessing when I'm not with him. And taking lots of photos, thinking, "This may be the last time he lies on the bed, by the window, on the edge of the bathtub..." (Yeah, a new development.)

Then, a break in the doom and gloom -- he comes downstairs about 3 PM and actually eats at least 1/3 a can of Salmon Fancy Feast. And doesn't vomit it back up.

Afterwards, he's happy to have me comb out the drool-matted fur on his front legs and neck and face. He especially loves the face part, and I try and sneak the other stuff in for my own personal gratification.

I didn't give him any antibiotic today, but I did manage his prednisolone at 6 PM.

So, that's where our story ends for now. It's almost 9 PM -- a time when normally he'd be swarming around my legs and meowing in a slightly annoyed manner for food. And he's not here. I haven't checked on him for the last hour or so.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

The Scare

Tonight's either been a scare or a sign. We'll know soon enough which.

We were out with the kids for a bike ride. I had left Leo happily asleep on our bed.

We got back a little before 6 PM and I needed to give him his prednisolone pill. But the bed was empty and there were two half-dollar-sized spots of what looked like bloody vomit on the carpet next to the bed. When I cleaned it up I found it was brown-colored liquid with a little red blood and drool mixed in.

A search for Leo found him lying on the dining room floor. His side was moving up and down as if he was breathing very fast -- looked to me like he was scared and in pain. I went to pet him and he didn't purr and soon moved away.

He went to another spot, against a wall, and I went over to him. He purred for a second while I gently rubbed his head. The purring stopped, but he lay there with his front paws wrapped around my wrist and his eyes closed, as I continued to rub the fur between his eyes and on the top of his head.

He got up rather abruptly, meowed his "pain" meow and hissed (which he also does when something hurts.) Walked into our living room and I watched as he stopped and peed all a giant puddle on the floor.

After I cleaned the puddle, my informants told me Leo had gone down the basement and come back. I went down and found a puddle of vomit...and a litter box with a very large (and recent) poop in it. (Lovely bodily function details!) There was nothing in the litter box to indicate a bladder infection, so I'm guessing the pee accident may have been due to an urgent need to deficate (and I stopped him before that happened on the rug, at least.)

Back upstairs, Leo continued to crouch and not want to be touched. He vomited a little more - foamy vomit. The situation didn't look good. I left him alone and went upstairs to do laundry and mentally fit his euthanasia into my schedule for the next day (with much more emotion than it sounds when typed.) With dread.

But still hoping maybe it's all just stomach upset that will resolve itself.

And maybe it is. When I came back an hour or so later, he was curled tightly on a chair. But he responded to my touch and relaxed his body and wanted his face rubbed.

Then he hopped off and headed for the kitchen, acting hungry. He didn't want what I offered, but he did lap at a saucer of milk. And I felt confident enough to give him his pred pill, which is supposed to help his appetite and act as a pain killer.

He's back in the kitchen as I write this, so I'll be trying out various Fancy Feast flavors as soon as I get the kids to bed - and hopefully Leo'll get something into his system (and it will stay down.)

Six Month Mark

Today marks six months since the growth was discovered on Leo's jaw. It was January 23, 2006 when a dental x-ray showing a "gnarly-looking" (vet's words) lower left jawbone sent us off on an adventure none of us asked for.

Some might call Leo a lucky cat -- if his tumor was SCC (anecdotally, it's the most common type of feline oral cancer) he'd most likely be gone by now. Judging mostly from internet stories, many kitties with SCC only have weeks after diagnosis, or if they're lucky maybe 3 or 4 months. Although it wasn't biopsied, we think Leo's tumor is an osteosarcoma or a fibrosarcoma.

Six months later...well, sometimes I think Leo's good luck is my bad luck. Not that I don't still adore him, not that I would want him gone... but the stress of caring for him is becoming a bit overwhelming these past couple months as the drooling has gotten much worse and the eating situation more tenuous.

Leo's condition has been stable the last couple weeks. Two weeks ago, during a non-eating bout, I was praying I wouldn't have to put him to sleep on my daughter's birthday a few days later. But he rallied and has been able to carry on some semblance of normal cat life since.

But it hasn't been easy on the humans. The stinky drool is seemingly everywhere. Often nowadays it is bloody, stinky drool. I spend so much of my day lately cleaning drooled-goo off the floor, changing the towels covering his sleeping spots, changing my shirts because my cuddling Leo has slimed them, and washing my hands, oh 30 times a day at least.

Not to mention all the time coaxing Leo to eat -- he wants to eat (much more frequently than his old twice a day, because he can't eat as much at one shot) so I feel I must do everything I can to help him do so.

But he'll meow at me to feed him and then turn his nose up at what I offer him -- so I heat it up, then open another can to try a new flavor, and another can...until, as an ultimate last resort, I take a baby spoon and force some food into his mouth -- which pisses him off for about 5 seconds until he realized that, oh yeah, this tastes good, and then he will start to eat. My dog-and-pony show (Kitties! Watch your human scurry about humorously doing all sorts of tricks to get you to eat!) eventually works, at least for now.

Sometimes he seems as if he may be nauseous (crouching, closing his eyes) when he is refusing to eat. But five minutes later, he's chowing down...

But did I mention that sometimes he will eat right away? I never know what to expect. But I do know that I'm spending about an hour total per day just feeding him. And often watching him eat is a painful experience, as he stops to go up on his hind legs and vigorously rubs his front paws against the sides of his mouth to push wayward food out of the tumor part of his oral cavity. Food (and drool and blot clots) flies everywhere...

The medicating adventures continue too -- enough of the antibiotic drops seem to get into him since he's had no infections since his UTI in the beginning of June...and the pred pill seems to get down his throat eventually (my method now is to try and pill him when he's sleeping -- I have to actually put my fingers into his mouth to put the pill on is tongue and then push it as far back as I can) but I can't really tell he's actually swallowing it because the tumor inside his mouth (and the way it has pushed his tongue up and over) has blocked my view of his throat opening.

I should be editing myself (for brevity and non-whininess) but I just can't spare the time. (Oh, is that whining too?)

Some other of Leo's "different" behaviors lately -- when we're upstairs we notice he's been going in and out of our master bath. I thought he was thirsty, maybe trying to drink shower floor water or residual bath water. But I just found him lying on the shower floor yesterday and the other night he was lying on a damp bath mat. We think maybe the coolness is making him feel better -- is he having abdominal pain?

But here is why it's still not TIME: He still seems so very, very happy when I pet him, especially when I scratch the side of his face where the tumor is. We had a loud-purring-during-brushing session yesterday (although trying to pretty him up is like treading water, his fur gets all clumped and matty in a couple hours.)

Most of his day is spent stretched out in some favorite spot, gladly welcoming a scratch or a rub. He's not hiding, not avoiding, not growling, not meowing that "I'm in pain" meow -- all of which he DID do way back six months ago -- which was why I brought him to the vet in the first place.

He doesn't look like my old Leo -- my beautiful no-smell guy is gone -- until he's in my arms and he looks at me the way he always has (yeah, this sounds goofy -- but he does stare into my eyes...honestly, I'm not a weird cat lady...)

The Six-Months-Past-Diagnosis version of Leo's Look of Love -- ignore the bloody mouth -- as I have learned to do. He was purring so loud when I took this photo (A self-portrait. I'm wearing an old T-shirt I use when painting, which has now become a Leo drool-protection shirt.)

I see how much he trusts me (even after all the fingers in mouth and force-feeding and pulling dried goo off his fur.) He wants to live -- he loves life -- and I can't take that away from him until he gives up the fight.

Favorite Photo

After so many nasty photos of Leo lately, I wanted to post one of the guy I fell in love with. Well, actually the two guys I fell in love with -- one each of the human and feline varieties.

November 1993

This photo was taken when Leo was about 7 months old -- with some guy I'd been dating a couple of months giving me that intense-yet-sensitive look that no woman can resist.

Observe how that cat is draping himself all over that boyfriend! I couldn't help but trust my furry friend's approval and so I married the guy. (A cat's instincts are never wrong!)

Anyway, the way Leo was resting his head on Future Husband's shoulder is just sooooo Leo. He would just pour himself all over me or my husband -- I've heard the term "velcro" cat, and that applies to Mr. Leo. He always made you feel like he loved you more than anything, and was so comfortable being held.

When he would jump up on my lap he was never content to just sit there -- he had to put his front paws on my shoulders or chest and get his face all close to mine. (See Profile Photo.)

I use the past tense because it's not quite the same nowadays. Sometimes, yes, he is relaxed enough to stretch out all over me. But mostly, he will climb up on my torso when I'm lying down and lie down for a second...get up, turn around a couple times, lie back down again, knead for a few seconds...get up, lie down next to me...

It could be the medication or general discomfort.

But he does still enjoy attention and especially being held like a baby. (I don't think of him as my baby - let's just clarify that! He just has always liked being held that way. And when kitty makes his choice known, a good owner must go with it. )

Anyway, I just wanted to put a "happy" photo up - a reminder of why I have loved this cat (oh, and let's not forget the guy) for so long and so deeply.

Vampire Cat -- 25 weeks post diagnosis

Monday and Tuesday of last week, I woke up to a little kitty Nosferatu:

However, Leo didn't seem to be in any pain, and was eating great. I started to wonder if the moon had been full the night before...oh wait, that's the werewolf thing.

In an effort to keep my kids from getting too freaked out by the blood, I suggested we make up new names for our blood-drooling kitty. "Count Catula" was my suggestion, but the girls liked "Count Dracatula." Never underestimate the power of humor.

The bleeding slowed down by Wednesday, and overall it was one of the best weeks we've had in a long while. So much so that my attention shifted to various ways to clean Leo up -- he has dried drool stuck all over his fur, and it will not comb out easily (plus, he's tired of me constantly coming at him with the comb.)

One night, I resorted to taking his long formerly fluffy tail and dipping it into a bowl of water. The water immediately turned a cloudy tan color. Quite gross.

Then poor Leo was left with his soggy tail so heavy he couldn't lift it and he walked away with the end dragging on the floor. (Hey, maybe my kitchen floor got a little cleaner?) When the tail finally dried, it looked just like the old days - a full, fluffy plume.

The next morning the tail was all matted with drool again. So much for the cleaning experiment.

Last night, I decided to grab some blunt-tipped kid scissors and cut out some of the mats on Leo's chest. I figured it was better to have short chest hair since there was little chance of his hair ever being clean enough again to have a full mane like he used to (hence the name Leo.)

All I had to do was clip the stuck-together hair tips and then I could loosen the twisted fur closer to his skin with my fingers. It had become so matted that I really couldn't scratch his chest or pet that area through the crusty hardened drool.

He let me cut off a few mats before he decided to move along and take his fur downstairs.

Hey, things are pretty good that I'm worried about this cosmetic stuff.

This morning, he looked relatively spiffy as he waited for me to feed him.

That is, if you ignore the mats on his legs and feet.

But as he tried to start eating, the bleeding began again and he had so much drool that he gave up.

Two food flavors later, I did manage to get a little Fancy Feast into him. I think he blames whatever food I put out for his drool gagging and then has no interest in that particular variety.

Last night, as I was hovering over Leo eating (re-piling the food to make it easier for him to bite into) my youngest daughter was annoyed that I wasn't paying enough attention to her. "You love the cat more than me," she said angrily.

Tough words. She stormed out of the room and I followed. I went over to her and told her that I loved her more than any cat. She brightened and said, "And I love you more than (her 7-year-boyfriend.) At least 50% more!"

Thanks goodness the first graders are learning fractions nowadays.

Well, must go and wash a large load of drool covered towels.

24 Weeks Post Diagnosis

The adventure continues...

Yesterday evening after I returned from work, Leo was showing all signs of being hungry (as in standing in the kitchen meowing) but refused everything I put in front of him without even trying it. Room temperature, warmed -- he turned his nose at a variety of meat products, cat and baby food. I even resorted to shoving a tiny bit of baby food into his mouth, which of course just made him run away from me.

As a last resort, I pulled out the gallon of milk. I never feed him regular (cow's) milk (that whole lactose intolerance thing) but often catch him trying to drink the leftover milk in the kids' cereal bowls after they leave the table.

Poured it into a saucer -- and he began to drink. Emboldened, I then plopped a bit of baby food into the milk and Leo ate it up.

Relief that at least he'd have a little nutrition in his system for the day.

However, less than a half hour later, my husband informed me that Leo had thrown up in the upstairs hall. I was no longer relieved.

When I cleaned it up, I discovered that there was lots of mucus in the mix -- so much so that some of the mess just lifted right off the carpet.

A couple hours later, I tried again to feed him. (Again, it was at Leo's verbal request.) Again no luck with his current favorites.

With nothing to lose, I pulled out a can of Fancy Feast Whitefish + Tuna. Leo hadn't wanted to eat any fish flavors for weeks, so I had stopped offering them to him as of late.

Of course, ever the contrarian, Leo dug right in. He ate at least 2/3 of the can, which these days is cause for celebration.

This morning, the sunrise found Leo meowing outside my bedroom door. The "Feed me!" meow, which I swear he has worked on to make sound as much like "Mom" as possible.

When I opened the door, his behavior was perky (again in that "Feed me!" way of trying to corral me down the steps towards the kitchen.)

But his chin was covered in blood.

He didn't seem to notice or be in any pain. So I decided to try and feed him as usual.

Going for another fish flavor, I pulled the top off a can of Salmon Fancy Feast. Leo dug right in, even as blood dripped out of his mouth onto the plate (watery bright red blood, not mixed with drool.)

As he chowed down, the bleeding subsided. That is, if you don't count the foot-long bloody drool that slimed out the side of his mouth as he ate.

But he ate the whole can! Even if he doesn't eat another bite today, this is enough.

I'm pretty sure that last night's vomit of mucus/milk/food made Leo feel better -- got some of that mucus out of his system at least.

I have no idea where the bleeding is coming from in his mouth (it's now 11:15 AM and all his drool thus far today has been blood-tinged.) It's from somewhere in the back of his mouth on the tumor side. Nothing seems to really be hurting him when I rub the side of his face -- although I notice he is occasionally scratching the hinge area of his chin on that side.

Put Leo back on the Clindamycin drops -- he really needs an antibiotic to make sure that whatever is bleeding doesn't get infected.

