Perfect

Beautiful weather, a screened in back porch, Chris relaxing reading a book, me and Willy on the porch swing... Yep, perfect.

Triggers

Yesterday afternoon, I came home from work to check on Willy.  I ended up taking him back to the office with me.  I wanted to weigh him.  Eight days before, I had taken him to the vet for a weight check, and he was 12.5 lbs.  Yesterday, he weighed in at 12.5 lbs.  I'm so happy that he is maintaining his weight!

He's still eating well, sleeping well, playing, socializing, being affectionate.  By all outward appearances, he looks great.  I think he is doing great.  We're on day 111 now.  I love watching that number go higher.  Things are going well.  I'm really encouraged.  I think the ES Clear is helping a lot.

But, my emotions are still raw underneath the surface, waiting for a trigger.  Last night, I encountered one of those triggers and I couldn't cap the emotions.  We were at the dinner table, and Chris said something that caught me off guard, something about Willy's future.  I almost choked on the bite of food in my mouth, I couldn't get it down.  I tried to hold back the tears, but I couldn't.  It wasn't anything he said that I hadn't already thought about myself, so the content of his comment wasn't what upset me.  I think it was that I was caught off guard, there was no prep for the statement.  I couldn't stay at the table.

Willy was in his customary place next to me.  I pull a chair over next to me and feed him small bites of people food as he sits there and waits. (most of the time, patiently, and others, well, not so much)  Always have and will continue to do so as long as I can.  I got up and headed toward the bedroom, grabbing a tissue as I went.  All I wanted was to curl up and cry.  I kept going, the walk in closet was dark, I went it and sat on the floor and just sobbed.  I couldn't stop it.

I was only there a minute when Willy came to join me. He actually got up and left the table with food still sitting on a plate.   He has always had an instinct for my feelings.  He was very adamant about loving on me.  He was purring very loudly and pacing back and forth.  I kept crying.  I didn't want to upset him, but I couldn't stop it.

Chris came back to check on me, he said "I'm sorry Blondie".  I couldn't even convey to him that I wasn't upset with him, or even what he said.  He'd never seen me like that, hiding in the dark on the floor in the closet, bawling my eyes out.  I've never seen me like that.  I was trying to will myself to stop crying.  It wasn't working.

Finally after about 20 minutes, the tears let up some.  My phone rang.  Chris had brought it to me when he came to check on me.  A diversion, a welcome diversion.  It was a dear friend of mine who has been sick.  He is back in the hospital.  He wanted to know if I was okay, all I could say was that I was sad, so sad.  But the diversion worked.  I stopped crying.  After we got off the phone.  I went and laid on the bed, picked up a book and started reading. I was already about 2/3 of the way finished with the book, so it worked pretty well as a diversion too.

Chris came in to check on me again, and curled up behind me.  And we talked for a long time.  I enjoyed lying there with him, putting things in perspective.  Assuring him that I wasn't upset with him.  Willy came to join us.

All was right with my world at that moment in time, lying there with the man I love, and the cat I love.  And, best of all, they love me back.

Day by day

Numbers - I've never particularly cared for numbers.  But, my sister on the other hand has made numbers her career.

Numbers can signify how much weight you need to loose, what your various lab values in your bloodwork are, your birthday, how old you are,  how many siblings you have, your number of friends on Facebook, miles per gallon your car gets or how many miles you've traveled, and how many frequent flyer miles you get for those you actually traveled.  Numbers show your bank balance or lack thereof or even how much sugar to put in cookie batter.  You get the idea, numbers are everywhere.  Numbers can mean so many things.

Right now, my world is centered around numbers.  As in, number of days.  The type of cancer Willy has gives 20 - 80 days as the average survival rate after detection of tumor.

Our clock started on February 13, 2010.  That is the first time that we have evidence that there was a tumor.  It was over two months before we were able to put a name to the tumor, but detection of the tumor clock started on 2/13/10.

I went to the calendar that hangs by the back door, and I flipped back to Feb 13th and I started numbering.  Today I wrote his number on today's date. 

