I took two of our cats to the vet, one to check on that possible urinary tract infection, and another for a simple three-month follow-up after irradiation therapy for hyperthyroidism.
Well, the Pee Guy apparently doesn't have a medical problem, so his going outside the box is a behavioral
issue. Oh joy. But much worse: our girl probably has cancer--a lymphoma--and perhaps only 1-2 months to live.
I'm shattered. She's an older cat, and I always knew she'd have to go sometime, but I also knew it would be hell when she did. I've had many kitties in my life, but she and I have always had an incredible bond. She's whip-smart, and though she was always pushing the limits of acceptable cat behavior, that only made her more beloved. She'd try anything she wanted, because she knew exactly when we weren't looking.
In 2000, she developed a fibrosarcoma. I had a difficult choice to make then, but I loved her like no other, and was determined to nurse her through. She survived and thrived through two rounds of surgery and chemo, and she kicked cancer's butt to be my little Stinkerbell again. I was graced with her presence for another six years.
Today we'll go in for an ultrasound, and if the vet feels she do it, an ultrasound-guided biopsy to confirm the lymphoma diagnosis. If it really is cancer, then from what I've read about GI lymphoma, the treatments out there could only extend her life for maybe 6-9 months anyway. She's almost 15, and has already had a long and happy life. Without a better chance of long-term survival, I wouldn't want to put her through additional trauma just so I can have her around for a few extra months. She's given me more than enough love for a lifetime, and I can only hope I've always done the same for her.
Please wish us both luck.