I'm finding myself worn down by this whole process -- although today is much better than yesterday, to be sure. I have to keep myself from going into doom-and-gloom mode when things go bad (natural tendency to prepare yourself for the worst, I suppose)...and remember to always expect the unexpected, good or bad.

Dreaming

I'm dreaming Saturday morning -- the sun is up, but I'm asleep. I dream of being tossed from a small boat, which overturns in the ocean waves. Leo is in the water (doggypaddling) in front of me. The cat can swim -- who knew? The sun shines, it's summertime and we are near the shore, so there is no panic.

Next thing I know we are out of the water, and my kitty finds himself trying to maneuver through a six-inch-deep snowfall.

Keep in mind that Leo is a 100% indoor cat. He's never been in the snow, and as far as I know he's not sneaking out for the occasional swim.

Oh, there was more, I'm sure. I'm fairly certain I dreamed of another Leo crisis last night. But I think one goofy dream is enough to illustrate my particularly disturbed state of mind.

There's a pretty obvious interpretation...my subconscious illustrating the continuing trials that Leo is facing. (Is the water a symbol of Leo's excessive drool? Hmm...where's Freud when you need him?)

Of course, I jinxed myself and Leo by being too positive in my last post. Probably the nanosecond that post hit the www, Leo stopped eating again.

I did manage to spoon feed him baby food yesterday, but even that wasn't acceptable to the furman this morning.

Just feeling at the end of my rope. I like an old-fashioned wooden roller coaster ride, but I'm not a fan of loops and I'm being thrown through a lot of them lately... (I could belabor the metaphor and say the floor has dropped away from me like a floorless coaster, but I'll resist ;)

Maybe it's my control-freak personality that is distressed by this uncontrollable illness. I want to break the code, to figure out how to make this journey smoother -- or perhaps even make his journey faster at this point. For it seems that Leo's happiness is equally balanced by his limitations.

But he is still experiencing happiness -- even after he barely eats this morning due to the slime pouring from his mouth, I find him stretched out on my bed. When he sees me entering the room, he rolls over and purrs. I rub his matted belly and remember how it used to be so fluffy and soft -- the softest fur imaginable...like your most huggable stuffed animal come to life.

Through his ordeal, I see glimmers of his former vivacious personality but it alternates with body language that seems to signal something between discomfort and defeat.

Why Leo? Why my sweet, magnificent, greatest cat ever?

It's just not fair. And I am very, very pissed.

The Comeback Kitty (1 Graphic photo)

(Forgive my long and rambling post -- I'm time-deprived, so I can't edit myself.)

On Sunday, Leo had convinced me he was a goner.

That day he basically didn't eat anything. And because I had resorted to mixing his Clindamycin antibiotic "treat" into his food (since he couldn't swallow it whole) no food meant no antibiotic.

I also tried giving him non-medicated food (in case the med was putting him off) and he couldn't even bring himself to lap up any baby food -- maybe just had a small taste of cat milk, that was it. He wouldn't even eat tuna...just a few laps of the tuna water.

When he came up on my lap for petting, I could feel he was shaky on his feet -- plus he was nothing more than fur on bones.

Over the weekend, I had decided I would call the vet office Monday morning to get Clindamycin drops (instead of treats) -- but should I even bother getting his pred refilled? He had enough pills to take him through Wednesday - but if he continued his non-eating ways, Wednesday would probably be his final vet visit (if you catch my drift) and I would be left with 30 pills I had no use for.

For whatever reason, Monday morning I decided to go try Fancy Feast again -- even though all through the past week he hadn't been able to get it down. And for whatever reason, Monday morning he was able to eat it!

I don't know why it worked when he hadn't been able to manage regular cat food for days, but he was actually getting something into his system, so the why didn't matter. Maybe he finally figured how to maneuver his tongue around the growth in his mouth.

A graphic view of the tumor pushing Leo's tongue off to the side.

It's actually kinda cute when you just see his little tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. Seeing this much of the inside of his mouth (which is really only visible with flash) = not cute.

And with his renewed ability to eat, his demeanor changed -- Monday he spent most of the day approaching either me or my husband for petting. He just seemed more like his old self than he had for the entire month of June.

More Like His Old Self Monday

Since Monday, there have been a couple days when he's nearly eaten an entire can of Fancy Feast at dinner time. He's not eating a normal amount of food, but enough to sustain him. Probably a total of 1 1/3 cans of Fancy Feast per day and an afternoon treat of 1/2 to 1 jar of baby food.

Yesterday (Thursday) morning when I bent down to pet him at my bedroom door, he actually felt more substantial than a skeleton.

The Clindamycin drops are easier to administer than I expected, because it is only a half-dropper (12.5 mg) per dose. When he was on the much-hated (foaming at the mouth) Clavamox drops it was an entire-dropper each dose. The Clavamox had an objectionable-to-my-cat flavor (it smelled like banana to me - are cats supposed to like bananas?) The Clindamycin liquid doesn't have a distinct odor and from his reaction it is more an annoyance to have me squirt a liquid into his mouth than anything that puts a bad taste in his mouth.

But it's not all cheery and light. There is a lot of me jumping through hoops to get him to eat. I have to pile the cat food in a Close Encounters mound so he can get his mouth around the "peak." Which means I have to crouch by him as he eats to maintain the mound.

When Leo leaves without finishing (which is all the time) I have to take the leftovers and warm them in the microwave to get him interested again.

He will not eat the same flavor two meals in a row. He will not go back and finish old food that is left on his plate (Oh yeah, I've gone from kitty bowls to feeding him on saucers -- easier for him to maneuver for the food.)

His drool gets worse as he salivates in food anticipation, and I have to somehow wipe the strings away in between his bites -- because if it gets into the food he won't eat it (well, can't blame him for that one.)

And I'm not really a natural caregiver type, so don't confuse my dedication with some sort of natural nursing bent!

The prednisolone pill, which used to be the easiest part of his care, has become somewhat of an ordeal.

Wednesday afternoon, Leo was the happiest of cats. He was lying on his back in the sunshine, wanting me to rub his belly. "Ah, he's so relaxed," thought I. "This is the perfect time to pill him."

Wrong! I tossed the pill into his mouth, right into the worst of spots -- into the pouch created by the tumor in the back of his mouth.

Immediately, Leo began to freak out -- growling as he rolled from side to side on his back with both front legs rubbing frantically along his face to try and (unsuccessfully) get the pill out. In doing so, he dislodged a blood clot that had resided somewhere in tumorland -- the clot landed on the rug (by then Leo had jumped off his window perch and was struggling on the floor) and he began bleeding all over the legs that he was rubbing against his face.

Well, eventually the pill went down. At least I think so. Resolve removed the blood stain on the rug. And Leo forgave me, as he is so good at doing.

The next day, I was determined to have better aim when pilling him. So I made sure I aimed for his actual throat opening. And then he spit out the pill -- I hadn't thrown it in far enough.

So I went for the secret weapon -- a piller I had purchased a few weeks ago, but never used.

The evil piller

I put it into Leo's mouth and pushed the plunger. It seemed to work. He did not struggle. He went over to the bed and hopped up, looking for petting. I was happy to oblige.

As I was scratching his face, I noticed a white spot inside his mouth -- an ulceration? I looked again -- it was the pill! Evidently it had landed in a part of his mouth where he doesn't have a lot of sensation. Towards the front, partially under his tongue.

So I kept scratching his little head while simultaneously lifting it - to try and get the pill to go down. When that didn't work, I figured it would just dissolve and get into his system that way.

But I had to watch him to make sure he didn't spit it out.

Long story somewhat shorter -- 30 minutes of watching later, the pill was dissolving into a white foam, which then dripped right out of Leo's mouth onto the towel on which he was lying. Oh, he had moved twice in that time period -- from bed to chair to window seat -- and all the movement did was slide more of the medication out of his mouth.

I decided he hadn't absorbed enough to count, so a couple hours later I went back and somehow managed to get another pred pill in him the right way, the first time. No trauma whatsoever.

All this was yesterday. Last night, he came up to our bedroom and lay on the bed at our feet while we watched The Office. He doesn't visit us in the evening often (although he used to be around so frequently when we were watching 24 that I began to think he either was actually watching the show or just liked the sound of Kiefer Sutherland's voice!)

He was so contented that I almost forgot he wasn't our old normal fluffy guy.

So, although the dark and dismal slide will likely start again soon, for at least a couple days I have had my affectionate Leo back.


Sure, he's still smelly, drooly and matted, but he's purring like crazy and seems happy to be alive.

A sure sign kitty is feeling better --
Leo this morning, as he creeps along in an evil plot
to drink the leftover milk from my husband's glass.

(Um...sorry, husband -- he didn't leave any bodily fluids on your pillow, I swear.)

Vacationing with Kitty

When Leo's chin tumor was discovered more than five months ago, the only positive thought that entered my mind was, "Well, at least I won't need to hire a cat sitter when we go down the shore in June."

Turns out I was right about the sitter, but quite wrong about Leo's imminent demise.

But Leo's condition had deteriorated at the end of May to the point that I knew there was no way I could leave him in another's care. We were going to have to bring him with us -- even though the rental house's lease had a "no pets" clause.

As the departure date neared, I found my sleep interrupted with worries about how Leo would adjust to his first stay away from home in the 11 years we had lived in our current house. Would he be so fearful of the car ride and the new surroundings that the stress would worsen his health? Would he meow so loudly at night that he would keep my children and my brother's family awake? Would one of the five young children staying with us accidentally let him out of the bedroom where we would be confining him? Would Leo keep me or my husband awake by walking all over our heads (or drooling on them) in the middle of the night? (At home he isn't allowed in our bedroom when we're sleeping.)

And the big one: would someone see Leo through a window (or hear him) and call the rental agency causing my parents to lose their sizable security deposit...or worse, be evicted.

Well...the short answer is that I have a very, very good cat.

The long answer:

We prepared for the trip by buying a new litter box, a smaller carrier (so I could have Leo on my lap in the car), and an herbal concoction called "Pet Calm" to reduce trauma during the 75-minute ride. Lots and lots of towels were packed to protect the room where Leo would be spending the next 10 days.

The morning we were set to leave (about 4 AM) our sleep was interrupted by the sound of Leo retching outside our bedroom door. I rolled over and hoped it was just a hairball. When I got up a few hours later I instead found two large pools of vomited food (and no fur.)

Add "vomiting" to my list of fears for the beach house.

About an hour before we were scheduled to leave, I crushed up 1/2 tablet of Pet Calm, mixed it with mayo, but Leo refused it. And after the vomiting earlier that day, I wasn't about to push it on him, and I just gave up on the whole idea.

Even unherbalized, Leo ended up being a champ in the car. He wailed as usual for the first few minutes - pretty much until after we passed the vet office. Then he quieted down for the rest of the ride, with just the occasional cry during stops/starts and when we were travelling over 60 mph.

There was one bad moment when he starting panting in fear, but I think it was because my 6-year-old was being very loud in the backseat and he is scared of her (wasn't when he was well, but he can't tolerate her volume at this point.)

We arrived at the rented shore house (that doesn't allow pets) and snuck him in with a sheet over the carrier. Now, normally I would never ever disobey a rental agreement, but I was sure that Leo would not survive if we left him behind in another's care. I medicate him three times a day and it is not easy to get the meds into him.

And we were very careful to protect the property -- towels everywhere...and the owners already had our bed's mattress encased in plastic -- didn't make for the most comfortable night's sleep, but it meant I didn't have to worry about drool somehow getting through our layers of towels into the mattress.

Leo was not the least bit nervous when released from the carrier into the bedroom. Of course, he insisted on checking out every corner of the room (and closet) but then settled in. In fact, he was very happy and purred loudly once he deemed the property safe. When a car ride usually just brings you to the vet, anyplace else is greatly appreciated!

He did scare me by not using the new litter box until the middle of the first night. Leo's a very polite cat who would never go out of box unless dealing with a UTI, but still...I was getting nervous when he kept jumping out every time I placed him in the box. I suppose he had to decide on his own when the time was right to christen it.

Oh, and he didn't vomit again. Thankfully.

He did try to escape the bedroom a few times the first couple days, but the house luckily had this unusual situation of a door at the top of the stairs. (I suppose at one point the rooms on the top floor had been rented out separately or housed a family member who really valued privacy!) So when Leo did get out, he couldn't get far.

The first few days he slept under our bed, but then we rigged up a cardboard box perch under a window with a nice padding of towels that became his bed. Either way, he was quiet and left us alone during the night. I suspect if it had just been me alone he would have been next to me drooling on my pillow. Leo used to nap with me when he was a young kitty. To this day (at home) Leo will sneak up to visit me in the bedroom at nighttime if my husband happens to go downstairs to get a drink or a snack...his little furry head will push open the door and he will leap up on my side of the bed and deposit himself on my torso. As soon as my husband returns, Leo jumps off and runs out the door.

Not that he doesn't love my husband too. Just not that way.

But I digress...

So none of my fears turned out to be founded.

Another helpful hint: We kept a container of handi-wipes in our room -- Leo's drool leaves a nasty smell on one's hands and we were sharing a bathroom with three other bedrooms so we couldn't always get to the bathroom to wash up (plus every coming and going out of the room had to be carefully orchestrated so Leo wouldn't get out.)

We brought Leo home before we left the rental house for good (we all slept at home and humans drove back the next day) so we could thoroughly clean the rental bedroom without him in it -- and probably left the place in better condition than we found it.

The ride home went even better than the ride out -- he only meowed a couple times when we first set off. He seemed somewhat happy to be back home (had to do a cursory walk-through to check out all the rooms when we returned.)

Even though thing went better than expected, there were negatives -- We had to keep the windows closed so as not to give away Leo's presence to the neighbors. We did end up cracking the windows and raising the blinds a few inches so he could peek out. I felt rather awful for not giving him something more interesting to see, since looking outside is one of the few joys he has left at this point.

And his general condition deteriorated during 8 days he was away from home, due to eating problems. He would take a mouthful of Fancy Feast and most of it would fall out of his mouth before he could swallow. So he soon gave up on anything except (human) baby food, which he can lick up.

I tried CatSure (like Ensure for kitties, I guess) a liquid meal substitute -- Leo liked it at first, and then one time his mouth was bleeding and the blood went into the liquid -- and he turned his nose up at it every time I presented him with it afterwards (and the stuff costs like $7 a can!) But he does still drink Whiskas Cat Milk.