He's eating, he's sleeping, cat-napping, playing, being social, affectionate.  He spent part of the morning torturing another poor lizard who ventured into Willy's territory.   I was sitting on the sofa and Willy was in my lap when all of the sudden, he was off like he was shot out of a cannon, across the room, through the door, onto the porch, and in a matter of seconds he wandered back into the living room with his prize. I have to confess that I got out my camera and shot some video of the events following the capture.  I felt sorry for the lizard, I truly did, but for me, it was the joy of seeing my little boy active, feeling good, enjoying his life.  I can rewind and watch it as many times as I want to.

It's the times like this that I am glad that I opted for not giving him chemo.  I would not want him lying sick for days at a time, only to start feeling better and then us starting the cycle all over again with another dose of chemical in an IV. 

The increasing number on the calendar everyday lends to the feeling that I, that we, made the right decision.

I have added ES Clear to his daily regimen.  It's a combination of several herbs and it's made for cats with cancer.  I've read testimonials singing its praises.  I have to say, I was a little hesitant at first, especially when he threw up 3 different times after I started it.  But, I kept at it because he'd really just upchucked hair balls.  It is supposed to help rid the body of toxins, and I guess all that hair hanging around can't be a good thing. 

So, back to numbers - he'd gained a tad bit of weight when I took him in for a quick check earlier in the week,  all of the numbers on his last bloodwork looked good, and today, well, today - we made it to day 106.  Willy has already beaten the odds, and I can't help but feel good about that.

Unintended joy

For Christmas, Chris got me a porch swing.  He installed it on the back porch, the screened in porch.  I loved it and looked so forward to the weather getting warm enough so I could enjoy the swing.

Finally, that day arrived and very soon, Willy and I started spending part of the evening on the swing together while Chris sat in his chair on the other end of the porch, and we talked, and enjoyed each other's company.

The unintended joy has been watching Willy enjoy the swing by himself, especially since he's been sick.  More often than not, that's where he is.  I'll go out there and give him a push.  I stand in the house and look out the window, just to watch him in the swing.  It warms my heart, and gives me joy.  I know Chris got it for me to enjoy, but I don't think he realized that it would bring me so much joy in more than one way.  Thank you Chris.

What's behind door #1?

Have you ever been going somewhere, and just looked at the houses, and wonder about the people that live there? Wonder about the events that have happened in that house, in their lives?  The happiness, the fun, the laughter and the tears?  The sadness, the despair that can be masked behind a manicured lawn and a picket fence?

I always tend to lean to the happy, because that is my basic nature.

Right now, I'm so sad because of Willy's situation, that now, I look at the houses and wonder most about the sadness that the occupants have had to deal with.  I know that my mood is temporary.  I know I'll get my feet back under me.

The Cat Chronicles (reads more like a novel than a blog post)

I realize that some of you reading my blog may wonder at my attachment to my cat Willy.  Those of you who are cat people know.

We (my ex and I) went to the Animal Rescue a few weeks prior to getting Willy because the cat ex's father gave us had disappeared due to a series of unfortunate events.  We were so sad that Woody was gone.  Woody was solid gray, a beautiful indoor/outdoor cat.

At the Animal Rescue, we found a solid gray female cat who I fell in love with.  We'd gone to get one cat, but ex saw a Manx named Max that he just had to have.  So, we left with two cats.  Max had been a resident of the AR for 5 months.  The female cat who we named Milly had just arrived and had been spayed the day before.

One week after bringing Max and Milly home, Max got sick.  Off to the vet we go.  One week later, he is sick again.   Three weeks to the day we brought him home, he is very sick.  He was diagnosed with feline leukemia.  He had been tested at AR and tested negative, but he must have been tested in the window between being infected and it showing up in his blood work.  We had to have him put to sleep on the 3rd trip to the vet, and several hundred dollars spent.


Of course, the fact that he tested positive for feline leukemia put the AR into a panic, because every cat who'd been there for the 5 months he was a resident had been exposed - including Milly obviously.  They assumed the stress of changing environments was what cause Max to come out of remission (not sure remission is the right word, but you get the idea).  We waited anxiously, but Milly never got sick.

