Well, the biopsy came back and he's got a sarcoma on his tongue. Apparently it's common and there's not much that can be done. The vet gives him 1 to 2 months.
He's sitting on my lap now enjoying the cool morning air and we're both listening to some pissed off squirrel in the tree outside.
He's had a good life since I moved in (and maybe before, who knows) and he'll keep having a good time until he's not.
It's just amazing how this little furry critter wormed his way into my heart. Back in the day I'd be sitting in the yard waiting to be bitten by mosquitoes and he'd come out of the wild and overgrown ivy meowing and meowing. He'd let me pet him but not pick him up or hold him. Then I started feeding him. Then I started luring him into the house with food placed just inside the front door. He's a scaredy cat and we spent a lot of time with him just at the front door sneaking a quick bite and then darting out to the "safety" of outdoors.
Finally he got comfortable coming inside and began to relax and take advantage of the heat and cool. I installed a cat door because he was a big one for going out, coming in, going out, coming in and I refused to devote several hours a day to be a catomatic door opener.
He would sleep on the roof, or on the roof of the shed under the branches of the camellia tree. He also liked a little nesty area under the false quince. He spent some time on the concrete slabs around the garden area (once I'd ripped out the ivy and built it). And he would usually be waiting for me on the chimney ledge when I came home from work. He could survey the street and still stay tucked up nice and safe.
In the last year or two he's spent more and more time inside. I bought a litter box for him and actually locked him in after a cat mugging incident. I would call it a cat fight but he's tiny and unable to fight. A small gray tabby kitten once cowed him and forced him into the house.
Some might think I should have made him into an indoor only cat to protect his safety and perhaps they right. On the other hand, it's a decision I made that I believed was in his best interest and I'd do the same thing again. He didn't wander and I never saw him kill a bird (although I think he would have liked to). He was never going to catch one of the bold jays that would occasionally dive bomb him (and me!) to protect “their” territory.
Now, he hardly ever goes outside. The last time he was out, he was beaten up (no wounds) and now he's content to stay inside. He goes out occasionally on the front porch if I'm with him.
Indoors he likes to sleep on a lap (and don't move too much or he'll meow in protest). Over time he's made many indoor places to sleep...the spare bed in the spare bedroom (leading to the "cat has his own room" joke)...the back of the red IKEA couch...all of the living room furniture...the top of the TV cabinet when he could still get up there...the dresser in the front bedroom...the dining room table.
He had a bout with cancer in his bowel and the vet at 65th street did a GREAT job of surgery. He had chemo from Dr. Stephen Crow at SAMG and the brilliant surgery and the chemo gave us about 5 more great years. Thanks to my brother Andy for forgiving my horrible extravagance (and it really was immorally extravagant).
Don't know how old he is, I've had my house since 1998 (it's 2006 now) so perhaps it's 8 plus 5 for a total of 13 years.
He hates one of my friends which is mean because she's fed him many times. He loves another friend and tolerates my brother.
I never named him...it seemed wrong to give him a human name. He's a sentient adult; I don't understand his language and don't want to presume to tell him what his own name is. Yep, it's stupid but it's how I feel.
Just a few thoughts before I toss him off my lap (probably to go in the wicker basket) and get moving for my day.
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