Getting on with life, one damn cat at a time

Edgar ... before rescue

Nobody wants to be a "professional sick person," but right after an ET diagnosis, or when ET worsens or morphs, it can take up a lot of space in your head. (I've also got that wonky heart thing, too.) That's especially true since MPNs are rare diseases and few people really understand what it's like to have one.

However, one of the reasons I started this blog was to be able to talk about having ET (and hopefully share with others in the same boat) ... and then get on with life despite its exciting new challenges.

Which is how we ended up with Edgar.

Edgar is a big black stray cat whom we've been feeding for about three years. He seemed in good shape. He would often disappear for many weeks at a time and come back looking thin and hungry, but in pretty good shape. In the summer, he hung out on the bench on my porch like he owned the place. Our two indoor cats watched with interest through the screen.

Edgar was not neutered, and we started noticing a spike in the population of feral black kittens around the neighborhood. Edgar also often showed up with new notches in his ear or bites, which we cleaned. He always got better, and seemed to be a pretty heavy-duty dude.

I hoped (or maybe it was wishful thinking) that Edgar had a home. Clearly not a very good one. But I didn't want Edgar to be my problem. I'd vowed no more cats. We already have two, one of whom is elderly, and as we move toward retirement and our dream of a small apartment where we won't have to do snow shoveling and maintenance, we'll only be able to have one cat.

However, when Edgar showed up for his handout on Monday, I noticed he was walking on only three legs. Snow was predicted, and the temperature had dropped to about 10. Just giving him shelter for the night wasn't going to be enough. He needed medical attention.

I suppose the left-brained thing to do would have been to have Edgar euthanized. I've had a parade of adopted stray cats in my house for the last 40 years, and I've had to make that call before; it's the cheapest solution, the animal is out of its misery, I've reduced the population of unwanted kittens, and we're not saddled with a 10- to 15-year commitment to another creature.

Edgar ... after rescue

But this morning, Edgar's back from the vet, lolling around on a big pillow in the back room, and doesn't seem to notice the reduction in his "package," as the young people say. His leg is better. He's getting acclimated to the other cats through a baby gate. He seems pretty mellow and accommodating. The other two cats look at me as if to say, "WHY?"

It's a question I ask myself (and I haven't entirely ruled out the possibility of putting up Edgar for adoption; he's flexible, handsome and charming, and would flourish wherever he landed). But I suppose as my own mortality seems more real these days, leaving the world a little better than I found it seems more important. Even if it's just one damn cat at a time.

Be well!

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