We are on vacation
this week. Dick and I are looking forward to the time to relax and re-charge
before our upcoming move. I will miss our cat Watson though. He is never too
far away from me, whether I am folding laundry, sleeping, or even running the
vacuum (yes, he likes to have the vacuum run on him!) I want to share a story
with you about Watson, that was published in I Love Cats magazine, along with Watson’s picture on the cover. He
is one very special cat.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams. The biopsy shows cancer,” the
surgeon said. “You have a couple of treatment options, but we want to get
started right away as this is an aggressive form of cancer.
Stunned, I suddenly found myself scheduled for surgery in
ten days, followed by an appointment with an oncologist to discuss
chemotherapy. My husband Dick and I held hands and walked to the car in
silence.
We took things a day at a time. God’s people prayed, and October
13th I happily completed treatment and began regaining my strength.
During the four months that I underwent chemotherapy, our
cat Baxter exhibited more and more episodes with his heart. We had known for
several years that he had a heart murmur, but his symptoms were increasing
significantly. Selfishly, I prayed I wouldn’t lose him during that time. I
didn’t think I could stand the heart-break.
Three weeks after my last chemotherapy treatment, Baxter
passed away in his sleep. It was as if he were holding on just for me, and now
could finally let go.
I wasn’t sure I wanted another cat—or any other pet for that
matter. Loving and losing wrenched my heart. Yet, our house seemed so empty and
quiet with no one to greet us when we came home or to snuggle with us on the
couch.
I started looking online at the local rescues. Dick wanted a
young cat that we could train to walk on a leash and to ride in the car without
getting stressed.
During a trip to our nearby SPCA, while Dick checked out the
kittens, I visited with the adult cats. A volunteer was walking around with a
cat in her arms. He was huge, had medium length hair, and was a total love bug
wrapped in luxuriously soft fur. Trouble was, he was no kitten; he was eight
years old. According to the shelter’s intake report, he had been a stray for
five years.
I asked to hold him and walked around the room carrying him.
He gazed at me with the most, soulful, wise eyes I had ever seen. And his purr
rivaled the vibration of a passing freight train.
Watson was everything I needed in a cat at that moment—an
armful of comforting love who welcomed my kisses with a contented squeeze of
his big, beautiful sea-green eyes and a gentle pat on my chin from his huge
paw. An old softy, Dick set aside his kitten-dream and consented to take the
older cat home with us.
I have never fallen so hard and fast in love with a pet.
Watson fit into our household immediately—it was like he had been ours since
his birth! He brought us much laughter with his obsession with running water,
his ability to contort his body into the most uncomfortable-looking positions
and fall asleep, and the way he loved to lay on his back directly under the
ceiling fan, front paws reaching back over his head, his back legs stretched
out straight. I couldn’t resist rubbing his downy belly.
Immediately, Watson became a champion lap cat and constant
companion, wanting to be with me wherever that might be—making the bed, cooking
supper, or working at my computer. We took picture after picture of him—riding
in the car, “helping” me bead bracelets, sitting on the warm clothes in the
dryer—and posted them on Facebook. Our friends and family loved keeping up with
the antics of our new cat.
Within a week we scheduled a routine vet check. We informed
the vet tech that Watson’s breath was very stinky and he had an odd habit of
grinding his teeth. I figured he needed his teeth cleaned, just like my last
two cats did when they reached his age.
I was stunned when the vet said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams.
Watson has a growth under his tongue that appears to be a squamous cell
carcinoma. This type of cancer is treatment resistant and surgery isn’t always
an option.”
Feeling like a boxer had delivered us a one-two punch, Dick
and I left the office with an appointment to bring Watson back in a few days to
be sedated in order to get a better view of the growth.
An hour after we delivered Watson to the veterinary
hospital, I received a phone call from the vet. “Pam, I think while we have
Watson sedated we should remove the tumor. I am fairly certain I can get good
margins around the growth. There is a very good chance this will prolong his
life. Please consider it. I can’t not try.”
I immediately gave the vet the go ahead. Eight hours later,
we picked Watson up and brought him home. In four days he was eating his
regular dry cat food and playing with abandon! No one would even know he had
surgery!
Over two years later, Watson continues to both entertain and
love on us—a perfect combination. We may have walked into the shelter with our
own ideas of what cat we wanted, but I feel God knew which one we needed—and
which one needed us. Watson and I have bonded, perhaps in part, because we have
defeated a common enemy—cancer.
Blessings!
Pam Williams©2018 Pamela D. Williams