AR felt bad that we'd lost our cat and not only paid the adoption fee for Max, but had spent those several (read $300) dollars at the vet, they told us we could have our pick of kittens at no cost to us.  These kittens were in the overflow shelter and had never been exposed to Max.  So, ex went out to choose his kitten, since Max was really his cat.

He brought home an adorable solid gray cat (see the theme here?) who could fit in the palms of our hands.  He was adorable.  He had an elongated face and big ears, he looked like a cross between an alien and Yoda.  I fell in love the minute I saw him.  He grew up to be a very handsome boy.

For whatever reason, Milly and our new kitten named Willy to rhyme (cheesy I know), chose their "person".  Quite contrary to what we had decided, Milly chose ex, and Willy chose me.

Right from the start, he started sleeping on top of me, and 12 years later, he still does it.  He was always social, LOVED playing and would leap 3 feet in the air and do a flip at the same time while trying to capture that feather on the end of a stick.  Milly, well, she was affectionate too, but only on her terms.  She wanted to be near you more often than not, but if she decided she wanted in your lap - she was insistent until you accommodated her.

Two years after bringing Willy and Milly into our home, I happened to be looking at the AR website.  I don't know why I was, but I saw the cutest kittens named Ping and Pong.  They were black and white, brother and sister.  I called ex to look at them.  For me, the looking was just the "awww" factor.  Ex must have had a different read.  The next day, he called me from AR and wanted me to come see Ping and Pong.  I protested, but he was adamant that I come down.  So, I did.  Guess who we made arrangements to adopt and bring home a few days later after the spaying and neutering?

Oh, and here's the point where I should mention that along the same time as the "awww" turned into adoption, ex had come upon a cat in the middle of the road who'd been hit by a car.  He took him to the vet.  Un-named cat was a solid black cat.  A few days later, on a Saturday morning in December of 2000.  We brought Ping and Pong who we renamed Oreo and Cookie, and black cat home.

We kept black cat in the shop in the garage, he was injured, and we didn't want to have the new cat hissing and slapping that is associated with introducing new cats (this behavior can go on for weeks).  We were able to doctor on black cat without having to worry about the other cats.

There was a lot of hissing and spitting and general unrest inside the house.  Willy adapted the quickest.  Like I said before, he was social.  He got along well with Oreo and Cookie and was happy to have new playmates.  Milly on the other hand was not (and still is not to this day) happy about the interlopers.  She tolerated them, but that was all.  There was a constant struggle between her and Oreo (the greedy piglet when it came to feeding time).  Willy got along well with Milly too.

Eventually, black cat wormed his way inside, and Willy got along well with him too.  I turned out to be allergic to black cat.  Every time I held him, I broke out in hives.  We had a cat friendly friend who agreed to take him.  She named him Nicholas because he was found around Christmas time.  He had a great life with her until a year or so ago when he got out and was killed by some animal bigger than he was.

Right from the start, I was obsessive about the cats not going outdoors.  Cats are curious though, and every time that door would open, 3 or 4 cats would try to get out.  You can imagine the difficulty, esp if you had something in your hands.  Early on, I had protested to the smell of the litter box, and I asked if there was some way we could make an enclosure for them to go to in the garage to do their business.  A little engineering and a well placed kitty cat door behind the washer and dryer and the cats were able to get to a cage for lack of a better word, that housed their litter box.

Ex decided to add a penthouse, then a cat walk to the other side of the garage, with a kitty cat loft.  Then came the cat walk across the shop, and finally, a huge outside covered and enclosed space for them.  It was referred to as the Taj Mahal.  The cats loved it!  They spent hours upon hours out there, running, playing, relaxing, napping.  Sometimes it was quite a task to get them inside when you wanted to account for them all.

I developed a compulsion to SEE all cats before I left the house.  To make sure none got out, therefore, unable to disappear.  Willy was the most determined about getting to the outdoors.  Luckily, he usually stopped at the first patch of grass he saw for a little snack and we could scoop him up and return him to the safe confines of the house.