I also couldn't get him to eat his Clindamycin compounded treats (it kept falling out of his mouth, even when I broke it in half and mushed it flatter.) So, I mixed it into the baby food, and that generally worked. I figured he was getting at least half the dosage, and with his weight down so much that is probably enough. He hasn't had an oral infection return anyway.

When pred pilling him (which doesn't work great at this point) I can see that his throat opening is getting smaller.)

He was also drinking a frightening amount of water (for a cat.) Especially when we first arrived, so maybe it was a result of the panting. I left a bowl of water and he drank an inch worth's at one shot. I suspect he may have a kidney problem (whether or not caused by all the medication he's been on for the past five months, I don't know...) But at this point, with the tumor as progressed as it is, it is not worth worrying about.

We did end up bringing him home a day earlier than planned. In part because he wasn't looking so hot, but it was just as much that the whole situation was stressing me out. I felt that I couldn't give him enough attention with all the other demands on my time (some of those "demands" were fun activities, and other times it was just that I really had to keep more of an eye on my kids than I would if they were safely occupied in our own home.)

Oh, a skinny furry guy has just come to visit me with a "It's dinnertime" meow.

I hope I can actually get him to eat something tonight, since he wouldn't eat any of his morning baby food -- I think he initially gagged on his mucus drool and then blamed it on the food. Later, I force fed him a little bit on a spoon, which inspired him to eat more on his own -- but only a little bit more.

Soon after, he purred his loudest purr as I was rubbing his head and face. So I have to accept that he will eat what and when he wants to eat at this point.

Um, Leo just put his front paws on my lap to get me off this laptop. The master calls, and it's time to go...

22 1/2 Weeks Update - Graphic Photo

A few days ago, we brought Leo back from his first trip away from home in the 11 years he has lived in our current house. I'll cover that whole extravaganza in a more extensive post soon.

In the meantime, here are photos taken a few days ago, when we were still in the vacation house.

Here is our hero, wondering why I'm taking pictures of him instead of scratching his head.

Since the tumor has grown upwards into his mouth (in the beginning, it only grew out and down) it has pushed his tongue over to the side.

He cannot comfortably close his mouth at this point, so we are seeing more of his "fangs" in the past few weeks than we have seen the entire 13 years of his life.



Regarding slime-mucus-drool: this is actually better than he usually looks in that regard. More often it is all over the front and left side of his chin, as well as hanging down in strings. I've become rather immune to the gross factor, but I do try to remove it as much as possible. However, it clings to his fur like you wouldn't believe.

This is the best (maybe "clearest" is a better word than "best") photo I have been able to take of the inside his mouth. By the way, he is not uncomfortable with the way I am holding his mouth -- I would never do anything that bugged Leo for the sake of a photo.

And now I'm going to list a bunch of terms in case anyone is doing a search on them: Squamous cell carcinoma, SCC, feline osteosarcoma, cat jaw tumor, fibrosarcoma. The whole idea of putting these graphic photos up is for other cat owners who are dealing with the same thing to see. I have done a lot of searches and have only found a couple of photos I could relate to Leo's condition.

I will post in more detail later, but his condition is continuing to deteriorate to the point where I find myself wondering if I am doing the right thing for him. He just came over to meow at me -- sounds like his "I want attention" meow, so I will rush through the rest of this without consideration for proper writing form.

The first photo above is really a best-case photo -- I couldn't bring myself to put something up from the times when his fur is all damp and matted (as it is at this present moment) from his grooming attempts (when he cleans himself it spreads the thick drool all over and his fur mats itself to his skeletal frame.)

I must have been combing out the mats too vigorously a few days ago -- he used to love it but recently has gotten up and walked away every time I've tried to unmat his long tail fur and lift the matted fur off his paws.

So much trouble getting food into him now. It seems the only thing he can manage most days is (human) baby food -- meat varities.

But he's not acting like he wants to leave this world. And so I must assume that the time has not come to let him go.

Five Month Mark

Yesterday marked five months since Leo's diagnosis...

Not much change since the last post -- he's not eating great, he's drooly and smelly. Occasionaly his mouth bleeds, but it doesn't seem to be causing him any pain.

Yesterday I found myself wondering if his quality of life remains. Conclusion: there is still enough there to continue on. Because he wants to eat and dives into each meal -- gives it his best shot although he never manages to eat it all. He enjoys the combing out of his matted fur and still purrs when his chin is scratched.

Pictures to follow in a day or two (and hopefully no bad news between now and then.)

21 Weeks Post Diagnosis

We were away overnight this weekend, and I figured Leo would be okay alone for 24 hours. Hoped so anyway.

I gave him his medications right before we left, and mixed antibiotic into his food - two servings in a timer dish set to open up 12 hours apart.

When we returned Sunday evening, he was waiting by the door. Both sides of the timer dish were open, but he had barely touched either.

Still, he was very happy to see us (if purring is any indication) and very eager to eat the new food I dished out.

But he is so very, very thin. With his long fur, it's hard to tell by looking, but to pet him...he is mostly skin and bone.

He just seemed off today. I think the tumor got bigger. It definitely feels lumpier; instead of being a mostly smooth lump under his jaw, it has these hard nodules sprouting out. It may just be that without any body fat I can feel the bumpiness better...

Sigh.

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly - 20 weeks post-diagnosis

The Good: Leo's urinary tract infection cleared up over the weekend.


The Bad: He has been eating very little the past five days. May be due to stomach upset from Baytril. Or a combination of that and the difficulty he has just getting food into his mouth.

I went to the secret weapon -- people tuna -- on Saturday when he hadn't eaten anything at all for 24 hours. At first, he only lapped up the tuna water. He kept gagging when he tried to eat the tuna itself -- appeared he had mucus drool stuck in the back of this throat. Eventually, the tuna water seemed to clear out his mouth and he ate quite a bit of the tuna itself.

Since then, he's been acting hungry (lots of meowing, and sitting in the kitchen staring at me with that look) but would eat just a little bit of each meal, then walk away to never want to touch it again.

Saturday afternoon, I bought some Salmon flavored Vita Gravy to make his cat food runnier (so he could just lick it up) and hopefully more appealing. At first, Leo lapped it up eagerly - ate about half of his meal -- but never went back to finish it and has refused the sauce (on food or plain) since.

He's also been completely refusing the high calorie a/d prescription food.

All of which adds up to a very scrawny kitty cat.

I was all ready to call the vet this morning, but (the contrarian that he is) Leo ate most of his food last night. And this morning, I fed him before giving the Baytril (although it's easier to get the medication into him if he hasn't already eaten -- since I am crushing it into food) to see if he would eat better without the med in his stomach. He ate 3/4 of the food right away.

Then I crushed the Baytril, mixed it into mayo, and had him lick it off my fingers. I believe he got enough of it into his system.

Good! No vet call necessary, not today at least.


The Ugly: Well...my family members would probably say this is Leo. There has been a lot of complaining about his smelliness. Got "Fast Bath" (a spray on - towel dry cat cleaner) and -- Surprise! -- discovered cats don't really like being sprayed with anything.

But the ugly I'm referring to is a bit more traumatic -- I was giving him his prednisolone pill in the afternoon, and I opened his mouth as usual (put my left thumb into the non-tumor side of his mouth between upper and lower jaws to gently force it open.) Pinching the pill with my right forefinger and thumb, I put it into the back of Leo's throat. Just like I've done a hundred times before. (I actually have to put my fingers into his mouth now to get the pill far back enough for him to swallow it easily.)

Either as I was putting the pill in or as as he closed his mouth, I heard a cracking sound. And noticed that Leo's jaw now looked crooked. Like his whole lower jaw was pushed slightly over to the right.

I felt sick to my stomach...thinking, "Oh my god, did I just break his jaw?" He began opening his mouth wide and closing it over and over...and then just crouched there looking somewhat dazed.

I could see that his right "fangs" were not sitting right in relation to each other -- they were rubbing against each other. When he opened his mouth, I had a rare clear view inside. Leo's tongue hanging over to the right side, as the tumor has grown upwards into his mouth so much that it pushes his tongue over to sit on the right back teeth. No wonder he hasn't been closing his mouth all the way for weeks.

To cut the drama (and if you were paying attention I did talk about him eating pretty well last night and this morning): I realized I didn't break his jaw. It may be slightly dislocated from the pilling, or maybe it was already slightly crooked earlier in the day and I just didn't notice.

It doesn't seem to be bothering him at this point (although I did catch him doing the wide mouth opening later last night, I haven't seen it this morning.)

When he eats, there are all kinds of clicking and teeth-hitting-each-other noises. It's difficult to watch as he opens his mouth wide to take in a big bite, and then most of the food falls out of his mouth before he can swallow it. I suppose because his tongue isn't in its proper position it is harder for him to use it to get the food down. Plus, when food gets into the pouch that the tumor has created on the left side of his face, he has to stop eating and rub his paw on the side of his face to push the food out.

Too sad. But he still has the will and the energy to try to keep eating and still maintains his daily routine, so I will continue to let him live his life.

But it's getting harder and harder to watch. And that's the real ugly.

Leo, as I write...this is where he spends his mornings enjoying the warmth of the sun.

His afternoon hangout

Urinary Tract Infection

Just to make life more interesting...

Wednesday evening, I realized something was up with Leo's urinary tract. He was making frequent trips to the litter box, but only managed to get a tiny amount of pee out.

He has a history of urinary problems -- including a life-threatening blockage when he was about nine months old. Spent most of his life on special cat food -- years on Hills prescription a/d food (although he had problems with the a/d dry food and then went to all wet food diet.)

So, my major concern was that he was going to be blocked again. But Wednesday evening he wasn't in any apparent pain, and at least something was coming out when he tried to go, so I figured it could wait until regular vet hours in the morning.

Even so, worry kept me from getting a decent night's sleep. I think my main fear was that there was going to be something majorly wrong with his urinary tract -- and Leo'd be there oozing bloody drool and curled into a ball (from fear of vet office) and the vet was going to tell me to put him out of his misery. Which I would do if I thought he was truly beyond help.

But my guy had been affectionate and friendly and loving all day and he still seemed to be enjoying life.

I woke up Thursday morning to find Leo in the same shape as the night before. He was happily purring as I pet him, but kept making trips down to the litter box in the basement. He also hadn't eaten much food in the past 24 hours.

But he looked rather good. Because the urinary irritation had prompted him to spend a great deal of time cleaning his...um...privates, Leo had no mucus goo stuck on his face. So, at least his appearance wouldn't influence the vet as far as treatment options.

Long story short (well, may not that short, knowing me...) Got him to the vet where she did a dipstick test and it showed blood, high levels of protein and infection in his urine. Since she was able to squeeze the urine out of him easily, she concluded he wasn't blocked. And Leo should go back on Baytril antibiotic -- a 10 day course.

She gave him a Baytril shot to jump-start the process.

But Leo has lost more weight -- he only weighed 8.6 pounds! I guess it's not too bad considering that the last time he was at the vet office (April) he weighed 9.1 pounds (meaning he's only lost 1/2 pound in two months of dealing with the difficulties of eating with a jaw tumor.)

But he used to weigh 11 pounds before the tumor, so it's no wonder he is looking rather worn these days.

Because he weighs less now, she told me to give him less Baytril than was previously prescribed (1/2 tablet in the morning, 1/4 tablet in the evening.)

Vet also told me that Baytril can be crushed into food -- since I have had many problems trying to give him Baytril before. She spent a fair amount of time discussing different ways to get him to take the pill, that was nice.

They even gave me extra pills in case a pill or two was destroyed/lost in the process.

What didn't occur to me until after I had left the vet office is that they didn't give Leo any subcutaneous fluids like they usually do in UTIs to flush out the system. I don't know if that was an omission or just something the vet felt he didn't need. But it's always seemed to help in the past.

Last night, I had no problem giving him the 1/4 tablet just by pilling him the usual way -- the 1/4 tab is about the size of his prednisone tablet which I can still usually get down the first time.

This morning I crushed the 1/2 tab and mixed it into a pea-sized bit of mayo, which he eagerly licked off the spoon. It took several tries to get it all into him, because he has a hard time keeping stuff from falling out of his mouth.

He doesn't seem to be journeying down to the litter box as much today, and there were a few clumps from overnight in the box that were larger (quarter-sized as opposed to yesterday's dime-sized clumps) but still he isn't going normally (normal clump would be bigger than a golf-ball) at this point.

Oh well.

Highway Robbery

My little family is vacationing in a beach house later this summer, and we are going to have to bring Leo along with us -- because even if we wanted to pay a cat sitter to come to our house twice a day to give him meds, they probably wouldn't be able to get him to take them -- it's become a difficult process as Leo's tumor has gotten larger.

I had to go to vet office to pick up Leo's prednisone refill, so I called and asked about getting Leo a medication like valium, one that would calm him down in the car ride and in strange surroundings.

The woman I spoke with said valium was way too strong for this purpose...and she would talk to the vet...

I didn't hear back and went to pick up the pred figuring they would either have something for me there or I would bring it up again in person. I asked for Leo's prescription and another pill vial was given to me along with the prednisone. No discussion of contents, just handed to me.

I see the vial is marked "Pet Calm" and I open it (as my bill is being prepared) and noticed the tablets were huge (and vial is marked give 1/2 tablet.) "No way am I going to be able to get this down my cat's throat," I say. The woman at the desk say, "Oh no -- it's a chewable -- and you can crush them up and mix them into food."

I was so preoccupied with the size of the Pet Calm that it wasn't until after I left that I realized that this is not a prescription drug, just an over-the-counter herbal pill.

And that I was charged $7.50 for three tablets.

Went online immediately and found I could get a bottle of Pet Calm at a reputable seller -- $5.59 for 50 TABLETS.

Ingredients: Calcium: 100mg, Vitamin B-6: 20mg, MAGNESIUM: 75mg,
VALERIAN 4X CONCENTRATE: 175mg, PASSION FLOWER: 175mg, Black Cohosh: 150mg, Niacinamide: 100mg, Hops: 50mg

So, I called the vet office...told her that I found it online for far less and I wanted to return the pills to the office.

She seemed surprised that it was so much cheaper online...said I could return them, but I had to do it that afternoon.

