Oceans of applause for Sam!

Her next appointment at the University is November 29th.

A Rollercoaster: Change in Plans for Sam's Second Cancer Surgery

I spoke too soon, above. A few nights later I found the lumps again.

They are small, about the size of a flax seed, with soft edges. The newest one of the two had been sharp edged before treatment, like a freshly-broken rock. Since the last category of chemo drugs had not had the desired effect (prohibiting the growth of additional tumors) Sam is receiving another kind of chemo drug called carboplatins, instead of having bilateral mastectomy surgery at this point. As the surgeon pointed out, it's no use to remove the cancerous lumps if we don't have an effective cancer killing agent for them. Her first treatment of carboplatins was November 14, 2006.

She is not tolerating this as well as the other chemo, judging from her mood. On the other hand, Sam is usually somewhat irritable and crabby: it's part of her charm. She may also be unhappy about the cold weather. It's no fun to go outside when there is no sun-warmed cement to lay your shaved tummy on, or roll and scratch your back.

On top of this, she has developed a sore spot under her chin which is now bleeding from her scratching it, probably as a Siamese-related reaction to these new drugs. I tell her to stop it when I catch her scratching at it, and I always catch her because she "yodels" in surprise and pain. My theory is, she thinks when I wipe the sore with a hot damp washcloth that the sore is now 'fixed'; subsequently when it itches her, she scratches. I have asked the doctor for a recommendation or prescription for salve that won't interfere chemically with the chemo.

"You go first." "No, after you." "Oh, dear me, I wouldn't think of it -- after you!"

Sam the Cat and her Purr take turns eating

When they were little, Sam and Purr would yell, wrestle and tumble about, then break apart suddenly, and Sam would trot triumphantly away with Purr's collar in her mouth, shaking it to make the bells ring.

We thought the collar might be bothering her and took it off, which may have been a mistake. Sam got Very withdrawn and I saw her shake herself a couple times and look bewildered. They've all worn collars since they were a few months old. The collar has bells; each cat has a distinct bell set with a different tone which is transferred to larger collars as they grow. We praise them on their 'cute collars', and they are only removed for a bath or, in Sam's case, always at the other vet, and sometimes at the University. So we restored her collar (and the attendant sound effects), and she seems happier now.

I don't know if it's the sore hurting her or that it hurts her to lick, but her appetite is a little off, and she doesn't want to hug and kiss her Mama as usual. She curls up near me on the bed, and if I pull her over under the covers she seems grateful, and will kiss me a little, but that's all.

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
-Ben Williams

Or an affectionate cat.

I think she's afraid she will bump her chin while snuggling, which if she was her usual terrifyingly affectionate self would certainly happen. We have 'kissing fights'; Sam licks my face all over until it starts to hurt, then I kiss her back you might say in self defense. She considers this a game and purrs louder and grabs me harder around the neck so she can hold me still in order to kiss me, and I do the same thing back. Bedtime is kind of noisy for a while.

Food and Supplements: A Cancer Cat's Diet

... when you can get them to eat. Who says animals on chemo eat a lot?!

I have been giving her Omega 3 and 6 oil ( a product called "Derm Caps" from kennelvet.com) and a supplement for cats called "Missing Link". Hopefully some of it is actually getting into Miss Picky. The other two cats eat the specially prepared food better than Sam does though, indicating it must not taste too awful. They are all getting lovely coats of fur.

Sam wolfs down her morning "gruel" (canned food gravy) with the piroxicam in it, thank goodness, and then turns her eyes up to Daddy, who gives her more of the canned kitty food until she's eaten her fill. Sometimes she'll eat in the afternoon. She has never been a big eater, except for the Iams "Lamb and Rice" kibble, and Iams regular cat kibble.

I wish she would gain a little weight back (Last year she was 10.8 pounds, and now she's 7.5 pounds), and occasionally put a bit of Tomlyn's "Nutri-Cal" High Calorie Dietary Supplement for Dogs and Cats on her paw. The directions say to give 3 tablespoons per day. Ha. No way will Sam eat three tablespoons. It's something like the hairballs formula we used to give the cats when they were younger, and they weren't real crazy about that, either.

The last time I gave her food and she wouldn't have anything to do with it, I took the food and Sam, sat her on the table and started feeding her from my finger. "Taste, Sam. Is it good?" Apparently she decided it was, and continued to lick the food off my fingers, though she couldn't be troubled to eat out of the bowl. Or, she just liked being hugged and praised and hand fed.

I only make a teaspoon or two of food, now. It's very frustrating to have spent the time to mix it up, and Miss Picky Sam sniffs, then turns her finicky little black nose up at it, shakes her paw and walks away in disgust.

I read that cats consider Sheba cat food the McDonalds junk food of the kitty world and love it, so we may have to get some of that. She will also eat Fancy Feast, and will tolerate a small amount of "Missing Link" cat food supplement in it.

Sam's local vet said that in the past, medical authorities said to feed lots of (dry food) kibble, but now they're recommending more canned cat food with a high percentage of meat, instead. That made me feel good, as I've always questioned feeding a cat with what is essentially cereal content. These cats always get a bit of raw food as I'm cooking; fish, meat, and especially chicken.

I offer them raw chicken and say, Look, Mama gives you BIRD. Sam will eat that, no questions asked. My other cat gets so excited that she makes little barking noises at the morsel and mock snaps at it. After she eats it I ask her if she wants more, and if she does, she answers "Yum Yum Yum Yum!" while licking her chops. Very occasionally Sam will do the same thing.

My other cat never said a word until we got Sam, and now she 'talks' all the time.

The sore under Sam's chin worries me. The vet admitted there have been cases of side effects or allergic reactions to the class of chemo he's giving Sam which manifest around the mouth and chin on, I think he said, Siamese. It's frustrating; the thing that makes her so endearing is also the biggest detriment to her health.

Also frustrating is that Sam wasn't spayed until she was about a year and a half old, and it seems that's the answer to why these mammary tumors have formed in the first place. This knowledge keeps me awake at night, now. I will never let this happen with any cat I may own in the future. My excuse is that I thought I wanted to breed Sam, at first, since she's so unusual, but in hindsight I missed my chance when I didn't get Sam's identical brother along with Sam. It would be a shade, the merest hair, easier to bear this, if Sam had had kittens.

I feel Sam will be with me always. I don't think she'll want to go anywhere "that wasn't with her Mama"; she doesn't like other animals, so the thought of her playing near a Rainbow Bridge with lots of other beloved pets, doesn't quite fit her. When she's not with me (in spirit), I would hope she would go to find my family in Heaven and let them love her while she waits for me.

I don't think getting another cat would be untrue to her memory; after all, I'm not replacing her, as that can't be done -- she's a 'one of a kind Sam'. On the contrary I think having and training another human-loving, demanding, highly interactive, blisteringly intelligent cat, would be a loving gesture and monument to her, and what I've learned from her.

But I don't want to get ahead of myself -- Sam is still here, and loving and playful and smart, so the rule of the day is "minute by minute". I love every additional day she's with us, and I will get her the care to prolong her life as long as she is still enjoying being alive.

December 4, 2006 :: Sam, is still Sam (Thank Goodness)

Sam displayed her ferocious affection last night, and snuggled with me, plastered into my chest and face as I slept on my left side. Apparently she left for a little while when her Daddy fed her, and when she returned I was lying on my right side and she managed to wriggle back into my arms without waking me. When I did finally awake, she kissed and hugged me for a while, then did something odd: she laid her throat and chin on my cheek, as if to tell me it wasn't hurting her.

Question to Pat Carrigan re: what she admires so much about cats: "In a word, their great dignity," she answers quickly. "Cats are absolutely clear about who and what they are and make no apologies for either. They are wily, sensitive, funny, affectionate, adroitly political -- but always clear in their message.

"Cats are not wishy-washy. They do not dissemble; you always know where you stand with a cat. If you are its ‘person,’ it will be there for you. Without fail."

But the "cut" under her chin is bleeding again as I write this, a day later; I blotted it with a warm damp cloth a few minutes ago. I thought I smelled something strange when I did it, but I don't smell it now. The University vet never called me back (I called on Wednesday, it's late Sunday now) about a salve to put on it, and I'm afraid it will infect.

What is Rexin-G, the new cancer tumor reducing drug recently (November 2006) legalized in the Phillipines?

I read in the Vet's Manual that pet owners, in desperation, come up with "miracle" cures to save their pets, herbal and etc., then eventually "come around" -- i.e., succumb to the inevitability of losing their beloved pets. How miserably disgusting. I haven't done that yet, except to ask the University vet at the beginning of Sam's treatment about the efficacy of alternative treatment, which he said would interfere with the chemo drugs.

However I happened to stumble across an article about Rexin-G by Epeius Biotechnologies being legalized (or whatever it's called when the drug is legal to use) in the Philippines. The short story: it targets the cancer cells and kills them, leaving surrounding tissue intact. The manufacturer claims there are no side effects such as those associated with cancer chemo treatments.

The ironic part of it, to me, is that testing was finalized in November 2006 (right now!). It's a human drug, but so is the piroxicam Sam takes every morning; and Rexin-G was tested on animals.

Sam doesn't eat as well as she did on the first set of chemo drugs. She never has been a big eater, not at all like her housemate Purr, who is a feline vacuum.

Sam sleeps pretty much all day, as most healthy cats do. Her Daddy told me she was running around the house a bit today and acting more like herself which is good to hear.

Is One of the Cancer Lumps Missing? Back Up on the Rollercoaster of Cancer Treatment

I felt for the two cancer bumps on her breast and can't find the later occurring one; at the location was what felt like layers of flat membranes, tapering off as they spread outward within an area of one inch. Could the second bump have been killed off by the carboplatin chemo?

