Sammy and I moved back to Arlington, Virginia, where I had an apartment on the 14th floor of a high rise in trendy Ballston. Even up high, Sammy enjoyed looking out the window. But she was now an indoor cat; they live much longer when removed from the dangers (and excitements!) of the streets, like cars, other cats, and disease. In fact, I thought Sammy – with love, great medical care ($750 for a teeth cleaning!) and a safe home – would turn out to be the world’s oldest cat. I was wrong.

It all started out routinely enough, as it often does with people. She went in for one of her outrageously expensive teeth cleanings (more than I would ever spend on my own teeth). I got a call from the vet – never a good sign; the blood work indicated a thyroid problem, common in older cats. Okay, what can we do? Lots of options. I tried the cream on the inside of her ears. Not good enough. I decided to have the radiation treatment, 131 Iso I believe it is called. Not only does it cost $2,000, but she has to sit in isolation (because of the radiation) for 8 nights! I missed her, but when she got home I thought all would be okay. I was wrong again.

Have you ever had a sick pet? If you’re single, that pet may start feeling suspiciously like a child, except that the pet never tells you to go to Hell, or that they wish they hadn’t been born, or steals liquor from the cabinet. When the pet is sick, and seeming lethargic, if it eats heartily, that’s a fist pumping event. Lost a lot of money in the stock market today? No problem, my cat just ate more than they have in days. The world falling apart with recession in America and chaos in Europe? Who cares – my cat just had a healthy bowel movement.

Just a few weeks after getting Sammy back from the clinic I noticed she turned her nose up at her evening Fancy Feast. This never happens. Fancy Feast is like crack cocaine for cats (hopefully healthier). She used to prowl around the kitchen waiting impatiently for her 6 PM (sharp!) feeding. She would sometimes almost run me over sprinting for her dinner. So when she wasn’t eating, I got a bad feeling in my gut. She seemed to want food, but mechanically have a hard time getting it down the hatch.

Took her to the vet. He pried open her mouth, and said he didn’t “like the look of that.” Not very reassuring. I tried to get some odds from him. He was hesitant. He mentioned the “tumor” word. My eyes began to well up.

There were 4 possibilities: oral infection, 2 kinds of operable cancer, 1 kind of inoperable cancer. You know which one it is.

Yes, I realize that people are dying every moment of every day. They may be dying of cancer, or in accidents, or war. I’m sorry for them, but, to be honest, only in a very shallow way. Thank God, I don’t know those people. If we each experienced the pain that is being suffered in any given moment around the world, the human race would be extinguished in a black hole of sudden and overwhelming grief.

But I certainly know my cat. She’s the one who purrs so gently when I rub her ears (I’ve tried this with the ladies, and it never goes well.) She’s the one that jumps in my lap when I’m typing; she jumps in my lap when I’m reading; she jumps in my lap when I’m contemplating the awesome insanity of the universe. She is not a lap slut; she jumps only in my lap. But she won’t be jumping much longer.

One vet says she’ll live a few more months. Another is not so optimistic; maybe a month or two. She has a hard time eating and drinking. We’ve tried everything; different types of food, pureeing the food, having her eat out of my hand. Like us all, some days are better than others.