So, back to the office. I resisted the urge to complain when there...after all, the women at the desk don't set the price and they already knew I was irked from my phone conversation.

Still, can you imagine charging $7.50 for 3 pills that cost them 75 cents (the highest price I found online for 50 pills was $12) at the most?

That is so very wrong.

Unfortunately, when in the process of purchasing the Pet Calm online, I went and ordered $40 more of various vitamins and suppliments from Vitamin Shoppe! So somehow I managed to spend a lot of money in the process of trying to save a little. Oh well... (I got myself some valerian too, so hopefully both Leo and I will be quite mellow on vacation.)

Status Quo (CAUTION: Graphic Photo)

Leo has been doing very well since my last post -- at least in the sense that his behavior has been relatively normal and he appears to be pain-free.

However, the mucus-drool/bleeding has been constant and profuse. More drool than bleeding, although at least once a day the two are mixed.

My grade-school-age kids are actually afraid of him now (maybe grossed out is more accurate) even as I explain that he is still the same kitty inside, and he has an illness and can't help but drool.

It kind of breaks my heart to post photos of Leo in this state, but I want to illustrate his condition for other pet owners whose cats might be dealing with a similar oral tumor.

I find some irony in that he was always the most beautiful, gorgeous cat -- no one ever met him without commenting on his beauty. (He knew it too!)

And he gets this horrible tumor that has made him ugly in others' eyes. But I still see my same guy -- and the goo that covers not only his chin but often wets and mats his neck, chest, front legs and tail...well, it's incidental to me. Even as he smells like a used handkerchief!

Anyway, here he is this morning, just being his usual regal self and waiting for his servant (um, that would be me) to feed him.

Close-up

I assure you that he is in absolutely no pain even though the drool is bloody. The camera's flash is the only reason his eyes are closed in the photo.

Crying Wolf?

I just caught Leo on the kitchen table lapping up leftover milk from a Barbie cereal bowl.

One might say that this is a good sign. (At least until the lactose gives him diarrhea.)

My last post was pretty ominous, but for whatever reason, Leo seems to have rallied again. After spending yesterday morning under the chair (and bleeding so much that it left a quarter-size spot on the rug) he didn't have any major oral bleeding yesterday afternoon or this morning -- and his chin wasn't even slime covered as it has been all week (although the drool drip remains fairly constant, but somehow it's easier when it's just dripping out the side as opposed to a permanent chin smear.)

In other words, he's looking good enough this morning for a little photo shoot....

Cleaning up after breakfast

Clean and waiting to be lavished with attention...

Just for contrast, the photo below from a few days ago shows the chin mucus-like drool goo we've had to deal with of late (but not today, so far!) Sorry for the gross nature of the photo -- it's here to inform, not to disgust.

When this drool goo happens there is nothing I can do to remove it -- he will not allow me to touch the front of his chin...heaven forbid if I try to get near his face with a tissue or paper towel.

The mucus drool smelled as bad as it looked.

And some clinical tumor photos from this morning...

I've outlined the tumor area -- you can see that it has pushed Leo's mouth off-kilter a bit. Also making it difficult for him to eat, as the food that goes into his mouth can go off to the side and get stuck in the pushed out tumor area.

It's also gotten much more challenging to pill him.

Underneath view of the big old tumor that my sweet kitty has to deal with.

Status Report

Saturday -- Leo's mouth continues to bleed throughout the day. He found a new spot to hang out -- curled on a bedroom low bureau in front of window all afternoon -- lots of spots of blood, including a clot, on the towel he was lying on.

Sunday -- no significant bleeding. Seemed to be feeling better. Ate all his food overnight Sunday into Monday.

Monday -- today marks 18 weeks post-diagnosis -- Leo meowed, meowed, meowed from 5:30 AM to wake me up. No noticeable bleeding all day long.

In the evening, I could not get him to swallow Baytril pill (he spit it out repeatedly and was fighting me. I thought I had finally gotten it down his throat as he sat still on my lap looking me in the eye for a full minute...I let him go and he shook his head, propelling the starting-to-dissolve pill out of his mouth.) So I gave up on the Baytril.

Tuesday -- Did not wake me up in the morning, but he was there when I opened the door. Vet office called and said to put him back on Clindamycin, which we started this evening. No bleeding today.

Late morning I couldn't find him in any of his regular spots. Called him and he came out from hiding under dining room chair. He didn't seem to be feeling bad, but he went back under the chair and stayed there all midday into evening.

At night, I mixed his leftover morning food with cat milk...he ate most of that mixture overnight (Tuesday into Wednesday) but only ate about half his regular evening food.

Wednesday Morning 9 AM -- Did not wake me up this morning, but was waiting at bedroom door. Seemed to be acting normal when I opened the door, but he had bright red bloody drool coming out left side of his mouth. Ate a little food - not much - drank a lot of water.

He came over to me when he heard the kids go out the door for the bus (his usual routine.) As usual, he wanted to be held up and watch the kids outside. He purred as usual.

After the bus left, we had a couple more short bouts of petting, scratching and purring (as I try to gently pick all the wet goo and dried clumps of goo out of his fur.)

Afterwards, he jumped out of my arms, took a nibble of food and drank more water. Then he disappeared to under the slipcover of a dining room chair -- which is where he is sleeping now, at 9:12 AM.

It's unusual for him to be sleeping in the dark as he did yesterday and is doing now. Normally he would be lying out in a sunbeam somewhere.

So, this may be a signal that we are starting down the final slope -- may be a sign that Leo has begun to give up the fight. I will follow his lead with a hope that the end will be a quiet fade and not a wicked battle.

Bloody Friday

Half of this blog's purpose is to keep interested parties up-to-date on Leo's condition, and the other half is just to help me remember what is happening when.

And that's mostly what this post is about.

Leo seemed his usual hungry self this morning -- but before he could eat I had to give him half of a rather large (about the size of a human aspirin) Baytril pill. He took it pretty well, and went over to eat his food -- but ate just a couple bites and walked away.

His mouth was bleeding again -- bright red blood, not mixed with drool or saliva.

I couldn't tell where exactly the blood was coming from in his mouth (other than on the side where the tumor grew on his jaw.) Blood seemed to be pooled around his lower front "fang"...but it may have just drifted there.

Oh, and a few minutes later I heard retching and found he had barfed in several places on the living room rug -- there may have been a tiny little hairball in the midst of what appeared to be every bit of food he had just eaten, and probably most of the Baytril.

A short time afterwards, he seemed to be feeling pretty okay -- at least he was lying about as usual, wanting to be petted.

But throughout the morning he would approach his food dish, maybe put his nose to it, but then walk away without eating.

I actually left the house today (as opposed to my usual hermit-like existence)...and when I returned several hours later, I found Leo with pretty much his entire chin covered in blood. He looked like he was feeling rather rotten too.

However, when I whipped out my Secret Weapon (AKA Chicken of the Sea) he was magically revitalized. I took the mushiest parts from the can and gave it to him and he ate probably a quarter of the can.

He seemed to perk up too with some food in his system, and the tuna didn't trigger any further bleeding.

Got to the vet office 5 minutes before closing (just me, no kitty -- too late to talk to vet, but who knew they closed at 4 PM?) and picked up 10 cans of a/d food (high calorie, very soft food.)

When I fed the a/d to Leo tonight, he tore into it. The main ingredient (after water) is liver, and evidently, it's quite the foie gras. He's able to eat it just by licking because it's so runny, and it didn't make his mouth bleed.

He was cleaning (or try to clean) his face throughout the day, and it doesn't seem to hurt him at all as he rubs his paw over both sides of his face. So whatever was causing the bleeding isn't making for any extraordinary amount of pain.

Unfortunately, even though there's no bleeding right now, he's losing the battle with grooming -- doesn't seem to be able to remove the mucus/food from his chin. It's rather disgusting. Okay, it's really, really, disgusting.

But I love the beauty inside this beast and Leo enjoyed a lot of attention and purred his approval tonight, as caffeine (and watching A History of Violence on DVD) has kept me from falling asleep at a decent hour.

The vet is supposed to call me back on Tuesday (being a holiday weekend and all) regarding the antibiotic situation and the horrible drool smell.

Oh, one more note -- twice today I saw Leo drinking water from his dish. Usually, well, I guess he drinks from it - that's why I put it out for him - but normally I never actually see him drink. And my husband witnessed his drinking another time today.

It could just be that his mouth is feeling particularly dried out because the tumor has grown so large that he can't quite close it all the way. But this concerns me because Leo's brother Zeke started to drink large amounts of water as his kidneys failed.

Four Month Mark

Yesterday marked four months since Leo's jaw tumor was found on an x-ray.

I wish I had better news for this milestone. The tumor has grown noticeably in the past week or so. He doesn't seem to be able to close his mouth completely. As a result, the thick awful-swelling mucus-looking drool is leaking out the front of his mouth nearly continuously and his chin is pretty much always wet from it.

Up until last night, he was still eating well. But he had a bit of blood coming out last night after I gave him his antibiotic-compounded treat, and then he really didn't eat much of anything of his evening meal. This morning, there was another drip of blood out of his mouth -- enough that it actually left tiny spots of blood on the carpet...and thus far today he's eaten maybe half of his morning meal, and a bit of last night's that I left out for him.

But, Leo continues to take everything in stride, as you can see from his come-hither-and-pet-me pose this afternoon. If he is having any significant discomfort, he is hiding it well. He continues to groom (even though he ends up spreading the thick and smelling goo on his fur and it ends up in clumps) and he wants to be held and scratched and purrs in appreciation.

He's almost at the end of this course of Clindamycin antibiotic, and I'm thinking of trying Baytril again to see if a different antibiotic would at least gets rid of the god-awful smell of his mucus drool. (It really is the worst odor ever.)

The Baytril disrupted his appetite before, but if he's already not eating that much (and I'm sensing his lack of eating has to do with the bleeding, not nausea, since he meowed outside my door for an hour this morning starting at 5:30 AM to try and get me to feed him) I guess it can't hurt his food intake that much.

Oh, at least the fur is growing back on the bald spot on his chin. No more self-mutilating scratching going on...

Life is Good...

...for a furry cat in a sunny spot on the bed.

16 Weeks Post-Diagnosis

I just realize I haven't kept the medication portion of this continuing saga up to date.

Shortly after my "mystery solved" post, I called the vet office and told them about the scratching. They suggested I half Leo's prednisolone dosage and give it to him twice a day, as opposed to once.

It may have been a total co-incidence, but it worked -- Leo did stop scratching his chin. But the fur hasn't grown back yet, as evidenced by the bald patch you can see on his jaw tumor in the photo below.

No cat was harmed in the taking of this photo! He actually loves it when I pet him like this, pulling his ears back with my hand -- always has. My little knucklehead...

The theory on halving the pill was that it would keep the level of prednisone more even in his bloodstream.

However, a new development -- his drool (which usually hung down in strings from the side of his mouth) turned into a constant wet spot in front of his mouth. Also, it looked very much like mucus -- usually the dripping drool was clear. And sometime in the middle of last week, it started smelling really putrid.

His behavior remained pretty okay -- although maybe he seemed a bit more tired than he has been. He was eating great though.

I continued him on antibiotics (clindamycin) even though his course was set to end on Thursday -- because his bad breath seemed to indicate some sort of infection.

Saturday evening, he was lying on my chest with one paw kneading each of my shoulders...his face was a couple inches from mine and the drool smell was so freakin' nasty. And if you try to wipe the mucus drool off he freaks - I tried tissues, a slightly damp washcloth and a dry washcloth -- even the gentlest brush on his face totally pissed him off.

All to say that yesterday I decided to go back to the one whole pill a day prednisone routine, since it was the change in medication schedule that preceded the change in drool.

This morning he was feeling great (if great can be defined by waking your human at 5:30 AM with incessant meowing at her bedroom door for a half-hour and when that failed trying to head-butt your way into the room.)

He didn't have any mucus drool coming out of the front of his mouth (although I could catch a whiff that the inside of his mouth still isn't smelling sweet.) And he was super affectionate and wanting mucho attention, as evidenced by the rollover below.

Happy Birthday Leo!

Mystery solved, well, sort of

Well, I figured out what was causing the rawness on Leo's chin -- and it is more obvious than ominous.

He is doing it himself. Last night, after seeing bright red spots on his chin again, I asked my husband if he had seen Leo scratching his chin in the past few days. "No," says husband. "Neither have I," say I.

And, if only to prove us wrong, Leo proceeded to sit down in front of us and attack his chin with his back paw. Meowing at the same time, although it sounded more like "Ay,yi,yi,yi,yi,yi" than a proper meow.

No wonder the abrasions seemed somewhat linear -- they are claw marks!

I picked him up and he had scratched off all the scabbed spots and the entire nickel-sized area was raw again.

But why would the tumor start bothering/itching him now after three months? He's never seemed to even notice it was there before. If anything,his chin is looking better in the past couple days than it has in a long while, because there is no infection puffiness.

So now I just have to figure out what the scratching means, and how I can stop it.

Chin Lesion Photos

Semi-graphic photos to follow, so consider yourself warned.

The skinned area that first appearated on Leo's chin a few days ago now doesn't appear to be from scratching.

This morning, I found a bit of debris on his neck fur -- upon closer inspection it appeared to be a very thin layer of skin with hair attached, which may have fallen off from his chin, leaving this raw area.



Whatever is going on, it doesn't seem to be bothering him one bit.




He ate three cans of food yesterday (usually only has two) and also devoured his food like a demon this morning. Seems to have gained a good amount of weight -- he's at or close to his pre-tumor weight. And he's been acting like his old self too.

Sooo...I don't know. Does this mean his tumor is really Squamous Cell Carcinoma (not an osteosarcoma as the vet seemed to think?)

Or does he not have cancer at all and instead has "eosinophilic granuloma complex" which is basically an allergic reaction that can cause oral growths and also hairless scabby skin lesions (although these are two different forms of the complex and I don't think usually appear together.) The vet never mentioned this possibility, I just found it through my web searches.

I'm just going to take a wait-and-see for a couple days. He's not in any pain -- in fact he's happy to have me rub the tumor area and all around the raw spot.

14 weeks post-diagnosis & 4 days post-crisis

Hard to believe that 4 days ago I was thinking the end was near...

Leo is feeling GREAT -- he's been super-affectionate, jumping on my lap, lying on my stomach, purring madly. Basically acting like his former normal self.

