Mungo has lived through so many health problems now it's hard to fathom how he's made it this far, except that he is too annoying (and it is to be admitted, Too Beloved) to pass quietly. Three or four years ago he had two tumors removed, one on his shoulderblade that was a benign but infiltrative lipoma, and a small, hard granular one on the top of his head that he obtained a somewhat indecent thrill from when rolled between the fingers (which came to be known as "The Erogenous B-B"). The B-B was malignant, but easy to remove. The surgeon believed the infiltrative lipoma would probably return, as it was difficult to excise, but it never did.
Last year, in spring 2008, I felt a sort of lump under his chin, and after a painful biopsy Mungo was diagnosed with lymphoma. Our wonderful and talented vet offered to treat him with chemotherapy out of the vet's office, an option that was significantly more affordable than driving him out of town for radiation therapy and easier to live with than doing nothing to treat it. Through treating Mungo in this manner, with a rotation of chemo injections and pills, he was actually blazing a bit of a trail and maybe helping other cats and vets form a treatment strategy for lymphoma. In truth, Dr. M's hopes for Mungo's recovery were probably not great--he was already 16 going on 17 and had signs of hyperthyrodism and impaired kidney function. And due to some scheduling delays a few months into treatment his chemo ended early, which almost certainly meant the cancer would return. But, like the infiltrative lipoma, it has not.
In spring 2009 when the hyperthyroidism became unmanageable, Mungo got a thyroidectomy, and as is often the case with older cats this caused his kidney function to worsen. Hyperthyroidism causes increased blood flow to the kidneys and other organs, masking and somewhat ameliorating any disease there. So, after the thyroidectomy he felt better for about a week and then began to decline again as the kidney disease took hold, and now he is in his own assisted living facility in the basement where I check on him several times a day and minister to his fuzzy needs. I give him subcutaneous fluids (something I thought I'd never do), wash his eyes, keep fresh towels for him, and smooch his poor deaf head whenever he will let me.
This caretaking has become a big part of my day, and so I blog.
Having always been interested in natural and alterative therapies, I have augmented Dr. M's excellent care over the last couple of years with herbal supplements, with varying degrees of success. I've learned a lot, tried a lot, and hope that my experiences taking care of this kitty might come in handy for others. I am not a health or veterinary professional and do not intend to dispense advice on this blog! This is just Mungo's story, and what has worked, or not, for him may not apply to your cat.
Manwich is but one of Mungo's many nicknames (it seems that most cats, like dieties and devils, are known by multiple epithets), and now that he lives on his own in the basement, separate by his own choice, he is sort of an island. So that's what that's about.
I know it must sound to some as if we are constantly reanimating a lifeless bag of cat bones, and I am sure most people would not have done what we have. It has been expensive, but not as expensive as some might think; it has been difficult, and I wonder now if I would have done it all over the same way, being wiser. We are childless, yes, by choice, but we are not the kinds of people who dress our cats up (Mungo is one of four) and plan to leave them control of our meager estate when we die. We have come close to asking Dr. M to make the sad pilgrimmage to our home and put Mungo down, it just hasn't seemed right. Maybe it never will, but I trust my own compassion to know when he is suffering too much to keep him with us any longer, and maybe knowing that time might not be far off is Why This Blog. Nothing like spreading the cheer of the heartrending decision to euthanize a beloved companion.
Mungo is not the sweetest cat, and that too may raise the question of why we go to these lengths. All I can say is; when he came to live with us, he had never been a lap cat, but (and forgive me being maudlin) one day he decided to let me be his mommy. He put his trust in me, and soon slept on the bed with us and nuzzled my hair with the barest purr. He tells me when something is wrong, though I can't always decipher what the problem is. But he trusts me to help him, to be his advocate and his voice.
Our other cats are much freer with their love, and that is not unappreciated. But Mungo's trust is rare, and hard-won. And I just don't want to betray it.
So let this be a tribute to Manwich, the brave and tough orange tabby, and maybe also a comfort to others who are caring for ailing pets. I will strive to keep the posts not-too-frequent, not-too-sappy, and substantive.
Manwich welcomes you to his island. Now go get him some grain-free quail, and be quick about it.
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