Can the University Provide Rexin-G Treatments for Sam's Cancer?

I emailed Sam's doctor at the University early Monday December 4th asking questions based on the information I found about Rexin-G. He called about an hour later and I thought, Well that was fast, but no: he was calling in response to my question the previous Wednesday about what salve or ointment to apply to Sam's chin to avoid infection. So, I made a point of asking him to look at the email I sent late Sunday night because I would want to discuss it with him on Wednesday.

We arrived at the University early Wednesday December 6 for Sam's treatment with the carboplatin chemo, dropped her off and were back in the University campus about 2-1/2 hours later when my phone rang. It was Sam's doctor, saying that he had good news; he could not find the second of the two cancer bumps on Sam's stomach (her breast). This was indeed very good news.

Sam, sleeping on the heated mattress a day or two after her second carboplatin chemo treatment. Exhausted from the long ride and the strain of metabolizing the chemo, she is also coping with a half-inch wound/lesion that opened under her chin brought on by the carboplatin chemo treatment; it must hurt her, though she's very patient.

My concern is, what OTHER side effects/reactions to the carboplatins are occurring inside her body? Hence my interest in Rexin-G, which the manufacturer Epeius BioTechnologies claims has no side effects.

Sam, Black Cat with Cancer, Sleeping on Bed

Contact Sam the Black Cat or her Mama

He talked about giving her more carboplatin instead of surgery. After my email I was surprised he'd say that. Surgery will not prolong her life, and I don't really want Sam having any more chemotherapy than necessary, as it was the likely cause of the wound on her chin, and if she's having one visible reaction there may be others unseen inside her body.

He asked us to show him the wound on Sam's chin. His assistant brought Sam out, wearing the muzzle ("mask") and asked me to take it off and show them. I took the mask off, told her to sit on the table, tapped her chin and said, "Put your head up". Sam knows what this means, from bath time. It took three tries to get her to raise her chin; she was distracted. The vet peered under her chin from a safe distance (which gave me an internal chuckle), but she is black and the lighting inadequate, and no one had a flashlight. (Later I remembered I had one in the car. drat!) So slides were brought and Sam's daddy pressed them against Sam's chin to get a sample to send to the lab, which seemed a more effective diagnostic tool anyway.

At that point, we were informed that though Sam had been there almost three hours, no chemo had been administered as yet. Accordingly the vet asked me to put the muzzle back on Sam, and I realized she must have been, shall we say, resistant to their ministrations. I put Sam on the table, brushed against her butt with my hand and said "Sam, sit right here. Sit." She sat down, and I showed her the mask, inside and out. "Sam, I know you don't like this; Mama sorry. But Mama wants Sam to put this on. OK?" She sniffed at the mask, then looked up at me for all the world like "Oh no. This again? Well, if you say so." I said, softer, "Put this on, Sam." She lowered her head and half stuck it into the mask, and I put my arm around her in the "hugging" position, and the vet's assistant tied the strings. I kissed the side of the mask and told her what a good girl she was, and said "Mama can still kiss you. See? Sam okay. Just a little while more, then Sam will be all done, and Sam can go home!"

The doctor was very surprised and impressed, and I was grateful to Sam, and glad I spent the time to train her. I can not imagine what this whole experience would be like, without the ability to communicate with Sam.

During this time I tried to turn the conversation to talking about Rexin-G but with Sam's Daddy, two vet assistants and the vet all talking at once, and looking after Sam, things moved pretty fast and I couldn't find an opening. I resolved to email him again or phone.

Two different people came to talk to me in the Oncology Center waiting room while I was holding Sam, which has never happened before. One was a nice wholesome looking young blonde girl wearing a "vet technician" coat. She and I talked about how people think you can't train cats. She said the doctor had been called away on an emergency, and could he contact me about Sam's results for the day. I said yes, he could, and that I'd sent him an email with information on treatment options that I'd also like to hear from him about. She said she would pass the message on , and seemed to know about the email, but I couldn't be sure of that.

The other girl, wearing an Oncology center badge, asked me about Sam's parentage, and I told her, that a black short haired domestic cat, had a brown and black tabby female, who was bred to a (supposedly) full blooded dark seal point Siamese, and hence Sam, and her identical brother. She petted Sam and also asked how long she'd been in treatment at the University.

A little while later someone walked through the waiting room and I instinctively looked up; as our eyes met I realized with a start it was the director of the University oncology unit. A little while later, on her way back into the innards of the building, she walked by Sam and me again, near the wide railing overlooking the lower floor of the building where I took her to get her away from a large noisy dog in the waiting area (You can see the inside of the oncology waiting area here, opens in a new window).

In my admittedly overactive imagination, it appeared she had gone out of her way to walk near us, and I wondered if Sam's doctor had passed on the information and informed her I was presently in the waiting area, and accordingly she was curious and having a look. Well, if that's the case, she was "made". But I probably am imagining things.

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Ralph Waldo Emerson

My father and grandfather died of cancer; so did my aunts and uncles; however, my mother got early treatment for uterine cancer, and she lived.
Beating the bastard can be done; I have a grim score to settle, and an element of self-interest: I'm a female, and could ostensibly be susceptible to what Sam has.

My concern is, even if the University can get any new drug for cancer treatment studies, there will be time consuming delays and probably political red tape before it can be used.
The University doctor gives Sam less than a year to live.

Before we left the University that day, the doctor sent word that the sample slides from Sam's chin had been analyzed, and there is no cancer on her chin. It's a reaction to the carboplatin chemo. That it's not cancer was a relief, but I am very apprehensive about other, internal reactions to the chemo drug.

The University's Mission Statement

"As leaders and lifetime learners fulfilling the needs of a diverse world, we honorably serve all animals and people as a unified team of veterinary teachers and students. We strive to exceed the current and future needs of our clients, students and veterinary health care team by providing the foremost in patient care, education, research and technology. Playing an integral role in the progression of knowledge within the veterinary field, we are committed to expanding veterinary medicine to benefit both animals and society."

For the first time ever in our trips to the University, Sam got a little upset with me. I pulled the tape covering the site of the chemo injection to remove it before it obstructed the blood flow to her leg, and the adhesive made a loud "ripping" sound as it broke away from itself (it was not stuck to Sam in any way, but perhaps the gauze beneath was), she panicked, and slapped me three times on the hand, in an interval of only about 1.5 seconds. Wow! Lightning fast muscle twitch time! what an athlete a cat is.

Not nearly as quick myself, I belatedly snapped "No!" at her, then "No one's hurting you, Sam. No hitting Mama! Let Mama take this off the Sam's leggie. You silly Sam, Mama wouldn't hurt you!" Sam looked at me with an expression that seemed to say, "Oh sorry, I'm just nervous; Please, I want to go home." After that, with me reassuring her the whole time, and her Daddy holding on to her, she let me remove the wrapping from her back leg, then the front leg (apparently the doctor couldn't find the vein the first time -- I was reminded of my mother's thin skin and narrow blood vessels -- and had to try the other leg) without another word.

I expected to see scratches on my hand, but there's only two pin-prick marks; she indeed only "slapped" me, and didn't intend to scratch; clipped claws or not, she would have scratched if she'd meant to.

The ride home was uneventful, and Sam dozed in the back window for nearly all the second half of the drive. She got a little excited when we stopped for gas and changed drivers, still wound up from her University visit, I suspect. She always likes to sit on the driver, which is nice because it makes her Daddy want to drive.

Thanks again for all the sympathetic comments; there are some very kind people out there. I appreciate you all and your wishes and prayers for Sam.

Hopes of Cancer Remission: Sam's Mama's Christmas Gift

The residual cancer bump/lump is shrinking

Sam, Black Cat with Cancer at LiveVideo.com/summerrose

Above: Sam the Black Cat with Cancer's Icon at LiveVideo.com/summerrose. Below: a close-up of what the University vet saw on Sam's Tummy: a mild rash, probably caused by dust, or nerves (knowing Sam, it may be the latter). It was gone in two days. Click picture to see a larger view.

Click for a larger view of Sam's tummy (Opens in new window)

It's New Year's Day as I write this. Sam's last appointment at the University was on December 27. Imagine my ('guarded', like Sam's condition is stated on the examination papers) delight when the veterinarian said the remaining cancerous lump on Sam's breast is so small he could hardly find it. He measured it as less than 1 millimeter, which is about as I found it too: about the size of a poppy seed.

He said he would almost consider her to be in remission, except he still can actually find the lump.

He was also concerned about what he described as many little pink spots on her stomach, near the area of the subcutaneous lump. He shaved the fur off so I could see, and truth to tell I had been wondering what that was, there, though it's only appeared in the past few days. It looks like little bug / insect bites that aren't too bad, and healing.

He wondered what they could be, and all I can think of is Sam getting into the dusty Christmas boxes (as long as the boxes are on the floor, Sam must explore them) a few weeks ago, and crawling around under shelf units and places the dust blew into. She had a 30 second coughing fit and a few hours later a ten second repeat performance.

The doctor said to spread some antibiotic cream on the "rash", and to put a little T-shirt on her to prevent licking. I didn't do it at first, because I want to give her a bath; when I looked at her tummy yesterday, there were NO red spots anymore. Sam's daddy says she hasn't been licking her stomach, either, and he should know because Sam sleeps with him on the bed in front of the TV for hours.

Sam goes to her local vet for a CBC and to look at the skin eruption, and hopefully by the time we get there, there won't be anything to see.