The bloody spot on his chin seems to be scabbing up -- although last night I thought it looked brighter red again.

But his jaw is not swollen anymore (just the hard tumor and even that looks smaller, if that is possible.) He still has constant gooey pus-like drool (nice mental picture) although that is joined by clear thinner drool when he's being petted.



Saturday evening -- his left lower jaw (right side in photo) is very puffy, extending out past his upper jaw



Monday morning - less puffy



Tuesday morning - no lower jaw puff

What Life Are We On Now?

Crazy, crazy since my last post.

Thursday, Leo was super-loving and happy after two doses of Bayril. Thursday night I switched to Clindamycin.

Then came Friday morning. He was in the upstairs hall meowing urgently when I woke my girls up for school. Mostly annoyed meows.

Came downstairs and he started scratching vigorously at the tumor side of his face with his back paw while simultaneously yelping meows (scared the heck out of the kids.)

He hadn't eaten much food overnight, and couldn't seem to get the morning food into his mouth -- got food all over his face.

My husband was off from work since he and I were preparing for a couple days in Atlantic City to celebrate our anniversary. So after the kids left for school I filled him in on the wild cat face-scratching.

An hour or so later, he told me he saw Leo spit out a large spider (wadded up) that looked like it had been in kitty's mouth for a loooong time.

Oh, by then, Leo was growling when I tried to pick him up and his face was very swollen. Lots and lots of mucus-y drool in a constant drip out the side of his mouth.

By all appearances it seemed that switching antibiotics had let the infection go full-blown on him. But did it have anything to do with the chomped-on spider?

This was the absolute worst state he had been in in the last three months. He looked miserable. Meanwhile, I'm supposed to be packing for a trip, but instead I burst into tears as I try and figure out what I should be doing.

My parents were coming to our house to watch the kids (and Leo). But would my mom be able to medicate a very upset cat? Should we be going at all?

I gave Leo an extra half-dose of Clindamycin. Mostly because my doubting nature had me wondering if the pharmacy compounded the medication into treats properly -- what if the two doses I had given Leo did not contain full-potency of Clindamycin?

After a short time, he seemed slightly better...at least not growling. And he hadn't been hiding either. Just looking very unhappy (staring ahead and not sleeping) in his fur-covered studio chair.

Even with the cat's obvious distress, he was still purring a little when I petted him -- as long as I stayed away from his face. Although mostly he would move away from me, remaining hunched in a tense looking position.

Trying to think rationally, I decided that Leo didn't want me hovering over him...that all we could do is see if antibiotics would get this thing back under control, and that I needed to continue with my plans to spend the night away from home.

Of course, my mom wasn't thrilled when she arrived at our house and I proceeded to pill Leo (his prednisone) in front of her so she could observe him hiss at me first-hand. Wanted to reassure her that his hissing didn't mean he would bite or anything, in case he was going to hiss at her in my absence.

Okay -- I'm going into too much detail.

Cut to the chase. Husband and I were gone 24 hours without an urgent call from home regarding Leo. Returned to the homestead and immediately saw that he was eating again and looked much more normal.

He had hissed at my mom when she tried to give him his Clindamycin med/treat Friday night, but she mixed it in a tiny bit of food and he ate it himself. She told me that she was really afraid he might die that night (that's how bad he looked) but sometime overnight things took a huge swing for the better and that he was greatly improved by Saturday morning -- eating without any visible distress.

This morning (Sunday) he looked super -- had obviously groomed himself and had eaten every bit of his food yesterday.

But just when I think I have everything under control a completely new situation presents itself.

I see that Leo has a bloody chin. Bright red, akin to a human's bloody skinned knee; a portion next to the bleeding part was hairless. I'm guessing he either scratched or rubbed it raw.

But there might be a chance that this means he actually has SCC (squamous cell carcinoma) instead of osteosarcoma (bone cancer)? I know SCC is characterised by ulcerations.

Anyway, by this afternoon the area seemed to be scabbing up. Just another twist in this sordid tale.


Scabby chin

My guy is really starting to look worse for the wear; as the tumor grows his face becomes more and more assymetrical. But to me he still looks wonderful when he's feeling good - even with the drool.

Day 93 -- Another Oral Infection

Leo didn't look too happy yesterday afternoon, and didn't finish all his food -- but it wasn't one of his favorite flavors of Fancy Feast (believe it or not, I have now started a list so I can remember which ones he likes best)...and later he seemed perfectly content, hanging out with us on the couch last night.

The attack of the killer tail!

Today, Leo kept to himself -- sleeping from morning into afternoon in the furry cat chair in the studio. I was busy and didn't check on him, and since he ate all his morning food, I figured all was well.

We were out this afternoon; among other things, getting more cat food (I brought my favorite flavors list!) The kids love looking at the cats up for adoption at PetSmart -- me too, but it is also quite sad to see such beautiful animals without homes.

There are about 5 or 6 cats there at any given time. Each cat has a card posted with its name, age, and other relevant info. I usually end up wanting to take at least one of them home -- hard not to want to when you look into their sweet faces. Happily, today two of the cats' cards said they were in the process of being adopted.

It was feeding time, and the cats were all more active than usual (I've joked with my husband before that I thought the cats were drugged, as they usually seem to be comatose.)

The attendant saw us looking at the kitties and asked if she could help us. Told her we were just visiting, and that our cat had cancer so we weren't looking for another pet at this time. Almost immediately regretted it, as her face fell -- getting sympathy from a complete stranger wasn't really my intention...then again, I'll take kindness whenever it is offered.

But I digress. We got home, I went to visit Leo, and when I rubbed the affected side of his jaw, he let out a soft little growl to tell me that it hurt. And the left side (tumor side) of his jaw was visibly swollen.

So...I gave him some of leftover-from-switching-antibiotics Baytril tonight (he barely ate any of his dinner) which will hopefully hold off the infection until I can get more of the antibiotic Clindamycin compounded tomorrow.

This is the - what? - fifth or sixth infection he's had in the three months since this jaw tumor reared its ugly head. I should be used to it by now. Even though it's likely he will respond to the antibiotic, it's still upsetting to see him obviously uncomfortable.

Three Month Mark

It was three months ago today that Leo's x-ray showed a mass on his jaw.

And I'm happy to say that his condition has not worsened significantly in the past month. In fact, his weight improved after we found that Clindamycin was a much gentler-on-his-stomach antibiotic.

He's seemed pretty perky the past few days. Thursday and/or Friday he wasn't even drooling all that much.

Considering most cat cancers seems to have a two-to-three-month survival prediction, I'm happy to be marking this day with no crisis, and no obvious distress.

Leo displays the opposite of obvious distress tonight.

So the next mental milestone is Leo's 13th birthday...probably marking it on May 6th, since I found that birthdate on some paperwork when he was a kitten (although I'm sure it was a date I just picked out of thin air, since I never knew exactly when he was born.)

Since it's just under two weeks ago, I'll be very surprised if he doesn't get to celebrate in some fashion (perhaps involving cheese, tuna & catnip.)

Caution: Drool

This post contains graphic photos of cat drool, so proceed at your own risk.

I wanted to put these up for others who have a cat experiencing the same problem -- thick drool seems to be a universal symptom with cats who have cancers of the mouth, especially SCC (squamous cell carcinoma).

Our vet thinks Leo's jaw tumor is osteosarcoma or fibrosarcoma, but without a biopsy we will probably never know if it is that or SCC.


Leo only drools out the left side of his mouth, which makes sense since the tumor grew from his left side of jaw.

For months (a year?) before the tumor was discovered, I noticed that he was drooling (clear, watery) when I was petting him. Nothing as drastic as these photos -- only evidence would be a small wet spot on my arm or shoulder. Thought it was old age...plus stuff on internet talks of cats salivating as a normal part of kneading (reflex based on kneading as kitten during nursing.) In retrospect, I think it may have been a warning sign.

Anyway, these photos were taken a few days ago with the rare event of a dual drool (usually he has just one strand at a time.) The drool is thick; I guess its consistency is best described as mucus-y.


If it's not evident in photos, he is totally unbothered by the gooey drips. Happily (for me) the drool doesn't have any sort of malodor at this point (but it smelled nasty when his concurrent oral infection was at its worst.)

Return of the Happy Cat; 12 weeks post-diagnosis

Tilt your head to the right (for whatever reason, blogger won't upload this photo in the proper orientation) and you will see Leo displaying cat body language for "I'm feeling alright."

These photos were taken on Saturday. Since then he had a not-wanting-to-eat Easter morning, followed by a happy-to-eat-and-life-is-good Easter night and a ravenous Monday morning.

In other words, more of the same roller coaster.

But at least once during each day he's seemed like his former happy and relaxed self. And that's all I need.

The following photos show the current extent of his jaw tumor; although the contours just don't photograph all that well.

The above is Leo's favorite petting position (if he's not on lap, which he isn't for more than a few minutes a day.) When I start to pet him, he will immediately place his front leg over my arm -- like he's trying to hold me there...sometimes falling asleep in this position or with his face cupped in my other hand.


Even with this big nasty tumor, he still likes to have his chin and neck scratched.

Day 80

Another slight downturn...yesterday Leo only ate about 3/4 of his food; so far today only half his food -- starting to feel skinny again.

The Clindamycin compounded treats no longer appeal to Leo as they have hardened into gelatinous squares and don't have much odor. So I've had to cut them into little tiny 1/8-inch chunks and mix into his food -- even so, I see him jawing hard to get them down.

Since my last post I've twice spotted a small amount of dark (as in bloody) drool dried into his fur.

The thing that's worrying me most is that he just doesn't seem himself today. He's purring when I pet him, but he just looks tired, worn.

Going back to the Hills a/d food tonight -- maybe the extra calories will perk him up. It's also a thinner consistency, which goes down easier.

Oh, just remembered I did feed him a pea-sized bit of Nutri-cal this afternoon...which previously seemed to upset him stomach when given in a large amount (even though he loves the taste of it. So maybe that's making him a bit off.

In the meantime, I came across this photo while doing computer housecleaning.

It is just soooooo Leo - before his illness he was always a mellow ball of fluff spread out all over the place. Brother Zeke played the sentinel, with a more cautious approach. Photo was taken a little less than 3 years ago, when the boys were a youthful 10 years old. Seems like much longer ago, at this point.

Day 75, or 10 Weeks Post-diagnosis

I woke up this morning to find a blood-streaked thick drool coming out the front of Leo's mouth.

Quite surprising, since he has been doing so great for the past few days.

The Clindamycin (which he started Wednesday night) has worked much better than the previous antibiotics. And he LOVES the treat form, compounded by Stokes Pharmacy in Medford, NJ.

The Hills a/d food (RX food for weight gain) was also devoured with gusto. After eating only two cans he seemed almost hefty. Since the vet office only gave us three cans, I went back to the Fancy Feast last night, which he also gobbled up quickly.

So, I guess his previous lackluster eating wasn't really tiring of the Fancy Feast(as I had thought) but rather his mouth infection.

He was acting completely like his old self -- better than he had in weeks -- I had my shoulder-massaging lap cat back.

So, I'm kind of shocked about the blood. I thought I might have seen something like this late last night when I came downstairs and petted him briefly in the dark. But I wrote it off then to the darkness.

This morning, he ate (with gusto) almost all his food right away, so his mouth can't be bothering him too much. The bleeding did not reappear after he ate. At least not so far.

The other different thing is that previously his drool was always coming out the affected (left) side of his mouth, and this bloody stuff was coming out the front. I also noticed he had a dried bloody spot on his neck fur.

The vet did tell me he could start to have bleeding. I just wish I knew the mechanics of it...where exactly the blood was coming from...Leo didn't want to me touch his mouth when I picked him up after he ate, but that could have just been that he didn't want to be picked up in the first place.

Oh well. Just another slight dip in the roller coaster ride, I guess.

Doctor visit

Leo proved today that he is not a dumb (strawberry) blonde.

He knew when he was put into his carrier that he was going to the vet, and he wailed the whole drive there. I had thought he just didn't like riding in the car, but he was completely silent on the way home -- very grateful to be going home, I think, since the last time he was at the vet was for his dental work -- the work that revealed the growth on his jaw.

Anyway, I finally got the guts to bring him in to have a vet take a look at him. Remember, Leo has not been to the vet since this tumor was found, and noone had given me a diagnosis about what caused the growth.

I specifically asked to see the senior doctor (when I made the appointment) -- and was surprised when one of the other vets came in to the exam room. Hopefully, I did not insult her when I said that I wanted to see the other doc. It probably ended up coming out wrong, but I am most comfortable with him and his years of experience (he was very reassuring when I had to put Leo's brother to sleep in November.)

Anyway, vet #1 went to get the senior vet -- he examined Leo. From his experience he believes it is either an osteosarcoma or fibrosarcoma. Did not suggest biopsy.

He indicated the same treatment for either osteosarcoma or fibrosarcoma -- continue Leo on prednisone (actually, it's prednisolone) 5 mg/day -- he says not only does this inhibit the growth of the tumor but also serves as a painkiller. And treat recurring infections with antibiotics.

Brought up Piroxicam and he said the basically does the same as pred, but pred is better for pain.

He said he doesn't think it's SCC (squamous cell carcinoma) because that usually originates in soft tissue and the inside of Leo's mouth looks good besides inflamation from infection. Plus, the tumor has grown downward and not up into his mouth.

He suggested switching Leo to a new antibiotic - Clindamycin. Since it generally comes in a liquid form (and Leo tends to spit out all liquid medication) a local pharmacy (Stokes Pharmacy in Medford, NJ) is compounding it into cat treats. Tuna flavor.

These suckers better be tasty, since a 15-day couse is costing $26. (That's on top of us just spending $10 for Baytril antibiotic on Saturday.) Vet says Clindamycin is really good at treating oral infections, and should be easier on Leo's stomach than the Clavamox or Baytril.

See, Leo's problem is that he doesn't eat great when on antibiotic, and he is on them at least half the time.

His weight today was only 9.1 pounds -- almost 2 pounds less than his old normal weight.

I also got a few cans of Hills a/d food from the vet -- a high calorie food -- hopefully the fuzzy guy will like it.

He also suggested I might want to split Leo's pred into two daily doses (since I told him that it seemed to make Leo jittery/nervous.)

