Hangin' in there

Rasta is now home in the ICU - my bedroom. He needs round the clock monitoring, medications and feeding attempts so I haven't gotten much sleep. Though this is a much better recovery environment (not caged amongst 50 barking dogs), he is still in very rough shape. He fights taking the meds and has to wear a cone on his head which he has come to minimally tolerate. He's very lethargic and in obvious pain but the pain killers seem to help a bit. The only good signs are that he ate a tiny portion of food this morning (first time in 3 days) and he can summon a faint purr when I stroke him.

Thanks for reading, I'll update when I can. Feel free to comment here.

Rasta Update

Today Rasta went in for colon surgery. Though continuing in great spirits, he was eating and passing very little and had lost about a pound of weight in the last week. So with his time probably down to days and a better, though not really good (6 -8 months) post-operative prognosis from local vets (Marshfield Animal Hospital - great staff), I decided I couldn't let him go and brought him up to the regional surgical hospital this morning.

So Sam and I are comforting one another, hoping the best for our beloved Rasta and anxiously awaiting phone call from the surgeon. The surgery should be the "pull -through" method, less invasive than open abdominal, and I have been assured that Dr. Diamond is one of the best surgical veterinarians around.

A Sad Prognosis

Well, the news just gets worse. I declined to let Rasta have the colon surgery because a pre-operative needle sample of his liver revealed that the cancer had spread. Surgery would have resulted in a painful recovery, a cone on his head (he won't even wear a collar) and a 2 day stay at the hospital for post-op monitoring. Followed by chemotherapy, dubiously effective, to attempt to slow the progression of the cancer in the liver. So it comes down to the decision so many humans have to face for themselves or their family members: quality v. quantity. As the doctors finally admitted (I had to drag this out of them), the quantity gain probably would not be that significant. So, I made the Warren Zevon decision for Rasta. The only further indignities he will suffer will be taking the medications.



After several phone calls to, and no replies from, the regional animal hospital to find out when Rasta could be discharged, I finally phoned them at 7 pm and told them I'm on my way to pick him up. Upon my arrival, the doctor did come out and provide the medications with instructions. However, the assistant threw a nutty, screaming at me "where's his carrier, he has to have his carrier, I can't handle him". I told her to show me to his cage and I will get him. When I approached him he was trembling scared in the back of the cage but he jumped into my arms when I reached for him as if to say "get me the f*ck out of here". Though I am in no way happy with my decision, this experience validated it. That 12 hours took its toll on Rasta. 2 more days no doubt would have destroyed his wonderful free spirit.


Like hospitals for humans, veterinary hospitals have become assembly line factories. Its a doggone shame for all of us.

Sam nurses ailing Rasta

Say it aint so

I am posting today with a heavy heart. Rasta is in the animal hospital awaiting surgery to remove an adenocarcinoma (cancerous tumor) from his colon, pending the results of a liver biopsy to see if the cancer has spread. The diagnosis was made last week during a colonoscopy which folowed many trips to several specialist veterinarians to rule out more benign conditions. Fortunately to date, aside from diminishment of his normally voracious appetite, he has maintained his usual happy, affectionate and loving attitude. He has been such a trooper to endure this much already, thankfully not comprehending the gravity of his condition. I wish I could be as strong.

Sam is running about the house, meowing and seeking my attention no doubt in an effort to understand his brother's absence. They have never been seperated for even an hour since their birth almost 10 years ago.

Sam and Rasta - 9 weeks old

Sam and Rasta came to me from a shelter called "Kitty City" at Pet World in Framingham, Massachusetts. About 40 cats and kittens residing in this elaborate maze-like cage network which had multiple levels, lots of toys, platforms, resting and play areas, even an overhead skywalk. When I stopped in, most of the residents were napping or just wandering around, awaiting adoption. However, oblivious to all else, there were two little, 8-week old black kittens frolicking, wrestling one another and jumping off a platform. I put a finger into the cage and Rasta came right over and started nuzzling it. Another finger in the cage and Sam followed suit. The connection was made! The shelter director said she wanted to place both cats together because they were so tight. I said that would be a perfect fit for me. An hour later I was home in Ashland with a new litter box, 28 lbs. of litter, lots of toys and food and two rambunctious kittens.

Cat on the hat - Rasta

Aside from both kittens being all black, it was immediately obvious that Sam and Rasta were as different as day and night. Rather, as night and later that night. Rasta the husky, sensitive, easy-going lounge lizzard and skinny Sam the gregarious practical joker who just had to pry open every door and cabinet in the house. Many trips to the hardware store seeking ingenious ways to "Sam-proof" the house. He stills finds ways thwart my latches and deadbolts, even in our current home in Marshfield, but has mellowed into a wonderfully affectionate cat,

Kitten Sam

Wheels

Got a new truck. Toyota Tacoma. Its a real nice cross between a truck and a sports car. Regrettably, all mileage so far is transporting Rasta for medical appointments. More info to follow.

Bronco is gone. It was good to me and I'll miss it save for the undercarriage rust. Lots of rust. Rust really happens here.

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