SHEBA'S STRENGTH
Sheba came to us from a woman in Orangevale who was being evicted from her home. She couldn't take her cat with her so we took her in. Initially, Sheba was aloof and unfriendly and didn't show well at adoptions. We had her for several months before she settled in and became comfortable. We started taking her to adoptions, knowing she was a great cat for someone, but no one adopted her. In the meantime, she was making herself at home in our house.
Sheba had a routine. Many mornings when we woke up, she would be waiting in the bathtub. We would turn the faucet on, to a small stream, and Sheba would stand under it and let the water run down her neck. She'd watch as the water went down the drain. This seemed to fascinate her. Only after doing this would she then start drinking the water as it came from the faucet. In addition to mornings, she would often catch us as we were getting ready for bed and demand the faucet be turned on. Sheba was a talker. She would meow these short little meows and you could really get a conversation going.
Sheba often slept on the bed, against my legs. I love sleeping with the weight of a cat against me. In the middle of April, though, I noticed that Sheba was sleeping with me more, but by my side. I thought this was odd, but was happy to have her so close to me. It was shortly after this time that John noticed she wasn't eating her kibble.
We took her to the vet and they discovered a bad tooth that needed to be extracted. Unfortunately, in the process, the vet tech discovered a tumor in her mouth. We did a biopsy and waited. When we got a call from the vet's office to call them, it wasn't a good sign. The vet said it was cancer. The tumor was sizable and she didn't feel it was treatable. I was devastated that we were going to lose Sheba. I knew this could happen but I wasn't ready to admit defeat.
We took her to see an oncologist who said that treatment was possible but it would not be a cure. We could make Sheba more comfortable and possibly extend her life a while longer. I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible so we agreed to look into surgery and chemo. Sheba was put under anesthesia for a full examination of her mouth. The cancer was in the left side of her jaw, at the back of her throat, and beginning to spread to the top of her mouth. There was no possibility of removing it all by means of surgery, but it could be "debulked" to remove some of the mass and slow down the growth. We said, "yes, do it," since she was already under anesthesia and the debulking would make it easier for her to eat.
Sheba could eat on her own but she had to lick her food. At first, I mixed it with water, but later, I began to puree her food. In addition to various flavors of wet food (she preferred seafood), Sheba loved being treated with baby food and would gobble it up quickly, so I gave her a jar of it each day.
Sheba stayed in our bedroom, rarely going out to the rest of the house. Later, she would hide under the bed, making it difficult to feed her, so I kept her in our walk-in closet with plenty of blankets and clothes to sleep on. Sheba liked to burrow into bedding or clothes to make a warm den for herself. One time, she dug into the side of a heap of sheets left in a chair, where only her head and front legs were poking out, and fell asleep. It was very cute.
We began chemo treatments for Sheba. Luckily, she had no side effects such as vomiting or hair loss, which I was grateful for. After the first treatment, the doctor noticed a shrinking in the tumors. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but the doctor said that this was truly good news. Unfortunately, the subsequent two chemo treatments resulted in no benefit and Sheba's tumors continued to grow.
It got to the point where her tongue protruded from her mouth and swallowing became more difficult. Because she was eating less on her own, I began to syringe-feed her. The doctors didn't think that Sheba would let me do this, but she did. She was incredibly accommodating for me. I held her in my lap like a baby and talked to her. Sheba would talk and purr and we truly began to bond. She would tightly "hug" my arm to her chest. I'd never seen a cat do this before. If I tried to pull away, she would grumble. I would feed her a little at a time and she ate. This continued for a couple of weeks, but she gradually began to resist the feedings. It seemed to me that she was experiencing pain, so I backed off. I found ways to feed her more appealing foods and she was eating on her own again, but less.
The left side of Sheba's face had a large bump, the size of a golf ball, where a tumor stuck out. Her left eye also came out a bit more than the right side, so I knew the tumor on the top of her mouth was growing and pushing against her eye. Watching her eat, make clumsy gyrations with her tongue, and try to clean herself was heartbreaking. It was time to let her go.
The night before her appointment for euthanasia, I was in tears. I woke up in the middle of the night and Sheba was sleeping by my legs. I petted her and she immediately purred. I knew without a doubt that she knew I loved her and had done all I could. Throughout this process, I was constantly amazed at how courageous she had been. Never once had Sheba hissed, swatted, or bit me. She hated needles and would try to get away when we gave her subcutaneous fluids. She sometimes growled to show discomfort when I fed her. But never, ever, did she lash out or direct her anger at me. In fact, she showed more affection during the last 8 weeks of her life than we'd ever seen before. Lying there in bed with her, I marveled at her strength -- the kind of character she must have to go through this with such love and forgiveness in her heart. Right then, I knew that if she had this much strength, then I had the strength to do what needed to be done. My tears dried up and I thanked her for teaching me a valuable lesson.
The next morning, Sheba did something she hadn't done since before her illness. We have a bird feeder in our backyard and besides putting bird food in the feeder, I also sprinkle some by the sliding door. A bird was eating right by the window and Sheba was at the sliding door, focusing intensely on the bird and wanting to pounce! As I watched this, I was grateful that Sheba got to be a cat one last time, doing what cats do.
I carried her into the vet's office in a pink and purple baby blanket with hearts. Sheba hated riding to chemo in a carrier and I wanted to make this last visit as stress free as possible. When I carried her into the vet's office, she was hugging my side with one paw. During her last moments, I cradled her head in my palm. I told her it was okay to let go and she made one last direct eye contact with me before she was gone.
After all the vet bills and only having her for an additional 8 weeks, some might say that it was a waste of effort to keep Sheba going. I wondered myself if it had been worth it. But I gained two things. I know that I'd tried everything possible to fight her cancer and won't wonder if I could've done more. But, more importantly, I learned who Sheba was in those 8 weeks. I'd never guessed that such a courageous soul was living under our roof. She truly showed me what she was made of and it made me want to be a better person.