I recently had an awakening call about the finite aspect of life. This lesson was given to me by our pet cat, Pixie.
We have had Pixie now for about 11 years. She has been a steadfast fixture of our family for over a decade now. She is a typical cat, I think, with her personality. She is very opinionated and particular in how/when she is petted (that is, not very often, and on her own schedule, and you better not forget that, or she will remind you firmly each and every time).
In June, our cat suddenly became sick. (She is usually healthy and fortunately not on any chronic medications. I only take her to the vet (begrudgingly for her) for annual checkups and vaccinations.) That weekend in June, she was having unusual accidents outside of the litter box, which was very atypical. She was not eating or drinking, which again was very unusual. (She is a “foodie” if I every met one, and she loves her meal time. She vocalizes to me with a loud “Meow!” to feed her each morning and afternoon when I walk near her bowl.) She was hiding in our basement behind a door to avoid being touched, another new and alarming behavior.
We decided to take her to the vet ER, as of course, this occurred on a Sunday evening when the vet offices were not open. And the check in process was adjusted and different due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and I needed to drop her off in the parking lot and wait in my car. (I fortunately never had to take her to the vet ER, so this was all new territory for me.) After an evaluation behind closed doors, I received a call from the vet with news I dreaded deep down but hoped and prayed that I would not get: they found a large mass in Pixie’s abdomen. And malignancy (cancer) was high on the list of possibilities.
Given how sick she was, and not eating or drinking or not acting normally, I opted to have her stay overnight for further testing and IV hydration. The testing confirmed a mass, and likely again cancer and namely lymphoma was most suspected. Surgery would not solve this, and other therapy (for example, chemotherapy) would be options, but not a definitive cure. We opted to stop further testing, and instead pursue a palliative approach, as aggressive testing and therapy would not really prolong life much longer, perhaps 6 months. (And from my experience seeing testing and therapy in humans for malignancy, I could foresee this route of aggressive medical therapy giving lesser quality of life, with only slight increase in quantity of life.) This was a difficult decision but one we felt was best for Pixie.
Since this unhappy event, I personally have taken life more seriously and have been reminded it is delicate. I cherish all of my time with my cat and all the people I love. Luckily, with a prescription prednisolone (a steroid) daily, and the IV hydration in the vet hospital, our cat’s life has approached a bit of normalcy. I have noticed she more content now to sit and sleep a bit more, and seems less active than usual. But she is back to using her litter box normally, and eating and drinking again. She is purring and begging for pets when it (again) suits her. We are spoiling her more with her favorites (more tuna, cream, and cat treats). She still has a limited prognosis, but her quality of life seems good. And we get some time to be with her and a more gradual way to say goodbye.
This experience has highlighted to me that life is unfortunately not forever. It will be my children’s first lesson with death, which is a very difficult topic. We have discussed this with my daughter and son as foreshadowing of what is to come, but I am sure the actual ending will be hard for all of us. The pandemic also runs parallel to this, and I think this has given me more to ponder about life and death, and all of what we can control and cannot. It is not a fun topic to think about. But this reminder that life is finite has reminded me to enjoy life each day as it comes, and to live in the moment.