Dr. said Leo was really doing very well under the circumstances!

I'm the April Fool

I'll blame parenthood. Sometime about 9 years or so, right around the time my oldest child was born, I decided that Leo and his brother Zeke would mark their birthdays on April 1st -- figuring they were born in the beginning of April (exact date unknown) and the Fool's Day thing seemed appropriate considering how often I had made a fool of myself playing with my kitties.

So, yesterday morning my girls and I wished Leo a Happy 13th Birthday. They wanted to know how old he was in people years, so I found a few cat-years-to-people-years converters (try here or here to see for yourself) and learned that being a 13-year-old cat is like being somewhere between 69 - 72 in human years (different sites used different formulas.)


My sweet senior feline - not the April Fool...


The birthday boy didn't seem to be feeling great -- had only eaten half his food the day before...so I decided it was time to call the vet office and get him back on antibiotics.

I mentioned that Clavamox seemed to mess up his appetite, so they gave me Baytril instead. (And after only two doses, his jaw does seem to look smaller.)

But I digress from THE APRIL FOOLS PART -- as I looked at the receipt after leaving the vet, I noted they had Leo's birth-date as 5/93. Now, I had noticed this before, and assumed the office had made a typo entering his birth-date way back in 1996 when I first moved to this area and brought my guys in for their checkups.

But, being Leo's birthday and all, I started to actually do the math...wait...I KNOW I adopted Zeke (Leo's brother) on Father's Day June 1993 -- came back for Leo the next day...and I had always said the guys were six weeks old when I adopted them.

OOOOOH, this would put their birth in the beginning of MAY, not April. But maybe I was mixed up about how old they were when I adopted them?

To make a long story shorter, I dug into my old cat files and found paperwork from when they were kittens -- Leo had a urinary track blockage mid-April 1994 -- and his age is listed on the vet bill as...11 MONTHS. Then I found another old bill that had his birthday as 5/6/93 -- which would have been a guess on my part anyway since I wasn't there to personally cut the cords or whatever, having only heard via Mom-phone that a stray cat had given birth under my grandparents shed (and the rest, as they say, is kitty history...)

Anyway, it all means that my hopes that my fuzzy guy would at least make it to his 13th birthday have not been realized -- not yet anyway.

And you'll have to wait another month for the silly-birthday-hat on the annoyed cat's head photo.

"You'll have to catch me first," says Leo.

(Photo taken today -- looking the rather youthful 12-year-old, isn't he?)

Baby Pictures

In some post, way back when, I mentioned putting up photos of Leo as a wee kitty.

So, here they are:

My first photo of Leo -- about six weeks old -- June 1993. My sister and I had just brought him home to join his brother Zeke (who had been adopted a day earlier.) Both were born under our grandparents' shed -- mother's owner not known -- and were part of a litter of six.

The day before this photo was taken, I had watched all six kittens playing happily around a log pile for about an hour (looking for a lively, playful kitten to adopt) and noticed that the grey and white one (Zeke) was spending all his time chasing around the orange fluffy one (Leo.)

So, when Zeke was miserable the first night we had him, walking around the house meowing, I went back the next day in the hopes of catching that fluffy orange kitty. Found out later that they were the only males in the litter.

More first-day photos:

Both cats were so happy to be together again (ya know, if "happy" is defined as trying to attack each other, which I believe it is in kitten terms.)






Look at that face! How could I not fall in love with this furry little guy?

Two Month Mark

Yesterday marked two months since the tumor was found on Leo's jaw. On that day back on January, I didn't think Leo would make it this far.

Yesterday was a good day.

Leo finished his latest round of Clavamox on Tuesday. He had lost a visible amount of weight during that round -- many days only eating half his normal amount of food.

A little thin, but still a sweet ball of fluff

Halfway through the antibiotic course, I went back to pilling him the normal way (as opposed to putting it in a treat.) He seemed to have a setback and I suspect maybe all the Clavamox wasn't being properly absorbed when placed in the middle of the clay-like treat.

After two solid months of medication, he's gotten to be such a good cat about being pilled. He doesn't even squirm anymore, just sits still as I open his mouth and toss the pill to the back of his throat.

Now that he's off the antibiotic, his appetite has returned.

Unfortunately, his bad breath also returned yesterday. And the tumor has grown -- at least it has spawned small bumps on top of the large mass. He also has a thick drool that periodically hangs down in a string from the side of his mouth (the only thing about this whole ordeal that really grosses me out!)

But, like I said at the top, yesterday was a good day. Leo's happy. He's eating. He's playing. He's grooming himself.

And watching bunnies.

Talking Cat Links

I couldn't just leave the following links hiding in comments...

Merujo (of Church of the Big Sky fame) gifted me with these, and I have enjoyed both heartily.

She has found means to communicate with my fuzzy friend Leo, and sent me his message.

Merujo followed up with some real live "talking" cats. Freaky!

After watching, I couldn't help but think Leo is a total underacheiver.

I mean, he sometimes meows in a way that sounds likes "Mom" when trying to get me to open the bedroom door in the morning (a sound he only started to make after I had children, I might add.) It sounds enough like a kid's whiny "Maahm" that I've been fooled a couple of times into thinking it actually was one of my children calling me.

But he certainly doesn't do it on command. Come to think of it, I should be glad of that.

Day 52

Back on the Clavamox again.

Leo appeared to be having mouth pain yesterday -- he seemed uncomfortable when I rubbed the left side of his jaw -- plus he hadn't been eating very well the past few days, and his breath was becoming even nastier. Chin looked a little puffier too.

All adds up to another infection. So, back to the vet for another round of Clavamox.

When I called for the refill, I mentioned my concern that the Prednisone he was taking was causing the reinfections. Message later relayed from the vet is that the tumor was causing the infections, not the prednisone, and Leo needed to stay on the pred for the rest of his life to make him "more comfortable."

Duh -- I know the steroid itself wasn't making him infected; what I meant was that it was lowering his body's natural resistance and making it easier for infection to reoccur.

Whatever.

After my lovely husband picked up the pills yesterday afternoon, I gave Leo both the prednisone and clavamox at the same time. Bad idea. A short time later I found he had barfed on my bedroom floor. The usual way of discovery -- I stepped in it. (But see, he's a great cat in that he didn't do it in my bed.)

We had a family excursion to PetSmart (my kids have very exciting lives -- Wow! We're going to PetSmart!!) to buy new varieties of Fancy Feast to tempt Leo, some soft cat treats (this guy has never had a cat treat in his life, because he was on a strict urinary tract diet!) and a new catnip toy.

The Friskies (Ocean Whitefish & Tuna) treats went over great (although they smell horrid to me.) But I didn't want to stuff him with junk food, so I just gave him a few.

At his dinnertime, he went right for the Fancy Feast, but didn't eat much.

Afterwards, he looked pretty miserable -- curled up in the tightest ball on our couch. By some miracle, I managed to not become freaked out by this. After nearly 2 months, I was confident he'd be feeling better soon.

And soon came this morning -- he meowed at my door at the lovely hour of 6 AM (you can't blame a cat -- it's light out and his human should be awake.) He was perky and purring and any other good word you can think of that starts with the letter "p."

Chin looked less swollen than yesterday. His breath still is pretty nasty though.

Our hero, this morning

Had only eaten 2/3 of his food from last night, but ate well this morning. I decided to smoosh this morning's Clavamox into a cat treat -- even though I have no trouble pilling him in the chuck-down-the-throat method, I'm hoping maybe having the pill encased in foodstuff will make it less likely to give him nausea.

He's been looking and feeling thin, but his weight on our bathroom scale this morning was 10 pounds -- not bad.

Leo dreams of escaping the house to show those birds what he's made of...

Day 49

I never thought I'd say this -- but my cat smells like a dog.

Leo's breath has gotten pretty nasty the past few days, and the smell tends to linger on his fur after he cleans himself. Very doggiesque.

But...he is cleaning himself, has been eating well and doesn't have any painful facial puffiness going on, so even though the bad breath may be a sign of some sort of oral infection, I've held off on putting him back on antibiotics.

Trying to save the Clavamox until absolutely necessary, especially since it seems to upset his stomach.

Sunday morning mellow cat

At one point last week, Leo weighed 10.5 pounds using my unscientific bathroom scale method (his pre-illness weight was 11 pounds.) He feels a little less rotund the past few days, so I would suspect he's back to 10 pounds or less at this point.

The Fancy Feast has lost some of its allure, in that recently he hasn't been scarfing the whole can up immediately, but he does end up eating all of it eventually and that's all I'm interested in.

I did make the mistake of buying cans of Fancy Feast's "sliced" variety, not knowing it is cubed, not sliced. He didn't finish it either time I gave it to him -- I think the chunks are harder for him to get down.

So, we're back to the fish feast varieties, which are ground. Yesterday, he had a total of 2 1/2 of the little cans over the course of 24 hours.

Fingers crossed for another good week...

Latest photos

Day 41

I am such a liar.

The keyboard was probably still warm from my previous post when I started worrying again about Leo's not eating.

By Friday morning he was starting to look dehydrated. I weighed him (using my totally unscientific method) and he was down to 8.5 pounds from 10 pounds a few days earlier.

So, drastic measures were called for and I opened up a can of water-packed (people food) tuna.

Leo has never been allowed human food; in fact, he was on RX food for many of his 12+ years because of his tendency for urinary blockages. Not even allowed cat treats.

The tuna worked like magic -- he went crazy eating eat...I tried to mix it in with cat food and he worked hard to only eat the people-food.

I fed him two meals of tuna, but felt a bit guilty and worried that he would never eat cat food again after tasting the forbidden fruit (forbidden fish in this case.)

However, I had read on various bulletin boards about ill cats really loving Fancy Feast, so we picked up a few cans yesterday afternoon.

I don't know what is in that stuff ...but he loves it...three different flavors so far have been consumed with gusto.

He was back up to 9.5 pounds tonight, and sporting a rounder belly than I've felt in a long time. And he is happy as a pampered kitty can be (although a bit miffed that I refuse to feed him in little crystal dishes like they do in the Fancy Feast commercial.)

Plus, the swelling on the front of his chin went down completely - I can actually touch the front of his chin, maybe for the first time since this all started (the front has been varying degrees of soft/puffy even as the tumor that grows underneath his jaw is rock hard.) Can actually see the row of little teeth in the front of his mouth.

I have not noticed any of the thick drool lately either.

Figures, since he only has one day left of Clavamox antibiotic. Debating on whether to keep him on Clavamox continuously. I was ready to stop it completely a couple days ago when he wasn't eating. But now, I've got Fancy Feast in my corner -- at least until he tires of it.

Day 38

Take a deep breath...exhale slowly...that's better.

I need to work on a mantra for this cat situation -- something, anything, to get me centered.

Leo hasn't been eating great the past few days -- maybe 1/3 of his usual intake. Anyone reading this blog will know that I've been quite obsessed with his food consumption. Because the vet told me at diagnosis that Leo would need to be euthanized when the tumor progressed to the point that he couldn't eat. Therefore, the weight issue has taken on a great deal of importance.


Looking pretty good for a cat who doesn't want to eat

His mood has improved quite a bit since Tuesday, even though he hasn't been eating well. So, I'm attempting to redirect my mental state -- and focus on Leo's attitude as opposed to his eating habits.

A clinical note: a thick mucus-like saliva occasionally drips down in a "string" from his mouth. Besides that, his chin is looking less puffy...but sometimes I think that the actual process of eating makes his chin swell up and since he hasn't been eating much...

(See, I just can't stop mentioning his eating!)

He came to me several times today and wanted to lie on top of my torso (when I was lying on the bed) while I petted him. He hasn't done that for days...it's one of his most endearing "Leo-isms" that I thought was never going to happen again. So, some very nice moments today.

One of the harder things in this journey is the looming unknown...I don't really know what to expect with this tumor; without having a definitive diagnosis due to:

1) the vet not suggesting it; and
2) me not wanted to torture my cat with vet procedures (the why isn't important if there's nothing we can do anyway.)

So, Leo could have an osteosarcoma...? Squamous cell carcinoma is more common in cats, but he doesn't seem to be progressing in that direction (no sores, bleeding.) Heck, this is all just conjecture.

In my dark moments I mentally page through various scenarios -- will he develop an abscess...will the tumor grow so large that his jaw break...or into his throat and choke him...will this unknown cancer spread to other parts of his body...?

Cheery stuff.

ANYWAY, this was supposed to be an positive post, so I'd better get to that.

Maybe Leo's not eating isn't the worst thing. His brother Zeke died in November from renal failure, and honestly I didn't know anything was wrong with Zeke except that he very gradually lost weight over the course of two months. He actually became more affectionate and calmer than he had ever been before. Never meowed in pain...and it wasn't until the last few days when he stopped eating completely that it was obvious something was seriously wrong.

I guess what I'm getting to here is that if my lovely Leo doesn't feel like eating and seems happy otherwise, then I should just chill.

A novel concept for me.

Day 36

I am second-guessing myself like crazy.

Yesterday, Leo seemed pretty good -- he ate loads of food, wanted mucho attention...the only sign something could be amiss was a puffiness developing along the sides of his mouth, some extra thick drool along with his nasty breath...and that he didn't want to lie on me during petting (but he was very happy lying next to me.)

But I picked up a new round of Clavamox antibiotic anyway, thinking I could head off what looked like a developing infection before it got bad enough to make him feel yucky (technical term.)

I gave him the first pill of this round last night -- after he had heartily dug into his late meal (pill is supposed to be given with food, so it all seemed to be working out perfectly.)

When I got up this morning, it looked like he had barely touched the rest of the food (when he's feeling normal he eats it all during the night.)

Then he hardly ate anything today.

"Why is this crazy lady chasing me around trying to force-feed me? "

I may have made it worse by feeding him Nutri-cal (high calorie supplement) midday. I had tried to hand-feed him Whiskas morsels, but he didn't want anything to do with it so I whipped out the Nutri-cal. He eagerly licked a total of about a tablespoon of the sugary goo off my fingers.

Leo then proceeded to look like crap (another technical term) for the rest of the day -- curled up tightly into a ball, with that leave-me-alone vibe.

I think the Nutri-cal may be making him queasy. I've only given it to him occasionally, and he never seems to feel good afterwards (although the other times he was already feeling pretty bad, so it's hard to tell.)

