Pushkin Visits the Vet, Too

Pushkin and I went to the vet today. He was great, a real trouper, given that the day was cool and rainy and that he’s unaccustomed to being outdoors. Whereas Zora was a wild woman, twisting and turning and leaping (she had to be restrained with a blanket and muzzled for x-rays, Pushkin was relatively calm. All it takes to subdue him is lots of rubs and strokes. He weighed in at 15 pounds, but the doctor said that was okay because he’s a big cat. Unlike Zora, he doesn’t have a heart murmur (so no x-rays were really needed before he got a shot of cortisone for asthma. (He’s such a bully; I hope the dude doesn’t go into “roid” rage.) Unfortunately (or maybe not), Dr. Jacobson saw a dark spot on each pupil. She examined him closely, trying to see if the spots were raised. They might be (1) nothing but some inherited characteristic; (2) the changing of color; or (3) possible melanoma, or something that might turn into melanoma. Hmmm . . . I have to keep an eye on the spots and call Dr. Jacobson on Friday.

Now, my inclination is to indulge my hunger for medical/veterinary knowledge and troll the internet for information about eye melanoma in cats, but I’m not going there this time. I’m not going to act as if I should be prepared for my cat having eye cancer. I won’t worry or suffer about anything that hasn’t happened. I won’t worry about the mere possibility of anything.

My cats have been through a lot with me: depression, a devastating fire, staying with crazy people (to whom I am, nonetheless, grateful), moving four times within the last six years. All of the cats I have ever had (8 including present company) have been my teachers, my sounding boards, my sometime reflections, my friends. They’ve been the catalyst for my examination of and speculation on life beyond human life.

Okay, gotta go. Someone's calling for hugs, rubs and treats. (I promise not to turn this into a CatBlog.)