My pets like to keep me on my toes.
To summarize:
Mulan had renal disease, oral melanoma, and severe allergies.
Emmett got lymphoma- the most chemotherapy sensitive cancer- that resisted aggressive chemotherapy.
Ariel got, well, who the hell knows. I am still baffled.
My cats are a little more subtle; they don’t like those big, dramatic, fatal diseases but they do like to make it known that they have issues too.
Apollo has IBD and food allergies.
And now Calypso has feline oral resorptive lesions. I discovered this while doing a routine dental (which is also how Mulan’s melanoma was discovered.) I was pretty horrified to have missed that, to be honest, since she had to my knowledge exhibited no obvious signs of problems- but I also don’t spend a lot of time examining her outside of her scheduled trips to work with me. She isn’t the kind of cat for which that is, shall we say, conducive.
As one may note in the linked article, oral radiographs really are essential to evaluate the tooth roots in these kitties. Some well equipped veterinary hospitals have these; mine does not, necessitating a trip to the local veterinary dentist. Yes, there are veterinary dentists. And oncologists, surgeons, internal medicine specialists, dermatologists, you name it.
On the day of our consultation, I also had to take Emmett to the specialist for a chemotherapy injection at a different specialty hospital. So Emmett came along for the trip to the dentist, who I’m sure was wondering why this weird person felt it necessary to bring a dog along for her cat’s trip to the dentist. Though that would be a little less bewildering than the oncologist who would wonder what sane person would shove an angry cat in a carrier to take to a dog’s chemo appointment for no apparent reason.
I was very concerned about that as I sat in the lobby, balancing a cat carrier on my lap and a dog leash in my one free hand. I felt I had to explain it so they wouldn’t think I was insane. I heard myself, as if from a distance, talking about Emmett’s chemo and Callie’s teeth and a little voice in my head whispered, “You’ve become one of those people.” The ones who wear wool sweater vests with silver cat pins and tell the lobby their life story and the life stories of each of their pets. But what choice did I have? (But I don’t dress like that.)
(Yet.)
So today was Calypso’s scheduled surgery. I arrive, more nervous than normal because the Evil Spectre of Kevin has me convinced he has it out for my pets. Then the receptionist: “How’s that cute Golden of yours?”
Guess she missed the explanation in the lobby last time.
Me: “He died.”
That ended that pleasant banter.
Anyway, Calypso got her radiographs, had the offending roots drilled out, and did just fine, thank goodness. She is now pleasantly swaying to the after effects of her pain meds in my living room, alternately rubbing me for pets, remembering what I just did to her, then hissing and running away.
