Jane exits

Jane left us on Thursday, Dec. 30.

She was a devoted friend who never failed to intrigue and amuse. A loving family member, and all around good egg — except to the fellow cats she disdained. Sorry Lars.

She enjoyed inspecting tool boxes, and car trips where she could hoist her then-rotund body on the dashboard before being whisked off. She also preferred male company and was known to sleep with visiting guests. She did not mind dogs at all and was actually pretty dog-like in character and body language. She was driven by curiosity, even trying to figure out the medical apparatus she regularly encountered this past year.

She never met a meal she didn’t like. Paper bags ranked as another favorite, along with deep closets and high spots. She liked to cock her head when spoken to, as if trying to dissect the fumbling primate conversation. She was prone to hissing at anything she disfavored.

As her illness progressed, she became more appreciative of the human lap, a hug and a warm towel. Squamous cell carcinoma ravished her body, but could not totally rob Jane’s spirit. Many times it appeared she was leaving. Then she would rally and eagerly offer a morning greeting, almost as if to say, “Got ya.”

Jane appeared aware until the day after Christmas. She fretfully met us in the hallway after work in what turned out to be her last conscious effort. It began to seem as if the cancer had spread to her brain. Though we wanted Jane to die on her own terms as long as she was not in pain or unable to breathe, instead seizures took hold. She was rushed to her local vet, known as Dr. Mac, who agreed that it was time. A needle was preferable to death by seizure. Jane’s body quieted. In the end peace prevailed.

Jane is survived by two cats, her former nemesis, Lars, and the skittish Elmeria. In her last days Lars stopped chasing Jane and instead gently sniffed at her head. In recent days Elmeria seems to have drawn on Jane’s strength and is now coming downstairs to interact rather than hiding out upstairs as was her habit.

Jane’s body is being donated for study to the University of Florida where she will hopefully inspire researchers there to find a cure or better treatment for the dreaded feline scc. Though it has an aggressive nature in people and dogs, scc is most lethal in cats, striking generally at around age 10.

Jane lived several months past the average lifespan of a cat with scc. It is testimony to her strength and endurance and to the excellent medical care she received in Fort Lauderdale and Gainesville.

To our friend Oliver, the beautiful orange tabby, and all the other cats with scc, keep fighting in the Jane tradition. You deserve no less.

In Jane’s memory, updates will continue.

Happy New Year.

Jane was a long time condo resident.

The present

I had a lovely Christmas. Lately I do not like being alone at all, so it was nice to have several extra visiting humans in tow. Nephew Tony got me a very thoughtful present: a purple with yellow trim plastic cube that allows for total privacy. Though I much appreciate the gesture, I’m not up to doing very much these days.

My sole nutrition comes mostly through a syringe filled with lactose free whole milk and special prescription food. I was feeling very weak yesterday but I managed to wait at the door for the humans to come home from work. Then I was whisked off for fluid treatment and steroids at the vet. They checked my heartbeat and pronounced it sturdy. The tech said maybe I was having a bad day and the fluid treatment would kick in.

I came home to cuddle and try to get about. Jen wrapped me in towels for warmth and I slept fitfully in her arms all night.This morning I have not been able to pick up my neck, and my back legs are very wobbly. I took pain meds and am sleeping on my whale. There’s no beauty in death, only resignation, at best.

Jane during the holidays

Well, I’m still on Palladia, fluid treatment, appetite stimulants and Prednoisone.

And I’m still here, even if my right eye no longer is. It’s a common outcome to radiation. So I’ve had to add partial blindness to my long list of surprises to adjust to. I do bump into things, so I have to be careful where I go.

Next month will be 1 year since I was diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma. Just being here nearly a year later is a feat in the face of this most combative opponent.

For those of you concerned, I am not in any pain. Though I’m skinny as a scarf, I do manage to enjoy my food, just not as many times a day as in the past. And then there’s this pesty thing called “cancer wasting,” when the cancer steals the calories ingested from food for its own selfish purposes of growing like a beanstalk. Hopefully the Palladia is stealing Cancer’s oxygen supply so that it deflates like a burst balloon. Well, tis the season for flights of fantasy.

Jane sleeping in snow

When I’m not resting, I’m generally my old self, taking comfort in a human lap, and the fake snow under the Christmas tree, which by the way, has been the warmest place to be these days as winter temps have finally been giving steamy South Florida a break. (See photo).

Enjoy the holiday season, my friends!

A thankful Jane

I’m now getting subcutaneous fluids on an every-other-day basis to keep my bony but still viable body hydrated. Water is at the core of life, for it has certainly revived mine. (Thank you Ollie and Holly for the suggestion!)

Just a mere few weeks I was on the brink of a final exit when my primary vet suggested that I come in for a regular schedule of fluids and meds. After a week of such benevolent treatment, I was back to the land of the living. No longer was an eye dropper called upon to deliver necessary nutrients. I had started a comeback tour, gradually slopping up tasty morsels on my own. To think of the indignity I had to endure when feeling too poorly to feed myself. But I’m lucky to have had such efforts made on my behalf, or undoubtedly I would have starved.

I’ve even come out of the closet. I still on occasion take up refuge there, but for the most part I feel comfortable in my old stomping grounds downstairs. At night I’ve taken to relaxing on John’s lap. He appears most honored by this recent development. It’s good to be appreciated.

I’ve also discovered a cozy pillow bed that Elmeria kindly offered me in a spare room that she usually holes up in. Though we’ve never had much to say to each other in the past, when I was ailing Ellie was quick to extend a helping paw. So I no longer mind being in the same room as the old deaf girl. That brown furry bed is actually quite comfortable.

Hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season! Good health to all, my friends.