I asked the doctor at the University again about the Rexin-G and having the University participate in a Rexin-G drug test. If Rexin-G does what its manufacturer claims it does, reduce tumor size by sending a destructive instruction to the cancer cells (as I understand it), then it's something the University should pursue, and be familiar with. This time, the doctor said he would send an email to Epeius Biotechnologies to ask what studies have been done on animals, what animals have participated and if all answers are good, and if possible, talk to a pharmacology person about dose adjustment to use on a cat. Although the lump has been quite reduced by the carboplatin chemo therapy treatment, it's not unusual for lumps to recur, and I want to be prepared well in advance.

This is a wonderful Christmas gift and I'm humbly grateful. My darling Sam.


"Look at these funny shapes moving around! Maybe I should pounce them!" says Sam.

The one bad thing about the appointment was, my "darling Sam" lost her temper near the end, howled in rage, ripped off the kitty / cat muzzle and BIT one of the assistants. I could hardly believe my ears, though I had a little voice in my head remind me that she's snapped at me and at our local vet before. I was surprised though because Sam is more of a slapper, or scratcher, than a biter.

Do these cats look like ferocious biters?

Sleeping babies: Vicious when awake?

I was very sad to hear that and apologized profusely; on the other hand, it's very frustrating. I should be allowed -- No, Required -- to attend Sam at her examination and during administration of chemo, at the University. Now, I know the University is not supposed to allow me to go back to the lab rooms, because they're handling cancerous, dangerous materials, and I understand that. But she certainly wouldn't be biting ANYBODY if I was with her.

I tried to convey this obliquely to the University doctor by relating how relatively well the appointments at Sam's local veterinarian proceed: I told him her doctor looks at her stomach to see progress with the lump, and he said, surprised, "And she lets him examine her ?"

I said "Sure! I hold her up with her back legs on the examining table, and tell her 'we just want to see the nice tummy'."

I wonder what, exactly, was going on in there, just prior to Sam's deciding to sink her fangs into the nearest one of those girls. Did someone call her "kitty"? I'll probably never find out. I can just imagine Sam gleefully ripping off the hated muzzle, and the adrenaline rush it gave her to lash out, and I can't help but chuckle a little, though it's a shame she hurt someone.

Thanks for all the kind comments and sympathies. Sam's Mama and Daddy appreciate it.

Happy New Year 2007: Sam Goes for a Complete Blood Count and Back to the University for more Chemo

Sam the Cat Adapts to her Veterinarian Appointments

Sam went back to her local vet for a complete blood count and was a very good girl. She gave "nice eyes" to the doctor as he entered the room, proving she remembered him, though she also immediately hissed at the sight of the hypodermic needle.

The local veterinarian is concerned at the white blood count level of Sam's blood, but her University doctor said he expected a severe drop in that number; it's normal at this point in time (two weeks into the second treatment), for a cat getting carboplatin chemo treatment for cancer. The local vet requested the University vet call him so I passed that on.

I told him about Sam biting the assistant at the University and he said, drawing himself up a little, and with the slightest touch of haughty pride, "We have no trouble with Sam at all, here."

Sam's next University appointment is January 17.

Sam's Eighth Carboplatin Chemo Treatment at the University

Slowly charming her way into the hearts of the staff, Sam is a calmer Sam at her University Appointment: Read on to see why (IMHO)

Click to enlarge picture of Sam, Black Cat with Mammary Cancer, in the car on the way to University.

Top: Sam relaxing on her Mama, in the car. Next: Sam regarding the passing scenery through the window. Below: Slide show of passably good pictures taken while riding in the car.

The last time Sam was at the University, both the doctor and the attendants said Sam was very nervous (obviously nervous enough to bite someone!).

I hadn't told Sam she was going to the doctor. I thought she'd sleep better. NOT. She knew something was afoot and not only stayed up all night, she kept her Mama awake all night too. So this time I wanted to do it differently.

Sam's appointment was on Wednesday, so accordingly on Monday I started telling her about her upcoming ordeal. And I realized, I was thinking of it as an ordeal, and if I felt that way, mightn't it project to Sam? So I had to change my thinking.

"Sam, Sam is going bye-bye with Mama and Daddy in the car, pretty soon/tomorrow, to go see the doctor. The doctor will want to see Sam's tummy [tip her back, pet her stomach], and this leggie [grasp her leg], might hurt this leggie, but only just a minute. Then it will be all done, and Sam and Mama and Daddy will go home in the car. [excited voice] Sam gets to be with Mama and Daddy all day! Mama can hug and kiss Sam in the car! That's nice, isn't it?" et cetera.

I recited this ostensibly soothing and informative mantra three or four times on Monday and Tuesday. Sam would listen solemnly, then execute what I think of as her "freeze frame" thinking sequence: she bows her head and tips her ears forward, holding absolutely still, for about three seconds. It looks like, she's interpreting what she's heard, then considering it.

Before you say I'm imagining things, let me tell you a little story. I recently have the use of another car, and not wanting Sam to be upset (cats don't like change) I took her outside to see it, and told her "This is Sam's car". She looked it over from the outside cursorily, and I wondered how much she understood.

When I drove Sam to the vet, I told her as we walked to the car that we were going to go bye-bye in Sam's car. We got into the car and I repeated that this is Sam's car. Sam raised her head and looked around with what appeared to be an appraising glance, then climbed out of my arms to explore. She sniffed and prowled the front area thoroughly, then the rear.

Sam likes to sit in the rear window, and I waited, car idling, to see if she'd hop up there. Now here's the part that, to me, proves she not only comprehends but does so on a couple of levels. Sam half crouched on the back seat, looked up at the window, then turned to look me full in the eyes with the unmistakable question, "Mama, can I sit in the rear window?"

I responded, "Yes, Sam can jump up there in the window; good girl. It's okay, this is Sam's car." That was plain enough Sam lingo, and she immediately released the springs of her haunches, leaping lightly with her usual gravity-free grace to the shelf of the rear window.

I laughed all the way to the vet, telling Sam what a good girl and how smart that was, and she seemed to be smiling at me in the rear view mirror.

I relate this story to illustrate the basis for telling Sam the details of her trip, a few days in advance of her University appointment, hoping to ease her apprehension. At the beginning of our trip Sam was tense and trembling and I explained it to her again, stressing that it was a special occasion for just Sam, her Mama and Daddy, and how happy we were to be with "sweet Sam". Apparently this ploy was successful, as the doctor and his assistants both told me she seemed a lot calmer this time.

When we first arrived at the University I made sure to spend at least five minutes explaining to Sam what would happen, that she would be going home with Mama and Daddy, and told her "don't bite those girls. Those girls aren't hurting Sam." Her Daddy got a big chuckle from that.

We got back to the University some little time before Sam was ready, knowing we'd have to wait, but just as we got settled at one of the tables in the waiting room, here comes two of the girls (veterinarian's assistants, but I tend to fall into "Sam lingo" and call them "girls") bearing a muzzled Sam, wrapped burrito-style in a white blanket. They handed her to her Daddy, who held her while I removed the "mask", and made the comments about Sam seeming calmer and more relaxed.

Sam Photos from Fall 2006

Sam on a Table at the University Oncology Center, Waiting for Mama

Filmed January 17, 2007, here is Sam sitting patiently on a table in the waiting room at the University Animal Oncology Center. What a nice greeting she gives her Mama!
If you see nothing below click Sam, Black Cat with Cancer, Sits on Table at University Oncology Centre (Opens in a new window)

Sam Sits on Table at University Oncology Center. Click to see More Sam Videos

Sam's Not the Only Cat who Walks on a Leash

Walking a cat on a leash? Sure you can

Check out this wonderful cat (video below) walking on her leash. Sam isn't quite this good, but Purr, the other cat, definitely is. Sam tends to walk you where she wants to go, but Purr is pretty amenable to going where you want to go, as long as you keep up a running, reassuring chat with her.

Teaching a cat to walk on a leash is not easy: in relative terms it's about the same patience level as teaching a puppy, except cats react, and are motivated, differently. Cats want to know what's in it for them, so show them; if you want to walk around your lawn with your cat, say so, and carry the harness and leashed cat around the yard first, pointing out bushes, trees and other possible points of kitty interest before you let them down to walk for themselves.
I have noticed cats will follow the shape of natural or man-made breaks in the landscape. Purr walks beside the cement curb at the side of the street, and both cats walk close to the line of shrubbery and ground cover in the yard. Cats will stop to sniff quite a bit. Purr wants to walk up the neighbors' driveways, but turns back to the street when I tell her, "That's Not your Yard, Purr." She doesn't mind, there's always something else to pique her interest just down the way.

Talk to your cat constantly and praise excessively for even one step in the right direction. Don't drag the cat; try "tug and release", a technique I read in, I think, Warren Epstein's "How to Get Your Cat to do What You Want". A note: At least at first, walk your cat only in your own back yard, or at night, until both you and the cat have the technique of walking on a leash pretty well learned. Your neighbors may have some well-meaning but odd ideas about what constitutes animal cruelty. I've already had one person tell me I was "wrong" to use a leash and "cats should be let to rome [sic] where they would like".

Showing your cat a dog or another animal walking on a leash and talking about it to your cat may help; Sam learned a lot of things from watching me train Purr. It's not just walking on the leash, but teaching the cat to respond to the leash that is a huge advantage and will let you take your cat Anywhere pets are allowed. It's a great way to build a better bond with your feline. And why should only dogs be able to accompany their masters out and about?
To illustrate the point about the luxury of having control of your cat using the leash, check out the "Sam on Table at University Oncology Center" video above, and watch Sam's Daddy's light touch on the leash as I approach. (I don't always talk like that, by the way; that's my happy, excited tone, just for the cats. Sam being on the table and waiting for me took me by surprise, and you may hear that in my voice too.)

