Roscoe

I have been doing this blog for three weeks now, and I may be reaching the point where the preliminary disclaimers and legal statements are out of the way, and I can get down to actually "blogging" -- whatever THAT turns out to be. Perhaps I am looking at this the wrong way, but I see it as laying a foundation -- not necessarily much fun, but important for everything that will follow.

During those three weeks, the world continued to turn, there were some interesting political developments, local instrumental music groups began their "school-year" season, and Roscoe the cat slipped off somewhere to die. (WARNING: If you would prefer not to read details of a cat's final illness, stop here.)

I have many animal friends, and I am becoming too familiar with animal deaths. Roscoe showed up last fall, full grown, and was friendly and lovable, though he had an unfortunate tendency to "spray" inside. I thought perhaps having him "fixed" would help, but it turned out he had already been fixed in his life before he arrived here. Still, he was a very good cat.

The most notable thing about Roscoe's death was that it took so long. Roscoe had been diagnosed with terminal, inoperable, untreatable, "wildly malignant" cancer at the end of May/beginning of June, with a projected life expectancy of less than one month. The cancer was under his tongue, so it would interfere with his eating, and he drooled a lot and smelled bad -- I took him to the vet for what I assumed was an infected tooth, and that's when the cancer was discovered. The vet prescribed pain medication to be given every other day, and Roscoe took it without complaining much, and never seemed to acknowledge any pain. He would sometimes bleed, and sometimes quite a lot. Occasionally, he would look like a child who had stuck his face into a bowl of ketchup.

His appetite declined over time, or perhaps the pain and difficulty of eating with the cancer under his tongue made it not worth the effort. I am not getting any compensation for stating that he developed a special fondness for Friskies "Mixed Grill" flavor, though towards the end he would mostly sniff at it and walk away. He enjoyed ripping into unopened bags of both dry cat food and dry dog food, and he would eat some of what he tore into. He liked to eat fish and drink milk, though sometimes the milk would get pretty bloody.

I suppose I should mention that he lost a lot of fur and looked awful, and we advised the neighbors of his situation, lest they become alarmed at the site of this smelly, bloody, fur-losing cat. I am happy to point out that even in this condition, children loved him, though their parents might cringe when they cuddled him. I should also mention that his life perhaps could have been prolonged with tube feedings, if that had seemed like a good idea.

Perhaps later in this blog I will discuss animal euthanasia. For now, I will just say that Roscoe continued to live life on his own terms and to the fullest for months after he was expected to be dead. Most nights, he would sleep inside, but for the last few days he preferred staying outside. By the evening of September 17, he was thin and weak, and I spent a long time petting him after he had some milk, and then he got up and took off in an unusual direction. I have not seen him again.