Pasha

I did not want any more cats.  I do not need any more cats.  Yet Pasha the cat moved in to join us about a month ago.

She has been hanging around our property for two years now.  She was ear tipped, so I didn't have to worry about trapping her for a spay. She came to eat every night and stayed in our garage (which has heat lamps and heated beds all winter) but wouldn't let me touch her.  I started sitting outside every evening at her food spot for an hour or so, until she seemed comfortable eating while I was there.  It took a few more weeks of sitting there quietly before she allowed me to barely touch her fur. A few more weeks of perseverance and she was letting me rub and scratch her everywhere--even rolling over for belly rubs.  I treated her for fleas and started bringing her in from time to time in the evenings.

She would immediately relax, purr, and go into the deepest sleep I had seen her in.  When she slept outside, she was always on edge, listening and popping her eyes open, always alert for the potential encounters with other cats or animals.  It made me see to see her truly relaxed inside, knowing she never had that luxury outside.  Each night that I brought her in, she would cry at the door between 2-3 AM.  Since it was summer, I let her back out.  I kept hoping she would stop asking to go out.

The weeks around the fourth of July were really traumatic for her. She was jumpy and scared all the time, and frequently didn't finish her meal because of a loud firework that sent her off to hide in the garage for the night.  Shortly after that, we lost ground.  She seemed afraid and skittish and scooted away whenever I tried to touch her.  We had lost most of the ground I made over the past few months.  It was heartbreaking.  So, I started the whole process over.  After a couple of weeks of that, we were almost back to our previous comfort level.

About two weeks before I brought her in, she showed up with scratches on her face.  A few days after that, her normal robust appetite was slowly decreasing.  Each night, she ate a little less, and it took her longer. That, combined with a cold snap in the weather, convinced me that it was time to bring her in.  I had taken care of an outdoor cat for about three years before she showed up.  I called him Sasha.  He was a beautiful black and white, long haired cat, and despite my best efforts, he never let me touch him.  He was always here.  One day in the middle of a cold winter, he disappeared.  He was not returning to his garage to sleep, nor was he eating.  I watched for him (and still do) but he never came back.  That ripped my heart out, and I still think of him daily and wonder what happened to him.  I couldn't live with another disappearing cat, so Pasha moved in.

I was committed to ignoring her 2-3 AM demands to be let out.  The first night was rough.  She yelled, and I sat with her.  I took her to a litter box, but she immediately jumped out and returned to her safe window shelf.  The second night, we followed the same routine, but this time she used the litterbox before returning to her shelf, and she stopped meowing.  This continued for a couple more nights, until she was comfortable enough to walk to the litterbox herself.  Apparently she was crying to get out, because she had to poop and didn't feel safe yet doing so in the house.  Her appetite continued to decrease.

I took her into the vet for a wellness check.  She was ten years old and looked good and healthy with the exception of what appeared to be a plum-sized tumor growing through her abdominal wall.  Because of the location, it couldn't be removed.  They tried, unsuccessfully to aspirate the tumor.  We came home very sad, and just hoped that the tumor was slow growing, so she could enjoy some safe, peaceful, indoor living before she died.  He appetite was almost non-existent within a couple of days and she was increasingly lethargic.  I was devastated that it seemed the tumor was aggressive.  On that Sunday afternoon, we noticed a dime-sized hole had appeared on her side, over the location of the tumor.  I called the vet and sent a picture, and he said we'd just start her on antibiotics Monday morning.  I picked her up to carry her down for snuggles, and her side exploded a massive quantity of hot, rancid pus that ran down my arm.  A lot came out!  About the amount that would be commensurate with a plum-sized growth.  

I spoke to her vet on Monday to get the antibiotics, and he voiced my hope--it was very possible that she had a nasty sack of infection that looked like a tumor on Xrays.  If so, antibiotics would clear everything up.  After her two-week course of antibiotics were done, she went back in for tests.  The best-case scenario was true:  no tumor, no cancer, no infection, not even a scar.  She's a healthy, ten year old cat, with many years to enjoy the household living she's become accustomed to.

She spends her time rotating between four windows.  She likes to watch different parts of the yard at different times a day.  She is fully at home exploring the house, and spends a part of the night cuddled with me and a part with Mark.  We haven't had any fights or issues integrating her with the other cats or dogs.  I showed her the outdoor enclosure, and she spent a little time out there the first day but hasn't gone back out since.  I was surprised by that, as I expected her to want to spend more time outside.  She doesn't ask to go out and seems very content to be a house cat.

I'm so glad I brought her in when I did!  Had I waited any longer, she would have been too far gone, and possibly wandered off to die.  So despite the fact that another cat is the last thing in the world I need right now, I feel terribly lucky to have this sweet girl!