Saying meow to furriends

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Brimstone and her Mom walking. Brim is a little hesitant here, but I've seen other video where she steps right along, just as a dog would. I think Brim's distracted by her cameraman Daddy. Check out the end: Brim actually Speaks to say Hi! Gee, Brimmy, Sam just blinks. What a smart cat!
Here's another video of Brim and her Mom and Dad where she's really trotting down the sidewalk, check it out.

Sam on her Leash with Harness (about 2001)

Sam the Black Cat, Before Cancer (about 2003)

I said I was glad, and Sam's Daddy said "It worked," so they asked "What worked?" Knowing the high chances of being considered as the nutty cat lady, I gave them a brief version of how I told Sam about her trip to the doctor, watching their expressions. One of the girls did look a little incredulous.

Sam's face was wet under her eyes and she appeared a little dazed. I asked the girls if Sam had been given anesthetic, which would account for her "crying". They said no. I asked Sam if she wanted to go out to the car and go potty, and on the way out the door wiped her face with a tissue. I chatted to her all the way out the door, and a lady sitting by the door looked at us closely. We sat out in the car for a while. Sam immediately leaped up in the rear window, a sulky look on her face, and whined. She might have been relaxed during the exam, but now she was telling me her low opinion of the whole proceeding. I ignored her until I heard her come down and use the potty, then praised her and brought her back in the building.

Still waiting for the doctor, my boyfriend reads the paper, and I play with Sam. She's fairly patient, but likes to be entertained. I won't let her run about on the floor, but she likes to sit on the tables and stare at the other animals and people, and I carry her around the waiting room to look out the windows, practice her "up" and "down" commands on the counters and desks, or just look down through the atrium to the lower level. Sam is usually intrigued by people climbing the stairs, and leans way out against my restraining hands to look over the railing. I try to keep her moving around to avoid anxiety; sometimes I'm not sure if it's her anxiety, or mine.

Sam the Black Cat and her University Oncology Veterinarian

The many "faces" of animal health care

Eventually the doctor came out. I seldom see him and Sam in the same space simultaneously, so I was interested in seeing them interact. My vigilance paid off. I watched Sam watch him approach: Cats see moving objects at a distance quite well but only see detail as the distance lessens. As soon as Sam recognized the doctor she blinked at him in what appeared to be a friendly manner.

I shot a look at him, and as he stopped in front of the table and looked back at her, his expression changed -- I don't know how to describe it except to say he made a face at her! A disgruntled, annoyed look. I looked back at her and her mouth was opening in a snarl. My boyfriend later said Sam looked briefly surprised.

Not for the first time, I .wondered how they get along during an examination.

I said, "Sam, no noisy, don't be rude," and she subsided, hunkering down at the edge of the table, not taking her eyes off him. She growled a bit at his nearness, but held steady and still against my arm. As the doctor began to speak, I felt Sam relax somewhat, but just in case, I held her in the "hugging" position while he explained the results of the exam. Maybe he didn't think she could interpret his expression, but it certainly appeared she could!

He referred to a redness on her nipple and I said Show me, turned to Sam and looking in her eyes said "Sam, Mama wants to see the tummy. OK?" She had a little to say about that, but obediently lolled back in my arms, exposing her stomach. The doctor looked almost shocked and said "How do you get her to do that?!" I said, I ask her. He shook his head.

I can't resist any opportunity to show off how smart Sam is.

Subsequently we discussed clipping a cat's claws and he drew me a picture to illustrate his technique. (I clip them straight across, and not as close to the quick, like [_]. Veterinarian style is more like \_/, and much, much closer to the quick.) I said You mean like -- and, turning to Sam, said "Sam, Mama wants to see this paw for just a minute. OK?", and still in the hugging position, picked up her off-side paw and gently squeezed to expose her claws. Though I was completely confident of her response, I had the added advantage of surprise, and she readily allowed me to "see" her paw.

The University doctor's evident surprise and amazement at Sam's pliant behavior makes me proud of her, but saddens me in that it seems to indicate what a monster she must be in the examination room. Mulling over that, I listened while he laid out her exam schedule for next time, including an ultrasound, and commented that might necessitate Sam being anesthetized. "Unless -- Do you think she'd hold still for that?" the doctor asked me. Taking my life in my own hands (Sam has scratched me in the past), I caught his eye and said, "If I had her on the examining table, yes." He raised his eyebrows, so we'll see what happens next time.

About the Rexin-G: He volunteered the information that his boss knows about this drug, so apparently the way is clear for him to get more information. It's been six weeks since I contacted him about it.

Now, the results of the examination!

The veterinarian said again: he would -almost- consider Sam to be in remission, as he can barely find the last bump! (At the last appointment, he said it was about the size of a poppy seed.) He said he feels something but it could be merely a natural thickening of the muscle tissue. Hence his desire to ultrasound Sam at her next visit in February (2007).

I am guardedly happy, but happy! Guardedly, because this mammary cancer is tough to eradicate and notorious for returning.

Also because, after he said that, the doctor made a point of saying there was still one bump of cancer "deep inside" and in response to my quick disclaimer, insisted he'd told me about that one a few appointments ago. I said You mean the lump the surgeon found. He said No, not that bump; there is no sign of that bump. I stared at him and he said Now I'm not sure if you still want to consider surgery, and I said Sorry, I'm a bit confused; what would we be cutting out again? and he got a tad flustered.

What "other bump", and why isn't it on her examination summary papers?

As my boyfriend said, are they selling surgery? I shouldn't like to think that. Perhaps, at this next appointment, I shall ask to examine the ultrasound pictures and results, and ask one of those girls who Sam likes to bite to explain them. I don't mind the cost of the procedure, but still it would be nice to see what I'm paying for and get the whole story.

__________________________

A few days before I wrote this I was sitting in the living room reading the paper and heard a sound I haven't heard for months: pa rum pa rum, pa RUM pa rum, pa RUM pa rum pa RUM PA RUM and Sam loped into and through the room with her happy, carefree trot, effortlessly and exuberantly tossing off 20 foot bounds, the joy of speed and ease written all over her little black face. "Look at me, Mama! Run Run Run!"

She appeared to be laughing as she raced into the kitchen, and later I found all the rugs in little shoved-together piles -- we call them "speed bumps". It used to annoy me when she'd do that, but now I'm so happy to see her running again, I don't care!

As her Daddy prepared her food, Sam chased his shoelaces with an exaggerated hunting-stealthy sidestep and pounce, feinting away and dashing back to grab the shoelaces, and smiled up at him when he noticed it and laughed at her.

Sam is definitely feeling much better. Although it's been prohibitively costly, I am so happy to have my little friend, lover and soul baby for this extra time. I rejoice just to see her every day.

She may be just a cat, but I love her.

Thanks to all my friends, and friends of Sam's from MySpace and LiveVideo for all the nice comments and support and thoughts. You've all made it so much easier for me, and if Sam could read I'm sure she'd agree.

Make your own Zing!

April 2007 On the Eve of Sam's Eleventh Chemo Treatment at the University

I am filling the car kitty litter, and cleaning the big kitty potty for the cats who will stay home tomorrow. As I have been telling Sam for the last few days, "Sam and Mama and Daddy go bye-bye in the car tomorrow to see the Doctor." She seems to listen, though these days she's much more interested in going outside.

Sam is doing very well (knock on wood). She certainly has the strength to run about the house like a madman, and beg continuously and relentlessly at the door. Every time I walk past the place the leash is hung the begging increases in intensity. She goes out at least once a day. I don't mind; I think the fresh air and sun is good for her.

Tomorrow we meet Sam's new University veterinarian. Her other vet is going to California for eight months. Standing in front of the reception desk in the Oncology department at the University, we made a promise we would all meet right at that spot in eight months when he returns. Sam had her head firmly huddled in the crook of her Daddy's arm and didn't participate, but then again she doesn't need to as she is, after all, the object of the pact.

I am looking forward to meeting the new doctor to see what he/she has to say about continued chemo treatments for Sam. I'll have to look this up again but it seems I read cats can only have so many sequential chemo treatments as it's detrimental to their bodies' production of bone marrow cells. Tomorrow will tell the tale.

Sam's condition is still listed as "stable disease" and her prognosis is "guarded". She has gained a very little weight, about a quarter pound, and now weighs 7.75, though she is still "fashionably slender". Sam looks and seems to feel much better being on the slim side which is as it should be, considering she is half Siamese. Her appetite comes and goes; lately she's been eating less than usual. But she still eats the food with the piroxicam pill in it each morning.

Thank goodness we had not bought any of the foods listed in the Pet Food Poisoning of 2007. Iams is the kibble food of the house but aside from the Max Calorie food (which none of the cats like) we have never used Iams wet food. Thank goodness too, I signed up for the "Havana Brown Enthusiasts" group at Yahoo -- That's the first I heard of the melamine / wheat pet food poisoning as early as the middle of February. A Big thanks to Dr. Karen Rogers and Candice, and all the other wonderful people there.

A Very Large Disappointment (But Sam is Still Doing Well!)

Suspected Politics enter into Sam's Cancer Treatments

I am going to try to relate this story as briefly as possible and attempt to be objective. I may revise it a little later.

Sam received her 11th chemo treatment today (4-4-2007). Usually we see the doctor at the end of the appointment so I left a note on Sam's preliminary information sheet which is filled out before each appointment expressing concern about the number of treatments and what effect it may be having on her body's ability to produce bone marrow cells.

Before I proceed I would like to say I have heard from two or three cat owners whose cats have had what the oncology professionals call a "double strip" -- bilateral mastectomy. Their cats seem to be doing well; one lady said her 14 year old male cat was given a "clean bill of health" after the operation -- wonderful, fabulous news to me! I have no objection to having this procedure on Sam, except I feel it would be less traumatic to do both sides at once instead of one side, let it heal and do the other a month later. However the horrible words of the University oncology surgeon who evaluated Sam in November 2006 linger in my mind: the operation would not prolong Sam's life.

