On September 4, 2006, I had to put my sweet little girl to sleep. She had been diagnosed with a mast cell tumor 9 days before, after she had completely stopped eating. The tumor was the size of a ping-pong ball and was pressing into her stomach and intestines. After 5 days in the hospital for IV feeding and two rounds of chemo, the tumor had not shrunk, she was bleeding internally, and she was unlikely to survive surgery, let alone the recovery. I spent her last hour with her with my dear friend Steve, and then I held her as she went.
She had survived 18 months after being diagnosed with intestinal lymphoma, a completely unrelated cancer. Simple oral chemo got it under control and brought her back to her healthy, silly self. She might have lived to a ripe old age if she hadn't been struck so unfairly by yet another malignancy, one that is very difficult to fight in cats. I want to thank Dr Johnny Chretin and the staff at VCA West LA Hospital in Los Angeles for providing me with those 18 good months and for their kindness in her final days.
She was my dear little kitty. I got her when she was 4 weeks old, from an abandoned stray litter, and I had her for over 12 years. She never really grew up, still acting like a kitten most of the time. While she didn't have a mean bone in her little body, she was extremely neurotic and high-strung, developing Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (I kid you not) and overgrooming her lower belly to the point of perpetual baldness. She liked to sit on the printer when it was going, supervise me from the top of the computer monitor, irritate Pandora, and knead her teddy bear when we got into bed at night.
My last picture of her, taken a week before she died, hiding behind the couch because she was feeling so awful:
Clio's old home page
29 September 2006