Milly got out one time, and much to my horror, the redneck neighbor's vicious Rottweiler was loose.  He took off after Milly, and I took off behind them.  I didn't get very far, when just like a cartoon, here comes the Rotty with Milly chasing HIM!

One day, I came home after work, and couldn't find Willy.  Ex had left the house after me.  I went back and forth through the house, searching the Taj Mahal, and he just wasn't there.  The only possible scenario was that he got past ex, who didn't notice.  We lived on 5 acres of land, about 2.5 acres of it were wooded.  All I could think of was that Rotty, or some other animal bigger than Willy hurting him (or worse).  I made fliers, I walked the acreage, I called, I begged, I pleaded for my baby to come home.  Friends came and helped me.  I was distraught to say the least.  I couldn't work, all I could think about was my baby boy alone, out in the big bad world.

Two days later, ex called to tell me a hungry Willy had shown back up and was in the garage when he got home.  You only thought my obsession with seeing all of the kitties before leaving was bad before -- now it was a full blown, neurotic obsession.

There was the time Cookie began having seizures, and we found a black widow dead on the floor.  We rushed her to the vet for a very expensive stay in ICU.  The vet couldn't locate a bite site and was skeptical.  We went back home and got the spider to show her.  She eventually found the bite inside Cookie's mouth!  Bad things reside in the big bad world outside of the safe indoors. 

Mostly the cats were all 4 healthy, thankfully.

In 2005, ex and I separated and divorced.  About 5 months later, we sold the house, which I'd been living in.  I was moving closer to work which was an hour commute one way.  I was having a hard time finding an apartment that would allow pets.  I finally found a duplex, and the landlord agreed to let me bring one cat.  There was never any question in my mind - it was Willy, hands down.  Ex agreed to take the other 3.  It broke my heart, I loved them, and to this day I miss them and get teary eyed when I think of them.  Luckily ex and I remained friends, and for a while, I went to his house to visit them.  He kept Willy for a few days while I went out of town.

On moving day, I finally let Willy out of the bathroom in the apartment, and only a few minutes after he was out of the bathroom where I'd kept him confined, someone opened the door and he bolted.  We chased him and finally cornered him and brought him inside.

I hated living in that duplex, and soon started looking for a house.  I felt so bad that Willy had previously had a Taj Mahal and now all he has was a spot in the window (which became his favorite location).  One of my requirements for a house was a screened in porch.  No screened in porch, and I wasn't even interested in looking at the house, unless there was a way one could be added.  I had a few other things I *wanted*, but the porch was a deal-breaker.

One day while riding through a subdivision that we happened upon, we rounded a curve and I found my house, complete with screened in porch.  Moving day couldn't get here fast enough.

Willy loves the porch.  Chris put in a kitty cat door for him so he can come and go at will.  He has taken over my swing as his personal spot (he does let me join him from time to time).  He chases the lizards that wander onto the porch, and he wins most of the time - poor lizards.  He watches the birds, the rabbits, the squirrels and the ducks.

Every time I leave the house, I have to find him, know where he is, kiss him on the head, and tell him to be a sweet boy and that Mama loves him.  Call it obsessive compulsive, a ritual, neurotic behavior, whatever, I don't care, I'm fine with the label.

12 years of love - both given and received, and I'm so distraught about the cancer that has invaded his body.  I was so busy looking out for the things in the big bad outside world, that the microscopic things took us all by surprise.

I am so thankful for all of the photos and the videos I have of Willy, I enjoy them now, and I will enjoy them always, just like I enjoy the photos of Milly, Oreo, Cookie, Woody and Nicholas.  I suspect I will enjoy the ones of Willy the most, heck, I don't suspect, I know.

R.I.P. Patches 1989 - 2010

Patches was the lovable grouch of a cat who belonged to my friend Liz.  Patches passed away this morning at the age of 21 from renal failure.  Liz told me not to cry for Patches, so I'm trying.  I know that like Liz said, she is feeling 100% better.