So, to sum it all up, basically I took a cat that was eating great and gave him medication that made him feel crappy.

The only positive is that the extra swelling around his mouth did get better.

Day 34

It's one of those good news, bad news situations.

The good news is that Leo has had a great week. He's been happy, grooming himself and seemingly having a grand time.


Relaxing yesterday

And he's been eating especially well since the Clavamox course ended Wednesday. His weight is back up to about 10 pounds from 9.5 pounds in the beginning of last week (both approximate weights -- due to unscientific method of weighing myself alone and then holding him -- I won't mention the weight I have gained as well, except to say that marathon cat petting sessions do not burn off many calories.)

The bad news is that I noticed the return of kitty bad breath -- and nasty breath preceded both his previous bouts with oral infection.

Last time, I was unsure or in denial that the infection had returned -- and by the time I figured it out he ended up having a couple of lousy days before the antibiotic got things back under control. So I definitely want to nip it in the bud this time.

Yet even tonight, I was starting the denial process after watching him play like a madman (mad kitty.) He seems to be feeing so well. But then, he began cleaning himself and hissed as he wiped his paw across the left side of his face.

So obviously, another first-thing-in-the-morning vet call is in order.

Random cat facts

How long it takes after washing a comforter for it to smell "good" enough for Leo to sleep on again: one week.

Taste of kittie's Clavamox antibiotic drops: Bubblegum (maybe you don't need to know how I discovered that.)

In addition to this first hand knowledge, I've been doing a psychotic amount of web searching in the past month and have learned more about felines than one married human has the right to know.

Not only about diseases and disorders, but things...well...somewhat less important. Like the myriad of ways one can describe a cat.

Leo is most definitely a "Maine Coon" type - although he is a pure-bred feral cat. (His mother showed up outside my grandparents house one day in 1993 and promptly gave birth under their shed.)

But what color is he? Should be obvious, but...

There are many many insanely (to me) specific names for cat colors, and my guess is that Leo's color might be "Cameo Tabby" which carries the following criteria according to the American Cat Fanciers Association: "The ground color should be pale ivory. Markings are red, diminishing in intensity of color approaching the roots of the hairs. Clarity of markings takes precedence over depth of tipping. Nose leather and paw pads rose. Eyes shades of green, gold or copper. White lip/chin trim allowed."

However, maybe Leo is a McTabby. I say "maybe" because after 30 minutes of web searching, I still don't know the difference between a plain ole Tabby and a McTabby (the McTabby comes with a side of fries?)



I did find a lovely website that actually had photos of cat colors, although it did not clarify the McTabby issue.

I also learned that Leo's dearly departed brother Zeke was not a mere gray and white cat, he was a "bicolour" cat - with the "mask and mantle" pattern...and the term covering all bicolour cats is "piebald" or "white spotted."


Leo and Zeke circa 1996.

But wait -- he wasn't white spotted with grey...because in the cat world, no cat is grey, they are "blue." And some of his grey, er blue, patches had a beige background -- but is beige "buff?" or "dilute red?" Or was his grey not blue, but "dilute black?" But then I find photos that look like Zeke described as "brown mctabby and white..."

And then my head explodes.

Perhaps it's time to subscribe to Cat Fancy?

One Month Later

It was exactly a month ago that the vet called to say Leo's dental x-ray showed what looked like a tumor. His jawbone looked "gnarly," she said...

In the month since, he's had a few miserable days, a few mediocre days, and the rest have been pretty good.

Right now, he's doing great. And looking awfully cute.



For the past 5 days or so, he's seemed nearly normal -- affectionate, playful, and happy to have me as his petting slave. It's enough to send an owner into a serious case of denial.

Hasn't been eating great though. He seems hungry, but I think the actual process of eating is a bit difficult for him, so he just eats a little at a time. I've resorted to feeding him by hand nearly every day to make sure he gets a decent amount of food into his system.

Today is the last day of his latest antibiotic course -- and it could be that the Clavamox is upsetting his stomach a little, so we'll see if he eats more without that in his system.

Happy cats

Here's some pre-illness photos, including a couple with Leo's brother Zeke, who died of kidney failure last November.

All taken within the past couple years (since we've had a digital camera.) Eventually, I'll get some kitten pictures up here (for the "aw...that's so cute" factor.)



Zeke & Leo; Christmas 2002


Leo + Zeke 2003



July 2003 -- Okay, this is really only here because it's a good photo of me (although it reminds me that I need a haircut...)


Leo, August 2004

Day 28

The cat has got his Leo back (his mojo, for lack of better definition.)

Since Saturday, his old personality has returned. The leftover food in his bowl is the only thing reminding me that he is not 100% -- that and the lump under his chin, of course.

But even that has seemingly gotten smaller...which I can't quite figure out since the tumor seems so rock hard, how could it shrink? Maybe there was swelling underneath that was making it protrude more? The side protrusion that I had described last week as being the size of a small gumball is nearly imperceptible now.

Oh well, I will try not to obsess as long as he is feeling well.

He is currently getting Clavamox squirted down his throat twice a day...he tries to spit it out and it looks like he's foaming at the mouth. For some reason, I find humor in this (black humor?)

He also is getting 5 mg of Prednisone chucked down his throat once a day. The first couple days I was having a hard time pilling him (He growled at me! But he was still feeling bad at that point.)

However, I seem to have gotten my old pilling mojo back as well. It's all about aim. And the element of surprise.

And now, the instructional portion of this blog --

Cyn's pilling method:

I put the pill in my right hand. Place left hand over the top of his head (cover his eyes -- that's the element of surprise) and use my thumb and forefinger to gently press directly in front of the jaw hinges -- this makes his mouth open (lifting up his head, so his throat is straight.) Very quickly chuck the pill as close to the back of the throat as possible. Then hold the mouth closed while gently rubbing the throat (this prompts the cat to swallow.)

It's not as brutal as it sounds! The hand-on-top-of-the-head-covering-the-eyes thing is very similar to a way Leo likes to be pet. (Or is it "petted"? I'm not up to speed on cat verb tenses.)

I make sure I have food with me so I can feed him immediately after the pilling, to soothe his wounded pride. So far, he's not holding a grudge.

Recent photos

The first photo was taken on Wednesday, right after his first dose of Amoxicillin. The left side of his face (right in photo) was quite swollen. This was probably the only time all day Wednesday that he wasn't curled up into a little ball sleeping.




The tumor and swelling up close and personal...taken before the latest course of antibiotics took effect.




But today, he was feeling better -- so much so that he jumped on my lap and gave me one of his trademark shoulder massages. It's been days since he's done that.



The photo below was taken this afternoon -- you may be able to see that his face is narrower than it was on Wednesday.



(If you notice a golden glow around Leo, it's the massive quantities of his fur embedded in that chair.)(Also, he plays a mean acoustic guitar!)

Day 24

I've never been so glad to hear a cat meow at my bedroom door at 6:45 AM.

When Leo called to me through the door this morning, I knew he was feeling more like himself. ("Himself" being the cat that likes to wake us up every morning to remind us that it's time for his breakfast.)

Evidently, I was correct in assuming his utter misery on Tuesday and Wednesday morning was caused by an infection. A couple of doses of antibiotic later and I was able to hand feed him (last night at 11 PM) half a pouch of Whiskas "Poached Salmon in Sauce." Now I wonder how long the couch will smell slightly fishy...?

Not to say that he's once again spunky, energetic cat -- he has just been lying in a chair upstairs most of the day. But he responds to his name (which yesterday he would just ignore) and is amenable to being picked up and has been purring like a demon for me.

The jaw tumor's side protrusion has gotten much larger and rounder -- about the size of a small gumball. (That's in addition to the large downward/between jawbone part of the mass.) He has absolutely no problem with me touching the tumor area -- in fact, he offers the side of his face to me to rub. I suppose he is "lucky" in that it seems to be growing outward and not up into the inside of his mouth.

But I know it's all just a matter of time...there is no positive outcome here. Like trying to put put a forest fire with a watering can...sooner or later his problems won't be able to be fixed with a RX.

Mew! I'm awakened from my writing reverie by the feline man himself -- it's dinner time.

Day 23

Leo is not a happy cat today. He doesn't want to be held, but will purr when his head and back are scratched.

It's difficult to tell exactly what is bothering him, but I suppose it might be a recurrence of the oral infection he had a few weeks ago.

A call to the vet office...I tell the tech I'd rather not bring Leo in for an exam as I'm trying to limit his trauma at this point. The vet is consulted and I receive a new round of Clavamox (antibiotic)and a refill of his prednisone (trying tablets this time 'round.)

So...we'll see. Trying to be positive...

FYI - the Prednisone in tablet form is about 1/3 the cost of the transdermal gel. (Must take some very small pleasure in saving money at least.)

In the name of positivity, here's Leo doing a little bird watching Saturday.

Day 22

Something is definitely wrong. I mean, more wrong than the tumor.

Leo ate all his food last night, but very little this morning. Mid-morning, I gave him some of the Nutri-Cal supplement, which he lapped off my finger eagerly. Yet almost immediately afterwards he didn't want anything to do with any kind of attention from me -- extremely out of character. This continued through the afternoon.

This evening, he was curled up on "his" chair in the studio...he purred as I pet him...put his legs over my arm as he likes to do (inadequate description, but think of how a cat sleeps with another cat -- one back leg and one front leg over the back of the cat lying in front of it...the cat version of spooning, I guess) and he settled down to sleep.

I can't claim to have studied his breathing patterns much prior to this illness, but he seemed to be breathing faster than usual for a sleeping cat.

Just gave him his evening meal, which he launched into greedily, but only ate a few bites before walking away. A few minutes later as I approached this computer, I saw him crouched on the living room floor...as I picked him up, he meowed the slow mournful meow that signifies some kind of pain, and he jumped out of my arms.

At this moment, Leo's on the couch and looking fairly approachable, so I'm off to do some head scratching. (His, not mine...although head scratching is figuratively the order for me as well, as I'm a bit confounded as to my next step, other than to call the vet in the morning.)

I don't know if the transdermal prednisone isn't making it into his bloodstream anymore (it is rubbed into the inside of the cat's ear, but this is one hairy cat and I'm continually trying to get it past the hair inside his ear.) It didn't seem to be doing a thing the past four days or so.

Plus, periodically you're supposed to wipe out the cat's ears to remove any built up residue and this hasn't exactly worked well for me. Cats just are not that into having their ears wiped out. I contemplate going the old fashioned route and asking for a pill version of prednisone tomorrow. Maybe that will help?

I'm rambling, I know. A week ago, he was so lively and playful...so I hold out hope that maybe a medication adjustment is all we need.

Let's Get Clinical

For anyone who may be facing a similar problem with their cat, I have tried my best to show the extent of Leo's tumor with these closeups:



His left side, where the jaw tumor originated; a hard growth on his jawbone.







His right side -- over the past few weeks, the tumor has grown over and down under his chin, but isn't actually connected to the right jawbone.



This probably best shows the hard mass that starts under his chin and runs backward towards his throat. I suppose its shape is best described as an elongated egg.



A photo taken this morning -- he still looks pretty normal from this distance; handsome even, if you like a goatee.


I'll end with an informal product endorsement -- I picked up a tube of a product called Nutri-Cal at Petsmart this evening. Supposedly, it's a "High-Calorie Dietary Supplement" -- and I purchased it in the hopes of getting some extra calories into Leo since he hasn't been eating well the past few days.

I can't say if it will actually put any weight on him, but I can say that he really, really likes the taste (first ingredient listed: corn syrup; closely followed by malt syrup & cane molasses -- so I guess it's basically Mrs. Butterworth's for kitties. If Mrs. Butterworth's contained cod liver oil, that is.)

Day 21

Leo's tumor continues its steady, if somewhat imperceptible, growth. Since it reached across from his left jawbone to the right the growth has been harder to track.

During the past week, I noticed a few hard nodules had developed off the left side of the tumor.

But what scares me is that the jaw tumor seems to be growing backwards, getting closer to his throat.

Which raised a possibility that hadn't crossed my mind before -- that the growth could eventually press on his esophagus to the point that he wouldn't be able to breath.

The prognosis the vet gave me three weeks ago was a somewhat vague description of Leo eventually not being able to eat (and that would be the time he would need to be euthanized.) I imagined that to mean that the tumor would grow upwards into his mouth...or maybe ulcerate to the point he wouldn't want to eat...

My obsessive nature compels me to imagine the various scenarios...although I'm actively trying to banish thoughts of Leo's inevitable demise, the euthanasia of his brother Zeke this past November is far too fresh in my mind and far too haunting to dismiss completely.

BUT -- all this doom and gloom ignores the rather uneventful week that has just past. Leo was very active in the beginning of last week...wanting to play far more than he has in many years (credit the prednisone gel.)

The past few days, he hasn't been quite so active and hasn't been eating as heartily. He's been drooling a bit more during petting...

The biggest trauma inflicted upon Leo all week was my washing of my bed's comforter -- evidently I removed all the "good" scent, thereby forcing Leo to retire to the cat-hair-chair (formerly an upholstered office chair) in the studio.

Overall, the cat's been acting fairly normally. And the human is trying her best to do the same.

Catnip Dreams

The Rubber Band Game

Day 14

Maybe I should have named this blog "The Wild Mouse" -- because this journey is starting to feel like a roller coaster ride, albeit a mild one.

Saturday night, Leo was acting a bit "off." And his bad breath seems to have returned. (I say "seems" because my only clue is that when I was rubbing the sides of his mouth -- he actually likes this -- some of his saliva got on my fingers and it smelled really nasty. Yeah, this is all kind of gross, sorry.)

Sunday morning, he didn't eat much. Then again, my lovely husband had fed Leo a flavor of food that he's not as fond of.

I gave the cat his Prednisone about 5:30 PM Sunday and it didn't seem to have any effect...he was just laying around, looking weary and old. His fur didn't seem to have been groomed recently.

I made mental plans to call the vet first thing Monday morning.

However, after eating his Sunday evening meal (9 PM) he really perked up. He wanted to play -- with his catnip rainbow, with the kids' fiber optic flashlight thingie, with string I trailed behind me. For about an hour, which is longer than he ever wanted to play pre-tumor.

And this morning, he came to wake me up at 6:40 AM, all perky and bright-eyed and feeling much cleaner.

