I’m not a man who normally takes photographs, or addresses his emotions honestly and openly, but this is an unusual circumstance so this post will feature a little of both.
I recently found an old disposable camera when I was cleaning out my closet and decided to have it developed. It was filled with photos I’d taken of my cat Suzy shortly after I’d adopted her when I must have been feeling unusually sentimental. I'm glad I have these photos now, because as of yesterday I don't have Suzy.
Last summer I'd discovered a strange growth on her stomach which turned out to be cancer. I had that removed and I checked her stomach regularly for the first few months, but everything seemed fine and her behaviour was completely normal, so I gradually got out of the habit of checking. It seemed like I'd caught it in time.
Well, about a week ago I noticed that her appetite had disappeared and her behaviour had changed too. She was lethargic and laying around all day. She’d stopped jumping up on the bed to sleep with me or leaping onto the top of the recliner to stare out the window at passersby. Worst of all, her breathing had become laboured, so I checked her tummy where the original tumour was and sure enough there was another growth which was much larger than the first, and this one was more like an open sore with a red, bloody disc surrounding a small white protuberance in the middle.
I took her to the vet to have x-rays done, and the cancer had indeed spread to her lungs. She was euthanised just before midnight last night.
In addition to being devastated by losing a cat I love dearly, I feel guilty for not checking her for tumours more carefully over the last few months. Maybe if I had noticed something earlier the prognosis would be better. I keep trying to tell myself that Suzy might have been dead ten years ago if it wasn’t for me since I was the one who busted her out of kitty prison when she was on death row. She was a stray I adopted from the SPCA, and she lead a happy pampered life under my care. That seems comforting on paper, but it’s not enough to keep me from blubbering when I remember how scared she looked as the vet carried her away into the back room. Or when I look at a picture like this.
