My beautiful baby, Charlie of Doom, left us forever yesterday.
The tumour that caused the hyperthyroidism he'd been coping very well with for the last 2.5 years sadly turned, very recently, into an aggressive cancer. The only indication was a mysterious case of chronic hiccups that started plaguing him just over a month ago. Endless investigation revealed nothing - all his bloodwork was perfect, he was strong, xrays revealed nothing. Eventually an endoscopy discovered his trachea was being severely constricted by something, and manual examination revealed that tumour had grown considerably in a short space of time.
He was referred to a soft tissue specialist, who arranged for surgery yesterday to try to remove it, if for no other reason than to improve his quality of life and give him a little more time for purrs and strokes. What she found was far more invasive than we expected. It had begun to grow into his lymph passages, indicating cells would be travelling around his body, and had also wrapped around the nerves in his neck. While she was able to remove most of the tumour, his larynx was damaged by such close proximity to those nerves, and he would have required a trachy tube to breathe. That, coupled with the prospect of continued chemo and a very difficult surgery recovery, made it clear we had to let him go. He'd always been an anxious cat, and the previous 2.5 years of vet visits as his hyperthyroidism had the odd stabilisation problem - plus the removal of almost all his teeth - had unfortunately traumatised him quite badly. Had he been a different cat, perhaps it would have been possible to treat him confidently with the understanding he'd be okay, tolerate it well, and be able to have those few weeks of purrs before the end. But sadly his fear and anxiety meant the treatment would have caused him nothing but suffering, and that's not the way his final weeks or even months should have been spent.
It has broken my heart to let him go. He's been my entire world for so long, particularly so since he became ill in 2013. Everything I did was framed with consideration for him. Every time I got out of bed in the morning it was because he was quite insistent that it was time for food and I really should stop being lazy. Every time I cooked a meal it was with an eye on the clock so I could get it finished and eaten before it was time to give him his daily medication. At night as I went to bed, I had to do a sweep of the house to make sure I'd left nothing lying around he could eat (he loved plastic, much to his detriment). All cables and important things had to be cleared away, in case his illness made him vomit on them in the night. It really is no exaggeration to say every part of my day was framed by him.
That's not the only reason it'll be so hard to adjust to him not being here. I've long struggled with mild depression, and in recent years anxiety. I'm a very private person, and even the people I love the most only get let in a certain amount. But Charlie, he was there for me every day. Just seeing him insist I lay a blanket on my lap on the hottest day of the year so he could climb on and be stroked while he purred like a tractor gave me a sort of strength. And of course, caring for him over the last few years gave me purpose.
15 years is a long time to love someone, to live a symbiotic life with them. I know the pain will ease. I know the constant second-guessing I'm doing will slowly stop. I'm doing what I can to try to give myself new focus. For example, I've set myself the goal to ensure I go for a walk every morning before 9.30am, because otherwise what would be the point getting up?
I know this kind of pain and these thoughts will go in time. But for now it's so very difficult.
I'm writing this here, despite not being active on this account anymore, because over the years I posted photos of Charlie, and many of you who followed me back then got to know him virtually, through those photos. I have my 'Monkey' album (his nickname), and it feels right to have one last picture in here. This was taken a few months ago. After he had his teeth out last September his tongue rarely knew what to do with itself anymore.
To my darling Charlie, I love you more than I could ever say. I think you knew that. I'm so very, very sorry the way it ended. I'll never get over the stress you felt in the last couple of days, having been taken to the specialist, being away from me. This was the last thing I ever wanted to happen to you. I'm so sorry. I love you, Charlie. May you find eternal peace and as many cans of tuna as you can possibly eat. <3