My 6-year-old said, "Why does Leo's face get bigger and smaller again?" -- even she noticed that his chin had looked more swollen yesterday than it does this morning.

So, I suppose I'll hold off calling the vet...until the next roller coaster drop.

Photos

Photo uploading working now, so here are the pictures meant to accompany the entry below...

Friday cat nap




Saturday morning string attack

New Year's Eve -- What? Doesn't everyone spend that evening at home with their cat? (Well, my husband was there too...)




January 21, 2006: Leo feeling miserable, post his first vet visit (but before tooth extraction.) Even though the tumor is bigger now, his face is still not as swollen as it was when this photo was taken.





Leo's profile, February 4, 2006

Day 12

The past few days have been good for Leo. He has been eating at least as much as normal. And he's been seemingly happy, although perhaps sleeping a bit more than usual.

This morning he was playing like a little demon with various debris on our floor -- more vigorously than I've seen him play in the past few weeks.

But the tumor seems to get a little bigger every day. Perhaps just a mm or so larger each day. It started on his left jaw, but now is all the way over to his right.

Since I'm hoping this blog can be informative for other pet owners facing a similar problem, here is some history regarding Leo's condition.

FYI: He is a 100% indoor cat, up to date on all vaccinations.

He had his regular vet visit in November 2005 with no noted problems. Unfortunately, during the same visit his brother Zeke had to be put to sleep because of kidney failure. But Leo did not seem to suffer too greatly from being the sole cat for the first time in his life; in fact, he seemed to be relishing the extra attention.

That I was devoting a substantial amount of time to petting him makes it even more surprising that this tumor on his jaw could progress to the point it did without me noticing.

In retrospect, I did notice that he was looking a little different around Christmas time -- I couldn't put my finger on it, and thought he was just starting to show his age (12+ years). Now when I look at the photos taken of him on New Year's Eve I think I see a thickening of his left jawline.

Towards the middle of January 2006, I noticed Leo's coat was feeling a bit dirty. He's always had such wonderfully silky fur (never mats, never needs combing). But I thought it was a delayed reaction to losing his companion -- maybe without Zeke he didn't feel the need to be as meticulous, or maybe even Zeke had been grooming Leo. I had seen Zeke lick Leo's face (and nether regions - yuck!) occasionally.

A couple of times as I was petting Leo he hissed when I touched his jaw/throat. But, being a rather vocal cat (who will hiss while playing, or if he meows a few times and you ignore him) I just wrote it off to me literally rubbing him the wrong way.

Around January 16th or 17th, I said to my husband, "Leo seems to be acting a little weird" (to which he replied something like, "He's a cat, weird is what they do.") I couldn't exactly put my finger on what was wrong, but he didn't really want to be petted much, and he seemed to be walking around with less regality than his usual strut.

Plus, he wasn't finishing all his food. And I noticed some bad breath when petting him. But I thought maybe he had just eaten some errant Christmas tree needles (we had just stripped the ornaments off the tree and pine needles were everywhere) and was suffering from a bit of indigestion.

But on January 20th, he barely ate anything. And on the morning of the 21st, he hissed when I went to pet him and was obviously distressed. So, off to the vet -- much wailing from Leo in the car on the way -- and while waiting in the office I saw the left side of his face was swollen.

The vet said he had a lot of plaque on his teeth, one tooth was loose...and he needed to have at least one pulled, maybe more, they all looked bad...

But it was Saturday, and the extraction would have to wait until Monday.

He got a shot of antibiotic, blood drawn for testing (to make sure he was well enough to have general anesthesia, and all blood work came back normal) and we were on our way back home with liquid Clavamox that I would have to squirt down his throat twice a day.

But Leo's was miserable. He didn't eat all day Saturday. At one point, we realized we didn't know where he was, and eventually found him hidden in the basement behind boxes -- which he had never done before.

It was about 5PM and the vet office was closed, so I called the 24-hour animal hospital, but since he was already on antibiotics, I decided it wasn't worth the mental torture to the cat and financial ruin to the owners to bring him in that night.

The next day, the antibiotic had started to reduce the facial swelling and he was acting more normally and ate a tiny bit. But just as he started to really feel like eating(in the evening) I had to deny him food because he wasn't allowed to eat anything after 6 PM due to the next day's anesthesia.

I worried obsessively all weekend about how many teeth would have to be pulled, about whether the infection had gone into his jaw (the vet had mentioned this might be the case and that such infections are hard to treat.) Yes, she had also said the swelling could be a tumor, but everything seemed to point so strongly to a clear case of dental disease, I never even considered it.

I dropped him off at the office at 8:15 AM. About noon, I got a call from the vet after the tooth extraction. They only had to pull one tooth...BUT...the post-procedure x-ray showed what looked like a tumor...

When I picked Leo up at 5:30 PM the technician who brought him out said he was "still a little wobbly." Um, a gross understatement. At home I opened his carrier and his back legs were totally weak..his pupils were dilated and he was freaking out. He tried to run upstairs and fell over onto his back (luckily I was right behind him).

I took him to the basement to his litter boxes and he jumped back and forth between them until finally lying down to pee (that's a new one.) Then he proceeded to literally run around in circles. When I held him, he was shaking. I tried to get him back in the carrier (for his own protection) but he fought like crazy.

When I had dropped him off for the procedure I had checked a little box that said to give him painkillers. Evidently, that was a mistake.

Spent the next couple hours watching him to make sure he didn't fall trying to do anything, and eventually his legs got strong enough that I could leave him alone. But he still felt "loose" the whole next day.

As the swelling in his face went down, he allowed me to touch his jaw. I could feel the rock hard mass on his left jawbone.

And from there I'm sure I've covered in previous posts...

If Kitty Could Type

Although Leo is the most articulate cat I've had the pleasure to know (with a variety of meows, throat trills) and an expert in body language, he has not yet mastered English and he's a little rusty on the keyboard (although he does have the mouse thing down.)

But if he could, here's what he would tell you about himself:

Name: Leo the Cat



Age: 12 3/4 years
Sign: Aries (no, not Leo)
Birthplace: Under a shed in Chester Co., PA
Mother: A lovely tortoise shell long-haired cat of unknown original
Father: I never knew my dad [chokes back a little meow]
Adopted by my humans: June 1993

Weight: A little less than 10 pounds
Height: Average
Eyes: Green-Gold
Hair: Strawberry blonde (but the vet calls me "orange" - how pedestrian!)

Turn-ons: Well...none really...see, um...there was this little operation when I was a kitten...



Turn-offs: Vacuum cleaners; the sound of packing tape being pulled off the spool; riding in the car (aka going to the vet); humans that think I'm a girl just because I'm beautiful.

Hobbies: Hairball cultivation; marathons (sleeping); current U.S. Purr & Knead Champion.

Day 9

The vet office called last night. Which was nice, but in a prime example of poor timing it was right as my daughter was waving a Chef Boyardee can of something or other in front of my face asking if she could have it for dinner. (My Italian grandparents roll over in their graves.)

The vet's administrative assistant wanted to know how Leo was doing. I managed to shout out "Okay...he's been eating and seems to be feeling alright." And I mentioned that I was a bit unsure about the administration of the prednisone in his ear actually working. Yes, again I doubt the transdermal method.

Because yesterday it really didn't seem to do a thing. He was indifferent about his evening meal, but he did end up eating it all during the night, so I guess I shouldn't worry.

It may seem weird, but the vet has not even given his tumor a name. And I didn't think to ask when she broke the news about the tumor's appearance in his x-ray -- I suppose I was in a state of shock.

Is it oral squamous cell carcinoma? OSCC is an aggressive tumor, the most common type of cancer that occurs in the mouth from what I've read on the web. Once diagnosed, cats will survive an average of two months. Or could it be Fibrosarcoma, Epulides, Osteosarcoma...?

At this point, the only thing I really know for sure is that it doesn't really matter what made this tumor grow on my beloved cat's jaw. Because my countless internet explorations give me no viable options for cure - regardless of what is fueling this tumor.

His jaw could be removed but I just can't put him through a surgery that is reportedly not well tolerated by cats and generally doesn't extend life significantly.

The scary thing about this tumor is how it seems to grow bigger every day. A week ago, I would have described it as a 1/4 inch hardened mass running along his left jaw bone. A few days later, it had grown towards the middle (under chin) and felt like a marble. Now, the part that is under his chin is more rounded, the size of a jaw breaker (unfortunate comparison, but true) and it extends all the way over to his right jaw bone.

The mass is not tender to the touch, and feels hard as a rock. I can't tell if it is also growing upwards into the bottom of his mouth, or if all growth is visible from the outside.

I write this blog because in the course of my internet searches, I came across a few accounts of other pets' struggles with similar tumors, and it really helped me to hear of other's journeys. For example, I now know to request pain killers if he appears to be suffering, and various methods to hand feed Leo if he stops eating on his own (which is the main threat from the tumor growth according to the vet.)

I feel an awesome responsibility to make the right decisions for Leo -- not only because he has entrusted me with his care, but because he is a truly special animal (I know, everyone feels that way about their pets, but he really is a unique cat.)

Leo's brother, Zeke, had to be euthanized -- exactly 3 months ago today. Zeke had kidney failure, with a swift decline and no suffering. Still, after the euthanasia decision I was riddled with guilt...that I should have let him live a few more days (even though the vet said the next phase would involved loss of all his bodily functions and uncontrolled vomiting.)

So, this is all like a one-two punch. [sigh]

The Relaxed Cat

Day 8

I've stopped thinking that the Prednisone I got from the pharmacy was really Oil of Olay being passed off as medication. And I've also stopped thinking that this rubbing-in-the-ear-thing was a better way to medicate my particular cat.

Because Leo got just as pissed yesterday when I rubbed the goo on his ear as he does when I chuck a pill down his throat. Maybe it was cumulative kitty anger, because I have also been giving him twice daily eye droppersful of antibiotic. Yesterday morning was the last time for the antibiotic, at least I hope his infection won't return. So maybe if I'm only assaulting him once a day, it won't seem so bad.

Anyway, he seemed jumpy after the steroid application yesterday morning...He ran off and didn't want me to get near him. Which raised the question -- how do I feel about a treatment if it changes his personality so much that he doesn't seem to like me?

However, a half-hour later he sought me out and sat on my lap for some petting. But just for a minute or two, and then he was off. Normally, he would sleep most of the morning and be more active in the afternoon.

It took about 3 or 4 hours for him to un-hyper. Since then, he's been just great.

He ate every last morsel of food yesterday -- and I gave him about 30% more than his usual pre-tumor portion. That's significant because he's lost quite a bit of weight in the last two weeks. He was 11 pounds before this debacle, 10 pounds the day the tumor was diagnosed and I'd guess he'd lost another pound in the week that followed.

I didn't realize just how little he had been grooming himself recently until I picked him up this morning and he was back to him pre-tumor level of soft, silky clean.

So, at this point the prednisone gets a thumbs up. If you ignore the immediate post-application behavior, he seems to be the same cat I've known and loved for 12 years.

On the negative side, it may be my imagination but I think I'm seeing the beginning of a growth on the other side of Leo's face. His whiskers look puffed out on the right side.

But for now, I'm going to celebrate his return to normalcy and maybe even attempt a little try at normalcy myself today (as normal as I get anyway.)

In all his furry glory

Leo loving the sunshine, last Wednesday.

The blog begins Day 7 post-diagnosis...

It's been a week since the vet said the dreaded T-word -- "tumor." Leo had just had a tooth extracted...a few days earlier, he had been having facial pain (the hissing and hiding in the basement were obvious signs) along with drooling and never-before-experienced nasty breath. The vet said he had a lot of plaque and a tooth that was loose. It all seemed pretty classic dental disease.

Even as she told me the post-dental-work x-ray seemed to show a tumor (she said his left jaw bone looked "gnarly") it wasn't 100% - sometimes things look like tumors on x-rays and are not. However, if he had a tumor the only option mentioned was to "put him down." (God, I hate that expression.)

If it was a tumor, it would continue to grow. She said that's how I would know.

Aproximately 8-million Google searches later, I had found absolutely nothing positive as far the outcome for a cat with a jaw tumor.

So I spent my days lavishing the cat with attention and trying not to cry.

This past Saturday I called the vet office with an update -- the antibiotic (Clavamox) took care of his infection and tenderness, but there was definitely a hard mass under his left jaw -- and it had grown during the course of the week.

The receptionist (administrative assistant?) took my info and called me back with the vet's instructions -- we would try giving Leo the steroid Prednisone...maybe it would slow down the tumor's growth, and at least it should help his appetite.

She asked if I wanted pills or a transdermal gel that I could rub on his ears. Well, that ear thing sounded good...

A small pharmacy in a nearby town specializes in veternary preparations -- who knew?

But, I didn't figure that my cat doesn't really like having his owner touch his ear while wearing rubber gloves (to protect me from the drug going into my system.) So, I tried again yesterday without gloves, which went better. And then I washed my hands with a thoroughness that would make an obsessive-compulsive proud.

Being the sceptic I was fairly convinced I paid $22 for vials of Oil of Olay or something similar. Leo had no visible effects from the steroid (typically it increases appetite significantly.) It may just be that my cat's ears are too fuzzy to let the drug get into his system?

He basically ate nothing yesterday morning. Then he lay around all day sleeping (seemed more tired and a deeper sleep than usual.) But last night, he did eat a normal amount (although I gave him twice as much food as usual, just in case the "Prednisone" kicked in.)

This morning, this first thing I noticed when I went downstairs was that the foyer rug was slightly askew. This might mean that he was actually running around overnight. (When in normal health, he does this crazy cat thing for fun where he will go nuts and run around like a maniac, sliding into the rug.) But I couldn't rule out that the kids were running around like maniacs last night and I just didn't notice the rug being out of place before I went to bed.

As I analyzed the rug position, Leo came over to me, and as soon as I picked him up, I noticed his fur felt cleaner than it has for quite a while -- he hasn't been grooming himself lately, and pre-tumor he was a cat who always kept himself impeccibly clean -- with the most beautiful, softest, silkiest fur. So, this also gives me hope that he is feeling a little better today.

He tore into his food this morning, although he walked away after eating only half of it.

In a half-hour I'll be getting the kids ready for school. Once they're gone, I've got nothing planned for the day except cat petting, cat head scratching, and cat cuddling. Oh yeah, and that ear gel thing.