Four Feet More

This is Rupert (with our brown tabby, Oona laying on top of him). Rupert Guaca Molay, to be precise. He came to our family when he was just 2 days old, eyes still closed and umbilical cord still attached. I was working in a Pet Hospital at the time, and a whole litter of newborn kittens was brought in, huddled together in a little shoebox. Six other employees and I each took one home, to bottle feed and eventually adopt out. Of the seven kittens, Rupert is the only one who survived. This is not due to my superior cat-raising skills, I assure you. The whole litter was just not healthy, and I think that Rupert may have been the strongest of the lot.

I remember those early days, waking up at all hours of the night to bottle feed this scruffy looking white kitten with a yellow stain on his back. He would scream out with a squeaky meow and would knead the air (we call it “making biscuits”) while I fed him. In fact, the only thing other than food that kept him quiet in those days was music by Sting. Go figure.

This little cat, despite his various anomalies, began to thrive and grow. The yellow stain on his back became a silver/gray patch that wound up extending to cover his head, half his face and his tail (which is striped, like a tabby’s). His eyes developed into a clear blue color, and his back legs grew to be much longer than his front, giving him a bit of a hot-rod-like appearance. People who met him would say, “Man, that is a freaky looking cat!” But I thought he was handsome, and when it came time to adopt him out, I decided that it would be better if he stayed with me instead.

And so he has been a member of our family for 14 years. He chirps in pleasure when I say his name and if I scratch him just right on the back of his neck, he starts grooming himself manically. He loves to play with the tabs you pull off the top of a bottle of milk, and will even mock fight you for them (his growling used to crack my brother up. The two of them engaged in many mock-milk-top-battles).

As Rupert has gotten older, his medical problems have increased. First it was feline acne, which would cause his face to swell up most unbecomingly. Then feline asthma was added to the mix, making him wheeze and cough like an old man. A few years ago he was diagnosed with mega-colon, a condition that causes him to get blocked up and requires daily medication (a laxative) with his food to keep the plumbing working properly.

Another medical blow was delivered last week. About a month ago, Rupert's back foot began to swell up. At first I thought it was a bug bite. He’s had swelling reactions to those before, and usually some oral Prednisone helps them go away. But this time it didn’t work. Then I began soaking the foot and prodding around to see if there was a bite wound or some other injury. I could find nothing, but the foot continued to swell. Friday, I took Rupert in to the vet and got the bad news. Rupert has a tumor on his back foot. While it’s pretty big and ugly, it doesn't seem to be giving him any pain. He's not limping, he doesn't flinch when I touch his foot, and he's eating and playing around normally. We don't know if the tumor is malignant or not, but pretty much the only treatment is to amputate the foot. Which there is no way in hell I am going to do. Rupert is 14 years old, and the thought of him going through the pain of an amputation and living out his remaining few years with a missing foot just seems wrong. Plus, if it is cancer, he'd have to go through chemo in addition to the amputation, which would be even worse. I just can’t see putting him through that, especially given all his other medical conditions. For now, he is his usual happy self, playing, eating and drinking normally, with an enlarged back foot. I guess we'll reassess if it starts to cause him pain, but until then, I'm going to let things ride. Hopefully the tumor is benign and will stay localized, adding to his freakish appearance while not being life-threatening. Only time will tell.