We had to say goodbye to Henry yesterday.
It still doesn't feel real. Like at every turn I expect him to be right behind me or curled up in some chair.
Henry came to us fall of 2022. At the time his Squamous Cell Carcinoma had already been diagnosed and his ears were partially amputated for cancerous mass removal. We believe he was around four years old. He was expected to live for about six months after that.
He lived with us about three years and eight months. Henry was the friendliest creature I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. He got along well with other cats, family dogs, and most of all every person he came across. He didn't care where he was as long as he was with his people - preferably as close to their face as they'd allow.
Henry was food motivated, leading to him being a hefty 15 pounds at his heaviest. He lived on the streets for many of his earliest years but you'd never know it. He had sensitive skin that required prescription shampoo, sensitive paws that he'd prioritize over covering his poo, and a sensitive bladder with which he developed life-threatening urinary crystals to warrant prescription food (which, frustratingly, he never wanted as his first choice at mealtime).
Baths, food, and play were our routine.
The trait he carried with him from the streets, besides his outstanding resilience, was the love of the hunt. Henry was a mouser through and through. I believe the final count of mice caught (and observed) was Henry 7 - Landlord 0. I must specify onserved because, while he always wanted us to see his catch- usually alive -we had come home to find the remains of his rodenty midday snacks.
While with us, he had a handful of procedures. (Giving us the joy of him being zooted off meds many a time.) He went to battle with his cancer numerous times with the aid of human veterinarians and came back each time with a little less ear and a little more heart. (and a lot less currency in our pockets.)
Sometime early last year, he developed another mass on his ear. Unfortunately, at the time, we were facing another sudden battle with cancer. (One of our human parents had begun their treatment.) This meant our funds were severely limited. We figured we'd have to walk this tightrope a little longer until things leveled out or one of us miraculously won the lottery.
What none of us could have prepared for was Henry being bitten by a venomous spider directly on top of his growing tumor.
We fought and treated the bite while his typical veterinary team insisted there wasn't actually a mass. Even if there was a mass, which there was, the spiderbite needed to go down first. So we focused on the bite.
We went through about 5 or more different kinds of medications for the bite and infection that followed. The swelling on his ear did eventually go down and his stitches were removed. Then the swelling didn't stop going down. Hidden under the skin, the cancer paired with the necrotic nature of the spiderbite continued to destroy tissue along his skull.
We were given medication after medication. Most were for pain and irritation. What would have genuinely helped would have been extensive radiation or kitty chemo which we were unable to afford. We kept holding out for a miracle. If he could just hold on until we were able to pay for his treatment or if magically the cancer went into remission on its own someday we'd be back to happy and healthy.
It never happens that way, though, does it?
If it was a matter of his willpower and medical science, perhaps I wouldn't be writing this today.
It became very clear in recent weeks that we were not going to be able to win this race. With the economy how it is, a job lost, and uncertain outcomes, we had to make the agonizing decision to let Henry go. He spent his final moments in his favorite place, curled up in my partner's arms.
Hold your loved ones and tell them how much they mean to you. Drink water and remember to Bathe, Feast, and Play.
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