It was this very statement that started my hunting for a better way. I have to live with myself and my decisions and leaving any possible solution unexplored would be intolerable.

In the course of my Internet trolling I found the first information about Rexin-G by Epeius Biotechnologies in early December 2006 and subsequently, as related above, discussed it with Sam's original University oncology doctor. He said his boss was aware of it, that she felt if Rexin had potential the University should do a study. I asked if perhaps she might entertain the idea of making some enquiries among her associates in the oncology field about what was the current news on the Mayo Clinic tests and he felt she might do that. I asked him to ask Epeius about what animals were used in the testing of Rexin-G. Of course I can contact Epeius myself, but I felt having a doctor, a veterinarian in this case, ask the questions might elicit more technical, in depth answers.

I do not understand why an organization devoted to researching cancer care in animals would be reluctant to explore a new cancer drug. Because, after all the information I provided, after all the discussions about how Rexin-G was a "real" cancer drug, legal for all cancer treatments in the Phillipines, being studied in Japan, written about in the Cambridge Medical Journal: Nothing, was done.

Nothing. That was my discovery at Sam's appointment at the University today with this new doctor.

As you may have already divined from how I have set this scene up, today was very disappointing. The conversation went something like this:

Doctor: We can keep Sam on chemo drugs for as long as two years; we need to cut back on the piroxicam to every other day. The residual cancerous mass is approximately 1 millimeter in dimension. What we would suggest at this point is surgery to remove the lump.

Me: (dreading saying it) As you probably know, we talked to Dr. * about that, and my decision will be based on new information about an alternative treatment that allegedly has no side effects as chemo does, especially on Sam, as she is half Siamese. Dr. * said he would get this information for me, so I am asking you. Are you familiar with a drug called Rexin-G by Epeius Biotechnologies and the current testing being done?

Doctor: No. We have compiled our own drug here at the University, our platinum [chemo] treatment. [Yes, she actually said "platinum"!] We've had great success with it, as you know, as this is the drug we are giving Sam at this time and her condition has improved.

Me: (indicating the voluminous file she was holding) You have no record of my discussions with Dr. * about Rexin-G? I was under the impression that he was getting some information pertaining to the outcome of the current drug trials and also whether cats were used in the animal testing phase. Did Dr. * discuss this with you?

Doctor: We recommend the surgery because that's our usual procedure in cases like Sam's.

Some conversation ensued re: what Rexin-G does and that it has not been approved by the FDA though it has been granted orphan status.

Doctor: (very direct, trying to stare into my eyes) Oh, well, if it hasn't been approved by the FDA then we won't be able to get it.

Me: Dr. ***, your department head, indicated she would be interested in investigating Rexin-G and requesting a clinical study here at the University, if it seemed an effective drug.

Doctor: We wouldn't be able to get funding.

Me: As Epeius has not yet achieved the FDA approval that would allow them to re-coup their R&D expenses, let alone make a profit, they very well may be interested in funding a possibly successful testing venture that may help them get good publicity and one step closer to FDA certification. In fact this would seem to be the best point in time, from the perspective of a window of opportunity, to get them to provide funding.

Doctor: It's not generally done -- using human drugs on animals. How do we know a single injection might not kill Sam?

Me: With all due respect, the one thousand milligrams of piroxicam Sam takes every morning is a human arthritic drug. You have a point in that we don't know the dosage or the results at this point, mainly because my questions about animal testing in respect to Rexin-G have not been answered, neither by Dr. , Sam's first doctor, or your department head Dr. . I don't feel I can make an informed decision about surgery without this information.

Sam's Daddy: It's not about the money. It's about Sam's best welfare, which might be better served by this drug she is trying to get information from you -- the University -- about. We don't feel our concerns have been adequately addressed.

Doctor: You might want to have our surgeon here evaluate Sam; she could probably do a lumpectomy with wide margins. We could schedule it for three weeks from now -- You'd have to bring Sam in on a Tuesday or Thursday.

Me: Dr. , your oncology surgeon, has already looked at Sam and recommended the double strip [bilateral mastectomy]. According to the explanation from Dr. a lumpectomy is a temporary fix. However Rexin-G takes a completely different approach to cancer eradication, called I believe "pathotropic". Are you familiar with this?

Doctor: No. We have a procedure combining chemo and surgery we follow that has worked in the past.

I felt like I was caught in one of those nightmares where you're trapped and banging on a pane of glass for help, and you can see people on the other side, but no one is paying any attention to you despite your being in mortal danger.

After a little more conversation to confirm that (well, let's be blunt) my concerns were ignored while simultaneously giving me the opposite impression, I asked her directly why the University wasn't interested in exploring a drug discovery inherently related to their core business of cancer management and treatment.

I don't remember her answer except it was along the same lines of "We recommend surgery, as Sam's cancer could metastasize at any time, and jump to the opposite lymph node system, and the double strip operation would take care of that."

I said I was not interested in surgery -- unless Sam's condition would radically escalate -- until my questions were answered. Her response, though appropriately polite and tactful, was to the effect that the University would not be answering them.

How do you like that? I felt like I'd been thrown into a snowdrift!

Having been a part of corporate culture for a time, I understand the phenomena of not wanting to be the one who "sticks their neck out", or as it was otherwise phrased in my hearing, "being made to look foolish in front of your employer". Perhaps because I'm female and had to work bigger, better and more than my male counterparts, I was never afraid of asking "stupid questions".

My first reaction was to get in touch with the Oncology department head. Upon consideration however, I feel a better approach -- though not my preferred plan -- might be to contact Epeius myself. I would rather talk to the agencies doing the testing, but my question re: animal testing might be answered better by the manufacturer. A suggestion concerning calling another University Oncology department to ask the same questions also sounds like a good idea.

As Sam's Daddy said, it's not the money. We would do anything to save Sam, or prolong her life. It's the sensation of being treated (at least this is my impression) in an uncaring (disrespectful?) manner.

Sam herself is the bright ray of light in this. Her appetite has been off lately and she has lost 1/5th pounds since her CBC with the local vet two weeks ago, but she's happy and active and loves kibble almost more than the wet food (it's always been that way with her). She's been going outside every good weather day and walking her Mama around. Her curiosity and inquisitiveness is at an all time high, and she's still learning things. One of the vet's technicians said today, "She's way too smart -- Sam's a very intelligent Cat!"

The doctor noted she had a few "red" spots on her tummy which in her opinion might be the cancer metastasizing to the skin. In response I gently took Sam in my arms and asked to see her tummy, asking the doctor to show me. The doctor pointed out one small pink spot and gestured at the middle of Sam's belly (I did not see any spot at that time, nor when I wiped her down upon returning home). The doctor noted it might be an allergic reaction as before.

I remarked Sam had been outside the day before so ruling out a bite or small irritation or even a mild kitty altercation would be premature. The doctor said "The next time you bring her, don't let her out the day before, because if I see these spots again I will have to try to biopsy them." It was a perfectly reasonable response, I suppose; but something rang wrong about it, and it still does even in my recollection of her remark.

I will sleep on this, snuggled up to my sweet teddy-bear Sam, and pray some inspiration comes to me.

Getting an Answer: Contacting a Representative of Epeius

If a seed was planted, it won't grow fast enough for Sam.

The next day I contacted the Media Representative for Epeius. We talked about Sam -- she has two cats of her own -- and said the company hadn't considered a veterinary use for the drug, but it was an interesting concept. She said she didn't know if cats were used for the animal testing, and was kind enough to give me the email for the head of the Rexin G division. She asked me where I'd heard of the company, explained the difference between it and gene therapy, and one other question: Why was I calling and not Sam's Doctor? !

Why indeed? As I say I worked in a corporate environment for years and understand something about the system. Understanding doesn't necessarily mitigate frustration, however. I sent the email.

My email was answered promptly to the effect that cats were not used and there were no 'current' plans to use Rexin on animals. Hence my grim revelation about the seed sowed: whatever future plans, it won't happen fast enough for Sam.

I had to ask; part of me wouldn't feel right if I didn't look into other procedures for treatment of Sam's cancer, however improbable. In a way I'm relieved: the phrase "test cat" was haunting me.

Sam's Daddy took her to her local vet for her post-University exam CBC, and asked if they can do surgery on her, and they said Of Course. However! He does not recommend the bilateral mastectomy, especially right at this time; Sam is doing very well. How interesting. I will have to discuss this with him further.

The Secret Life of Sam the Black Cat: Getting Everything a Cat Could Want

Being bossed around by a demanding, sweet, cajoling cat: is wonderful!

April 24, 2007 Sam was outside today twice, and goes outside almost every day as the weather improves. She walks me around the lawn, visiting all these diverse places -- the big oak tree, the line of the bushes along the house, the lawn next door. Why these particular places? One answer dawned on me: they're areas she sees from her window perches around the house.

The next time we were walking and she evinced interest at the base of the oak tree, I asked her if she smelled "kitties", and she growled. Was that a yes? I know other cats prowl around there. I told her she could go potty there and show the other kitties this is Sam's yard. -- Sometimes she will. She chuffs and digs at the ground, and growls and gets decidedly upset, then hunkers down with great deliberation, as though she's saying "There. That'll teach'em."

Sam, Black Cat, Outside on Windy Day

Here's Sam's newest video. I'm rather proud of the audio in it: The wind was blowing so hard it sounded like a B-24 was landing in the driveway behind us. Well not really, but the wind was very loud. I managed to mute the wind sound, while preserving Sam's voice. Yes, you can hear her. I have some more film from that day, including Sam walking me around the lawn, which I'll add to LiveVideo in a few days.

