Diagnosis

We're back from the vet, and Scooter's basal cell carcinoma is back. At his age, there's nothing we can do except keep him as comfortable and happy as possible. (However, that means I'll be unexpectedly crying all the time.)

He did need fluids, and he behaved well for them. They were able to give him 300 cc of Ringers Lactate with some vitamins and antibiotics added to it.

Dr. Brantley asked about how he was eating. At this point it's more important to make sure he keeps eating than to worry about his special diet cat food. He said there comes a point where we have to think about quality of life. Being forced to eat a food he doesn't like or letting him eat what he wants since he's terminal anyway.

Yeah, that word. Terminal. Keith and I knew that was a possibility. It's amazing how even though we humans know that life has an end point, we can ignore it. Even this morning while I was waiting while he was checked, and I'm not stupid, I figured it was the cancer, I still hoped for an abscess. I see Scooter every day. He's bony, can't groom himself very well, and still is stubborn enough not refuse food with supplements in it, and I'm not ready to let him go. I know I'll be able to do it when the time comes. I've had to make that decision several times already, but that doesn't stop the pain.

While he's here, I'll do what I can to spoil him more than he's been spoiled in his whole life. Tuna, baby food, chicken, whatever he wants to eat, I'll let him have. I can cook extra of whatever we're eating and let him have some.

It doesn't seem like we've had him in our lives for nearly 19 years. It's definitely not long enough.