Nasty cancer

We wound up in the vet’s emergency room last night after I left behind a scary trail of blood from the upstairs to downstairs. It all started when I tried to eat after taking my appetite stimulant. Ignoring the baby food left out for me, I instead tried to steal Elmeria’s food.

This rotten tumor apparently has a sensitive side. When I bite down I bleed. Not wanting to gross anyone out, let’s just say that Elmeria’s food dish looked like a scene out of a horror flick. Elmeria, who’s deaf but by no means dumb, started to wail. I went downstairs to use the bathroom and that’s when the trail of blood became apparent to the humans.

So I was whisked away to the vet’s office where basically nothing other than an exam could be performed by the nice resident on duty. I was however told about Chinese herbs that may work to clot the tumor so that I can eat in peace. Meanwhile, I’m back to hunkering down in the closet. And yes, after last night’s festivities, I do need a sponge bath, which is something I’m possibly willing to consider.

This morning I was fed Cat Sure (Ensure for cats) with a syringe to avoid an encore of last night.

Now, I need my rest, folks.

Jane continues

I got subcutaneous fluids and a vitamin B shot Wednesday at my local vet. The fluids are meant to hydrate. The humans can’t really tell if it helped or not.

I’ve staked out a quiet spot in a new location, a coat closet upstairs where I hang out on top of a stack of plastic storage boxes. Winter coats offer a privacy curtain from Lar’s prying eyes, and the humans with their handfuls of meds.

Jen has taken to leaving a tray of food outside the closet. Sometimes the deaf Elmeria lumbers by and stops in her tracks to snarf up some of the goodies. I don’t really mind since food is not my top priority these days. Back in the day I would have hissed at the old girl.

Sometimes I eat on my own, like the other night when I lapped up both baby food (chicken and gravy) and kitten food. Other times I have to be spoon fed.

Last night the tumor framing half my jaw started to bleed a little. This morning it was a worse scene as I bled profusely when being fed. Other cancers hide under cover but squamous cell carcinoma is an especially vulgar, in-your-face, opponent.

We know studies are underway at universities and hospitals. I may have to go before they bear fruit. Sometimes the humans fear the time is imminent, like when I lay in the closet seemingly too weak to do anything else. But then the urge strikes and I race down the stairs for a drink of water or to use the bathroom, surprising all in my midst. So I’m here for now, still dragging myself back up like a boxer in the 12th round.

A thinner Jane still reins

I can’t say that I like having an eye dropper hovering around my mouth like a helicopter, but the food it contains is proving to be quite tasty. Chicken and gravy, turkey and rice, all blended into a nice, smooth and shiny consistency. It is lick-your-lips good. Who knew?

Babies have it made. Maybe that’s why as we grow very old, we revert back to that stress-free state.

Though I was weak a few days ago, this diet combined with whole lactose-free milk is giving me energy. The mystery is why I don’t eat on my own. I can’t explain it, and so far neither can anyone else. I also can’t seem to find the map of water dishes snaking around the place. So a water-filled syringe is keeping me hydrated.

I am relatively comfortable and not feeling bad at all, so all the good wishes, prayers and hopeful vibes from my loyal readers must be working! Oh, yeah, the meds don’t hurt either.

Be well, my friends.

On Sunday Jane enjoys a window-view.

Surviving not suffering

Baby food. Turkey and vegetables to be exact. Its pureed consistency works fine in an eye dropper which is then administered to my fighting self. I can not endorse this insult to my proud carnivorous self as I struggle against hospice patient treatment.
Keep in mind that it was not long ago that I could lap up two plates of food before Lars had even sniffed at one.

The prevailing human theory around here is that this force feeding will allow me to survive long enough for the drugs to kick in and prompt me to eat on my own.

On another level, maybe it’s the biological instinct to do everything possible to survive. We’re aware that many bystanders would say I should be euthanized. (How many of those people do you think might actually be pro-life?)
Since death is a forever commitment, we’re reluctant to sign on the dotted line.

That said, it’s time for my predisone.

Where there’s life, there’s dope

Now I’m on new drugs, prednisone and mirtazapine to stimulate my appetite and bring down inflammation, thanks to my regular vet Dr. Mac. There is hope that if we can get me past this trauma, I will rally and the Palladia will go back to its job of rubbing out the tumor al’ la Tony Soprano-style.

Denial can be a useful tool.

Not to diminish the cliche, “where there’s life, there’s hope.” This is what is keeping us going.

Because the meds are supposed to be taken with food, I am now being fed lactose-free whole milk with a dropper! At first I fought this indignation with all my strength (which is still considerable btw for a cancer patient), but once I sampled the creamy liquid, I decided I liked it. Not enough to go up to the bowl and drink it myself though. I have no desire to do that or eat my once beloved Friskies. I also did not scratch my condo scratching post this morning. Just not in the mood.

Jen tried spoon-feeding me diluted food. Finally, this was where I had to draw the line. I headed back to the laundry room, metaphorically hanging out my “DO NOT DISTURB” sign.

That said, I’m alert, aware and appear comfortable. I am still Jane.

It’s Jane’s way or the highway

Do-gooders, beware! It’s my party and I’ll die how — and if — I want to!

Last evening I was forced to hiss at the humans, for their hovering was bordering on the obnoxious. I’ve taken over the laundry room and am holding it hostage. Hanging mismatched shirts and whatnot offer an independent feline a veil of privacy.

This morning I ran up and down the stairs, scratched at my scratching post, lapped a little at the gravy from my food, had meds stuck down my throat, and once again retreated to the top of a linen chest in the laundry room. The humans had lined the chest with a nice fluffy towel and pillow, so this is becoming a serene spot. There’s also a window with a northern exposure in this tiny room so that I can gaze out at the birds should the urge strike.