Sam goes to the University again on Wednesday. I suppose we'll have the same oncology doctor so this should be interesting. There should be very little discussion this time, unless -- oh please no -- she finds more lumps or an increase in size of the present one.

I tell Sam every day how happy Mama is to have Sam here, and how much I love her. She listens very seriously and intently, and sometimes puts her leg around my neck, and kisses my cheek. Sam is always near me, or within earshot. She follows me around, talks a Lot, and plays with her toys.

I want to get her on film pestering me to go outside. She circles in front of the back door, stares penetratingly, and cries, and Cries, and it's hard to believe the immense variety of sounds that come out of that little mouth. Each little utterance undoubtedly has a meaning, and they're all subtly different; usually persuasive, but very occasionally commanding. I confess I let her go on for a bit; I love her little ploys to bring me back to the door, and she's so very sweet when she wants something.

When I finally capitulate and put the harness on, I say "Okay, go to the door," she jumps down from the table, and always heads through the house to the back door, which leads to her fenced in yard and patio, but that's not swept clean yet, so I stop by the back door and say, "Let's go outside this door here, Sam," and she comes back, grumbling and twittering, to walk right out the door without hesitation -- she knows it's okay to go out once the harness is on.

Sam has fun outside and the fresh air and sun have to be good for her. She decides when to come back in the house: I ask her, and she will say something, or outright ignore me and walk away, or walk up to the door, which might mean yes, or she might be teasing me.

Once we go in, I take her in the bathroom, close the door and wipe her down thoroughly with a warm, fairly wet cloth (not too wet in the ears though), then open the door and tell her, "Water on Sam. Go lick-lick, Sam." After a while I'll see her vigorously licking herself, usually as she's laying in a warm, sunny spot or on the heated bed.

She is a little thinner, her weight is down to 7.2 pounds from 7.5, but she's never looked better. Her fur is very smooth, fine and soft, and browner; her eyes are clear and bright and she's quite active. Her body is strong, tight and muscular (and she IS strong!). Her stride is firm and lithe and her balance is very good. I watched her shoot down the driveway chasing something, probably a leaf, and noted how fast she was and how easily she runs.

The cat food poisoning incident has us very concerned. All the cats get right now of commercial cat food is Iams' kibble and Friskies; they seem to be one of the very few not on the "S" list right now. I was disappointed to hear New Balance was just added to the recall.

I'd stopped doing this for a while, but I've resumed feeding them more raw and cooked meat. They love it; sometimes I have to coax them to taste it, but then they wolf it down. I tell them what it is, so the next time I can say, for example, "This is beef. Sam likes beef."

My other cat Purr is better about this than Sam; she particularly likes ham, knows the word too: there's no mistaking her little eyes lighting up at the sound of it! Purr also eats blanched young green beans (silly girl thinks it's an odd kind of grass, I think) and when Sam sees her do that, Sam will eat them too. (Is this where the phrase "copy cats" comes from?!) Cats need a nutrient called taurine in their diet, so Mama here will have to research what food has that.

Thanks to all who've expressed their good wishes and hopes for Sam; I appreciate your thoughts and time in contacting me to cheer us on.

Two More Chemo Treatments for Sam the Black Cat, and Summer Sam Can Go Outside Now!

Life goes on (wonderfully!) for our adorable Mammary Adenocarcinoma Cat Victim

The above is a RockYou.com slide show. Here's another widget from them: an answering machine. Leave a message for Sam! Oh, and she understands most English. Just don't go all tech on her!

With the advent of summer, Sam is back outside on her leash; first in the driveway then in the fenced back yard, happiness splashed across her little black face as she rolls on the ground, investigates the thicket of vinca under the magnolia tree, and patrols the short stretch of grass by the fence. Great care was exercised in choosing the length of her rope, since if it's too long Sam will readily jump the fence in the course of her happy exploring.

There have been two trips to the University for chemo treatments for Sam the Black Cat. We have been assigned another doctor as the female doctor we interacted with previously was sent to another location for more training, but have yet to meet her.

Happily enough, our "contact" is our favorite technician who talks to us about Sam's condition and answers our many questions with ease and professionalism. As it turns out, this is the same girl Sam bit! I apologized profusely. I know I can't control Sam when I'm not with her, and Sam's reacting as any frightened/irritated animal would, but I still feel bad about it.

Sam scratched her on the face a couple months ago, and I am hoping lightning won't strike in the same place twice, now that we have all the bad cat behaviors out of the way. She said she used a product that's used to soothe cow udders on the scratch, and astoundingly enough there's not even the minute-est sign of a scar. Thank goodness!

The so-far unseen female doctor in charge of Sam's treatment called us while we were on University grounds to ask to do an Ultrasound and scared me to death. We thought Sam was just getting lung xrays, so my first thought was "What Did You Find, that you want to Ultrasound her!??" But as it turns out it's a routine thing to do an ultrasound every three months. I felt overwhelmed: Someone probably told me this before, but I forgot, which isn't like me.

One issue came up that I was hoping to avoid. Our little brown-curly-haired contact has to carry Sam from the waiting room to the examining room. She says Sam is too smart, remembers the way there, and gets physically nervous; also Sam anticipates the next move in their routine, and 'complains' and growls. Sam's Daddy was conducting this part of the conversation, and I saw the problem verbally approaching and tried to change the subject, but wasn't quick enough off the mark. She suggested we get a cat carrier for Sam! That cats like "somewhere to hide" and that Sam might feel more comfortable.

I thought, I haven't trained Sam for ten years to face every situation head on, to now put her in a box. I know Sam and feel it would be psychologically detrimental to her, and unfair to introduce such a change with everything else she's gone though. Sam trusts me and I don't want to endanger that trust and possibly forfeit what little control I have with her.

Also Sam doesn't 'hide' -- she likes, wants, needs to be aware of her surroundings and right in the middle of things. Yet, I don't want her to hurt anyone, and I don't want the techs and assistants to be afraid of her (or should I say, "any more afraid of the little bully than they already are" ?!).

Sam's Daddy said, "Sam could still ride in the car with us as she always does, couldn't she?" I thought, Oh, please be quiet!

Desirous of soft-pedaling the subject at hand, and determined not to participate in too much conversation about it that would be remembered later, I interjected, with just enough force, "Let's think this through: there's a little obstacle about using a carrier."

Our curly haired contact said, "And what's that?"

"The problem is not getting Sam Into the carrier; it is: who is going to volunteer to take her out, when she finds herself in the examination room and subsequently becomes upset?"

"Oh, that's no problem, we can handle that." I thought, yes but can Sam? And I don't even want to know how they 'handle that'!

Since the touch-point of the situation is Sam's reaction to seeing the exam room and possibly lashing out at the person carrying her (though she hasn't done that -- yet?!), I plan to 'kitty-bundle' Sam next time. It's a form of restraint she's very familiar with, from bath-time over the last ten years, and I can do it right before they take her. I read about it in Kilcommon's book, I believe: Fold a towel in half, place the cat diagonally on it with the head a bit off center, then quickly fold first the towel corners over the back, then the butt and tail, then the legs; the last part is wrapping the head corner around her neck, totally immobilizing her.

Or, they can bring out a carrier to transport Sam to the exam room. I hope they keep them sterilized!

There was a little conversation about anesthetizing Sam for her procedures. They give her a shot of 'gas' (isoflorine?) that passes out of her system after a relatively short time. Privately I applaud that and hope the sedation muffles Sam's memory of the experience, so even though it costs more I don't mind. The tech seemed to be implying Sam is more than usually nervous during the exam and chemo injections; moreso than other cats. I find this a tad hard to believe, and attribute it to Sam's innate ability to learn new things: she has been "trained" by her experiences in their exam room, and has pinpointed the assistants who can be intimidated. I think this is true, but I couldn't possibly explain this to them.

I felt the tech was intimating Sam "should be" calmer and more tolerant (oh the shame! my cat doesn't like being poked and prodded! hmmm, not!); however the only way that will happen is if I'm with her which their rules do not allow. Also, I think Sam feels she is a 'bad Sam' because they take her away from Mama, plus she's frightened/irritated, so she acts up, hoping Mama will come to discipline her. Again this is not something I can explain to them.

We have noticed the University is a bit pro-canine, or dog-bias: I see ten dogs for every cat. Though I did see a ferret there.

I can tell when they sedate her: it makes her eyes run copiously, and stinks terribly! I didn't want to say this, but it smells like infection. The last time the stench was so pervasive I took her in their restroom (I asked permission, which was granted) and wiped her down with wet paper towels to get rid of the smell.

I always wipe her down with a hot towel when I get her home from there, anyway. I really should bring a towel along and do it right there.

After hearing her weight was 7.65 pounds, I slipped my hand under her tummy and said "Does she have to go potty?" I could feel her swollen little bladder. The tech said she probably Did have to, and Sam, bless her heart, heard the word "potty", looked at me sharply and strolled out of the carrier they brought her to me in, right to me. Sam and I rushed out to the car (I didn't want a repeat baptismal of the waiting room floor!) and everyone in the room watched us go and smiled.

Sure enough after walking around the passenger compartment and sniffing, Sam hunkered down in her car potty. (It's a hospital basin, about 12" x 9" by 6" deep and fits behind the driver's seat perfectly. I wonder if I could ask the local hospital for some used ones?) She was still a little dopey, but walking all right, and not saying much. I left her in the car for a minute (They removed her harness and leash to do the procedures and didn't give it back, and I am not losing that set, I looked too long to find it!) and came back to find her sitting on "her" seat, the armrest between the front seats, and surveying her surroundings, though she still seemed a little distracted and groggy.

