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Oct. 13th, 2008 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
person4In about six hours I'm taking my cat, Ikari, in to the vet to have his leg amputated. I brought him in because of a limp a few days ago, thinking that he had somehow dislocated his shoulder, only to find out that he had bone cancer in his humerus.
In a certain way tonight feels worse than the night before human members of my family have had surgery in the past, because I know that they understand what's coming and knew going into it that they were going to feel like shit for awhile as they healed up, while Ikari has no idea what's in store for him. And he has no idea why I'm not letting him have any water, or why I took away his food bowl early (although I did try to make sure he had plenty of time at his food and water bowls before the time came that he couldn't have any more until after his surgery).
I've had several people I've talked to about it say that they think it would be kinder to have him put to sleep, but I've known a surprisingly large number of tripod cats in the past and none of them have ever even really seemed to notice their missing limbs when they were tearing around acting like any other cat. And as long as he'd still acting as totally happy to be alive as he ever has even though his leg has kept him in pain--he's always acted more like a dog than a cat, running around trying to get anyone he sees to give him cuddles, or belly rubs, or to play with him then purrs his head off when he gets them, and that hasn't changed at all--I can't believe that if he were capable of choosing he'd pick death over losing his leg. Especially when it will probably gain him years on his life; if it was just a few months, let the vet told me it would be if he were a dog, I'd let him go in peace now instead of just giving him a little extra time that might not even be enough for the incision where his leg used to be to fully heal.
But that doesn't make it feel any better when I'm thinking things like 'This is the last time he's ever going to knead my arm with two front legs when he's sitting on my lap (unless he jumps up again later)' or 'This is the last time he's going to be able to sit up properly to wash his forehead (although he can't actually do it that well anyway with his cancerous leg)'.
In a certain way tonight feels worse than the night before human members of my family have had surgery in the past, because I know that they understand what's coming and knew going into it that they were going to feel like shit for awhile as they healed up, while Ikari has no idea what's in store for him. And he has no idea why I'm not letting him have any water, or why I took away his food bowl early (although I did try to make sure he had plenty of time at his food and water bowls before the time came that he couldn't have any more until after his surgery).
I've had several people I've talked to about it say that they think it would be kinder to have him put to sleep, but I've known a surprisingly large number of tripod cats in the past and none of them have ever even really seemed to notice their missing limbs when they were tearing around acting like any other cat. And as long as he'd still acting as totally happy to be alive as he ever has even though his leg has kept him in pain--he's always acted more like a dog than a cat, running around trying to get anyone he sees to give him cuddles, or belly rubs, or to play with him then purrs his head off when he gets them, and that hasn't changed at all--I can't believe that if he were capable of choosing he'd pick death over losing his leg. Especially when it will probably gain him years on his life; if it was just a few months, let the vet told me it would be if he were a dog, I'd let him go in peace now instead of just giving him a little extra time that might not even be enough for the incision where his leg used to be to fully heal.
But that doesn't make it feel any better when I'm thinking things like 'This is the last time he's ever going to knead my arm with two front legs when he's sitting on my lap (unless he jumps up again later)' or 'This is the last time he's going to be able to sit up properly to wash his forehead (although he can't actually do it that well anyway with his cancerous leg)'.