Sarcoma

Sarcoma.


I hate that word. I've had cats with sarcomas before, and I know there is never a happy ending with them.

Now we have to deal with it again.

I took Spooky to the vet's today. We couldn't find him last night. He doesn't go outside, so we knew he had to be in the house. Somewhere. We searched everywhere for him - closets, kitchen cabinets, washer, dryer, clothes hampers, everywhere cats have been known to hide. I was more and more worried as time wore on. It's never a good sign when a cat hides like that. We finally found him inside the couch. Chris turned the couch on it's side, and there was a small hole in the bottom lining. We cut it open, and there was Spooky, looking horrible. I managed to feed him a small amount of canned cat food, but I knew something was terribly wrong.

When we got to the vet, we noticed his injured leg was swollen. They did an x-ray. It's cancer. And it may have spread. He has only a short time to live, but he is in pain. We may have to have him euthanized. I can hardly type this. I'm still stunned. This isn't what I expected. When I talked to the vet on the phone this morning, I was told that if the brachial plexus injury doesn't heal, his leg will wither, and we would have to amputate it. Bad news, but I would still have a cat. Now, here we are, talking about euthanasia.

He's only four years old.