Speaking of the potty, here's an example of why I don't mind the sedation: About an hour and a half later, on the way home, Sam got extremely restive; growling, whining, trying to climb up on the dashboard. I couldn't fathom what she could be so upset about. Finally it occurred to me she might have to go potty again. Didn't she remember her potty? Accordingly I reminded her that "Sam's potty is here; Sam see potty here? Sam go potty in Sam's potty?" and asked her Daddy to show Sam the object in question (I was driving). She wiggled out of his hands right into the potty and executed the desired function. Peace and quiet reigned again. Did she forget because of the anesthesia, and might that indicate her memories of the exam and administration of chemo are blurred and hopefully, forgettable? I hope so.

Sam's visits to her local Vet went well, except I have to be more ambidexterous. In one exam room the table is on the other side of the room and I have to switch hands, and this time didn't get as good a grip on Sam's front legs: she jerked at the touch of the needle, but did obey when she heard me say "Hold still, Sam!" She stopped struggling immediately and I was so proud of her. The vet noticed and said, "I'm sorry, Sam, good girl!" I kept talking to her, reciting the usual mantra of "just hurts for a minute, then it's all done, and Sam goes bye-bye in the car and goes home to see her Purr!" and was gratified by her steady gaze meeting my eyes calmly as the cylinder pulled in the necessary drops of blood.

As she always does, at the conclusion of the blood draw she stared at the vet and his assistant and gave them both a friendly blink. I resisted the impulse to hug her and cover her with kisses; that could wait until we got out to the car. She can be so splendidly excellent and my heart swells with pride at how good she is!

The accretion of cancerous material near Sam's rear left breast remains the same: about 1 mm., or about the size of a grain of salt. The ultrasound revealed a "slight dilation of the bile duct, stable lymph node size, and a cystic pancreatic structure noted". Though I have searched ("Googled") "cystic pancreatic structure" I haven't found any definitive information yet. Perhaps a chat with the nurse next door might shed some light.

Sam continues to be quite active, especially outside. Her Daddy let her out the other day and she immediately raced off after two chipmunks, and he said he was amazed how fast she is and how easily she moves. She eats well, though she does play on my worry by initially refusing the food (shakes her paw at it and walks away) and then coming back and eating it "on the sly" when she thinks I'm not looking -- but as I tell her, "Mama sees you all the time, Sam!"

So, as of the end of May 2007, Sam is still with us, and still herself (Knock on wood!). I want to thank everyone again for the comfort and kind remarks. Many cats have succumbed to the Great Pet Food Poisoning of 2007, or other sicknesses, and my heart and best wishes and love go out to you all, as well as joy and gratitude to the owners of those cats who've had other procedures they're recovering from (especially Brimstone: seven teeth pulled, and a root canal!).

I love and appreciate Sam more every day, and blissfully cuddle her every night and morning, and thank God she is still with me and feeling fine. If you are reading this, please send up a prayer for Sam the Black Cat -- Thank you, and thanks for reading.

PS: I have some outdoor pictures of Sam to post here, and some video of her running and dragging me -- laughing -- though the side yard, which needs editing, so check back!

Sam the Summer of 2007: Her 14th Chemo Treatment

Sam the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Cancer

Sam, Black Cat with Mammary Adenocarcinoma, has a Pretty Face

Sam, Black Cat with Mammary Adenocarcinoma

Sam, Black Cat with Mammary Adenocarcinoma, Outside Rolling

Sam, Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma

Sam was due to go in for chemo on the 13th, but her complete blood count two weeks before had been too low. So I scheduled a visit to our local vet to have it checked again.

Sam had been quieter for ten days after her last chemo treatment. If she was a person I would have said she was a little depressed. Usually she's running around the house and playing, or requesting to go outside. Of course the weather wasn't quite as nice as it could be for her to go outside; I did take her outside with me a few times to show her: "It's Raining, Sam. Water falling from the sky. Sam would get all wet if Sam went outside." Sam calmly surveyed the driveway from the shelter of my arms, and tried to avoid the raindrops. Then, seemingly satisfied, she returned to her look out spot by the family room window and went to sleep.

When I called the University the new doctor said she wanted to see Sam on both the 13th and the 20th. I told her no, primarily because it's too hard on Sam to spend 10 hours in the car and at the University, and it's expecting too much of her to do it twice in a seven day period. Sam has been very very good in the car but I don't want to push her. I emphasized to her that the local vet has very good facilities and we need to use him as much as possible.

I brought Sam to her local vet for the CBC. We talked about having him remove the tiny bump of cancer that remains. He suggested we do it now, or soon, while it's quiescent. He said Sam is his only cancer patient right now. For some animals the cure is worse than the disease; the chemo brings on vomiting, upset stomach and sickness. The only time I've seen Sam actually looking ill was the first time she had the carboplatin version of the chemo last November, but she pulled out of it and has been fine (knock on wood!).

I told him about a person I talked to on MySpace whose cat had a lump of mammary cancer the size of a pea. It was removed and the wound closed with 6 or 7 stitches, which indicates a smaller incision and not the wide "clean margin" cut used with cancer. Plus, the cat didn't require chemo treatments! The vet said it was probably another kind of cancer that's not as aggressive as Sam's.

Oh how I wish I would hear, "Gee, we made a mistake with the diagnosis of Sam's feline mammary cancer: it's this other variety and Sam won't have to have chemo anymore"! [sigh]

Sam's local vet explained about the University's findings as a result of Sam's last ultrasound, "cystic pancreatic structure noted". Older animals and people too, are subject to this condition. It's normal, and has nothing to do with her cancer. He said they are probably just indicating they see it, and will keep an eye on it. What a relief!

He said he would not recommend a bilateral mastectomy for Sam. Relatively speaking, her cancer is not that bad, though it has terrible and powerful potential to be. Secondly he said it's very difficult to pull the stomach skin back together smoothly and the incidence of post surgery infection is high. Also, Sam would be in terrible pain, and some cats don't react well to the painkiller drugs. He recommends the lumpectomy and then keeping a sharp eye on her condition after the surgery. We know from experience Sam recovers well from minor surgery and I have the fabulous luxury of being able to watch her all the time, and that she obeys when I say "Sam, Leave The Tummy Alone!" when she starts biting at the stitches.

We left it that Sam would have her chemo the following Wednesday, and will set the appointment for the lumpectomy soon after that. She will have to stay overnight but that's all right: this vet is literally only minutes away from me and I can even visit her after the surgery. I visited her after her spay operation and at first she didn't know me, but then cried for me as I was about to leave (there was no mistaking her tone: "Mama!") A lumpectomy isn't nearly as 'bad', and if she's sedated afterward hopefully the memory will blur in her little mind. I want to avoid traumatizing her re: the veterinarian.

So off we went Wednesday June 20 at 7:15 a.m. Sam was a bit nervous in the car but calmed down quickly. It was a nice day so we didn't have the AC on, but I've noticed Sam is usually cold, or at least "likes warm", so I brought her blanket, and, an old white towel. I wrapped Sam in her blanket and she gratefully snuggled against me.

Of course it's not Sam in the Car without Sam exploring every inch of 'her' car, so she was back and forth from the back seat to the front, one lap to the other, and asking to get up on the dashboard. -- I never should have laughed the first time she did that. But intermittently she would return to my lap, nudge the blanket and look at me, and seemed glad to be folded in the blanket and rest.

As we approached the University, but still about 30 miles away, Sam began standing on her Daddy's knee and sniffing at the car vent. I was lucky enough to be observing her the first time she did it and saw one of her expressions of "OH NO!" cross her face. Immediately she jumped into the back seat and stood with her paws on the door armrest and looked out the window. Her Daddy said, "Do you suppose she knows where she is?" I said, "Without a doubt!" I would love to know what she's thinking. Does she smell something different in the air? the barometric pressure? Some odor particular to the area?

I mentioned this to a fellow "pet Mama" at the University and she said dogs do that too.

At the clinic, I brought in the white towel. It's an old towel I use to dry Sam off from her bath. When the technician came to take Sam, I wrapped her up just as we do after her bath: fold the towel in half, lay Sam diagonally but with her head 5 or 6 inches off the corner. Smooth a corner tightly over her back, then the 'butt' corner, holding it with my left hand, then the 'leggies' corner, all the while encouraging Sam with my voice. The final touch is to take the excess at the 'head corner' and wrap it around her neck.

Now you have a Sam bundle: she can't move, but she's comfortable, can see what's going on and where she's going. I handed her to the technician with instructions to hug tightly, letting Sam's weight against the technician's chest keep the towel tight. The tech seemed pleased with this arrangement and let us each give Sam a kiss on the head. Sam looked fairly pleased and relaxed, and I was relieved.

I was reminded of this again when we returned to get Sam, and a lady came in with her cat in a carrier and set it down near us. The cat started to cry, at first isolated meows, sounding oddly like questions, then more and more frequently, and louder, and more frantically. The owner never paid any attention and let the cat cry while she carried on a conversation with another 'pet mama'. I felt sorry for the cat!

When the tech brought Sam out, she had Sam loosely wrapped in the towel 'burrito style' with the mask still on. I noticed the mask seemed more solid in design and Sam's Daddy said, "Can she see?" The tech said "Probably not very well." I didn't say anything as I untied the strings but I remembered the tech saying at a past visit that Sam is a 'very intelligent cat' and from her past experiences, correctly anticipates each step in the chemo procedure and readies herself accordingly, which I think was a nice way of saying Sam gets into her defensive/attack stance. So, they blindfold her, in effect, with the solid front mask. But Sam isn't a Smart Sam for nothing. I didn't have the heart to tell her that by now, Sam probably even understands part of what they're saying. They'll have to plug her ears, now.

Sam was wet under the chin, and smelled funny again, though not as badly as last time. But now I was prepared. Asking permission again, I took Sam into the ladies room and wiped her face, ears, neck and chest with warm water. Sam seemed to want to be wiped off and was very calm. When I finished I said "Up, Sam, See Mama here," and she reared up, putting her paws on my shoulder so I could pick her up. I was pleased she didn't seem overly upset though she was a bit disoriented-looking, as though her eyes were crossed.

We were told the doctor was making rounds and wouldn't be up to see us for another 25 minutes, which translated in the venue of past experience is probably more like an hour. What to do? We waited for a while, about ten minutes, talking to other pet parents. Finally we told the receptionist we needed to 'cash out' and get started on our two and a half hour drive home. I never saw the exam report: the University will send it to Sam's local vet, and that's what counts.

A nice lady said how pretty Sam is, as Sam was turned in my arms to look out the window. Accordingly I tapped Sam on her shoulder, Sam turned her head, and I said "Sam, this nice lady says this is a pretty Sam! Can Sam say hi to the nice lady?" Sam looked right at the woman and blinked. She was surprised and began laughing, still looking back at Sam and talking to her, and Sam blinked at her a few more times. "That's incredible!" she said. "Yes, she is," I said, laughing. She really is: Usually I say, "Look at" the person, and this time I didn't have to.

Sam the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Cancer, enjoying being outside on her leash

"Look at Mama, Sam!"

http://www.livevideo.com/summerrose

If you see no video above, click here to see it: (Opens in a new window)

Also I was surprised she reacted as well as she did, as she was still a little dopey-acting. I'll have to look at the bill and see if they gave her a little sedative.

Sam did the same thing to the receptionist; I couldn't see Sam's eyes so I asked the receptionist, "Did she blink at you?" She said "Yeah ... Does that mean something?" I said "It means, she's saying hi to you. Say hi back!" She did, and said Sam blinked at her again.

I know you may be thinking it's just random blinking but it's not. It's a longer blink, more deliberate, and sometimes the pet will even nod its head slightly at the same time, or make a sound. Try it with a dog or cat who's been around people for a while: Look into the pet's eyes and say "Hi!" or "Pretty, good baby!" and watch the animal blink. I've seen horses do this too. In a film of Barbaros and his Penn State University vet the vet says something to the horse, and he answers with a blink and a shake of his head. I read somewhere it means "I love you" but I think it mostly means "Hi" or "OK" or just an acknowledgment.

A new receptionist looked more than a little apprehensive when Sam stood on the counter, and to show her Sam's not going to burst into frenetic activity and attack her, I touched Sam's back lightly, as she was prancing down the counter edge, and said "Stay, Sam. Lay Down. Stay right here." Sam settled down on her haunches, looking over her shoulder at me. A covert glance at the receptionist revealed the look I was half expecting: startled, mouth slightly open, staring at Sam with wide, surprised eyes. Sam, the Wonder Cat.

People can't believe you can train a cat. A little later, one woman, a dog owner, observing Sam laying on the counter next to her Daddy after I told her to "Lay down; stay" was marveling at Sam's obedience and even more at her composure, and asked how I did it and I said, "I've had dogs before." I'm getting to the point I'm reluctant to say any more. Nowadays there're enough books and information out there: Anyone can do what I've done, and most cats are pretty smart animals.

Sam's Daddy had our other cat in the car for a ride and stopped for gas. When he returned to the car someone said to him, "That's not usually done, is it? Having a leash on your cat?" Sam's Daddy said, "Well, she likes it." When he related this story to me I asked how the other person reacted to his remark. He said, "I don't know, I didn't bother to notice."

On the way home after the appointment Sam slept on the pillow in the back seat for a little while but mostly was engrossed in showing her Mama and Daddy what an acrobat she is. Up the back of the driver's seat to lay on her Daddy's shoulders, down next to the door, back across his lap to the back seat, back to the front seat to stand on my lap and look out the window, rear up onto the dashboard to look out the front window, ask to get up on the dashboard, climb back up to be a neck rest for Daddy. She felt pretty good and showed no after effect of anything: just having her usual good time in "her" car.

At one point when the construction was heavy Sam's Daddy asked me to take her over on my side so he could concentrate on driving. I put her on my lap and when she tried to return to his side (she Does love the driver!) I told her, "Daddy has to drive Sam's car. Daddy can't pet this Sam, or look at Sam. Sam stay here with Mama." She tried to reach him a couple times, I repeated a couple times and finally she laid down on my lap.

When we were about 20 miles from home Sam got very restive, first sniffing the air vent and staring out the side window with rapt, passionate concentration. Suddenly she was all over the car and crying to get up on the dash, bouncing around like crazy and I could tell her nutsy behavior was really starting to make her Daddy nervous and irritated. I grabbed her and made her lay down on my lap. Her Daddy, to his credit, because I could tell he was getting very tired, said to let her do what she wanted to, "after all she's been through".

If you see no movie above, click here to see it (Opens in a new window)

Windblown Furs: Porch Refugees on a Windy Day

Starring Purr and Sam the Black Cat

http://www.livevideo.com/summerrose

If you see no movie above, click here to see it (Opens in a new window)

Sweet Sam the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma: Just Before Second Cancer Operation

Isn't this a great picture of Sam? Taken Late June 2007 Just before Sam the Black Cat's Second Cancer Operation. Click to see a larger picture (opens in new window)

Sam the Black Cat Just Before Second Cancer Operation

Sam the Black Cat and her Boo-Boo Eyes expression. Taken Just Before her Second Cancer Operation for Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma. Sam the Black Cat's first cancer operation was July 19, 2006; she's had chemo treatments since then.

Sam the Black Cat Before Second Cancer Operation

Sam Just Before Second Breast Operation July 2007

Sam's Friend Brimstone was kind enough to make this for Sam, for Fourth of July 2007. Thanks, Brimmy!!

Sam's Tummy After the Breast Lumpectomy July 07, 2007. Click to see a larger picture (opens in new window)

For All the Cat Breeders

I love my little kitty -

I love my little kitty, she makes my house a home
She always is my best friend, I never feel alone.
She makes me smile - she makes me laugh
She fills my heart with love - Did some breeder breed her,
or did she fall down from above?

I've never been a breeder, seen life through their eyes,
I hold my little kitty and just sit and criticize.
I've never known their anguish, I've never felt their pain.
The caring of their charges, through snow or wind or rain.

I've never sat the whole night thru, waiting for babies to be born
The stress and trepidation when they are still not there by dawn.
I've never felt the heartache of a little life in my hands,
This darling little baby, who weighs but 60 grams.

Should you do that instead of this - or this instead of that,
Alone, you fight and hope one day, he'll grow to be a cat,
and bring joy to another being and make a house a home.
You know it's all up to you, you'll fight this fight alone.

Formula, bottles, heating pads, you've got to get this right,
Two hourly feedings for this tiny guy, throughout the day and night
In your heart you know, you're almost sure to lose the fight,
to save this little baby, but God willing - you just MIGHT.

Day one he's in there fighting, you say a silent prayer
Day two & three, he's doing well, with lots of love and care.

Day four and five - he's still alive, your hopes soar to the heavens,
Day six, he slips away again, dies in your hands, day seven

You take this little angel, and bury him alone
With aching heart, and burning tears, and an exhausted groan.
You ask yourself - "Why do this? - why suffer all this pain?"
But see the joy your kittens bring - it really self explains.

So when you think of breeders and label them with "greed"
Think about what they endure to fill another's need.
When you buy a kitten and with your precious dollars part,
You only pay with money - they pay with their hearts.

Author unknown

I said no, I feel that's what training is for: those moments when it really counts. Sam, in her half-Siamese-ness, can really be a brat, and a handful. She has a quick, Siamese-crafty temper and above all, I don't want her to go 'over the edge' and into the land of 'bad cat'. Even with her claws clipped she can inflict righteous damage if she's so inclined. I surely wouldn't want her loose (i.e., not in a carrier, because she still wears her leash in the car) in a car and out of her little feline mind in the grips of a Sam-fit; I need to maintain control over her and persuade her to obey me.

Finally when we were in town I allowed her to indulge in her heart's desire, getting up on the dash, while simultaneously keeping an eagle eye out for police. I don't think they'd like to see a cat obstructing a driver's view, or appear to be, even though she's really not. Sam stared out the windshield, crawling along on her tummy and looking down the defroster vent. Sam's Daddy said maybe she likes to put her stomach on the warm dashboard. I can't help but laugh at her -- she looks so serious, wiggling along right in the narrowest part where the windshield meets the dash, and growling. Wonder what in the world's up with that?! Such a Funny Sam.

Then home again, and I wiped her off with warm water to take the smell and whatever cooties she might have brought back from the University off, so her Purr sister wouldn't hiss at her. She ate well, whined at the door to go out by the pool ("whined and dined"?!) and dozed blissfully in the sun to forget her horrendous trip to the vet. And all is well again at Sam's house.

Thanks to everyone (or 'evfurryone', as the cat-people say on MySpace) for all the prayers and good wishes. Sam has over a hundred cat-friends on MySpace and they're all pretty great people! and we want to say a special Thank you to them. You are all so appreciated!

Taking Sam the Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma's Veterinarian Up on his Offer to Excise the Final Cancerous Lump

Sam is doing even better than expected!

Sam had a tiny cancerous lump remaining after the last four months of carboplatin chemo treatments, about the size of a poppy seed. It doesn't change or disappear, so now Sam's local vet will cut it out. Friday July 6 is the day.

I'm oddly concerned this time whereas I wasn't so much, for the first lump. Maybe because stupid things can happen, things that're no one's fault, just bad luck.

I brought Sam in at 8:00 a.m., and happily discovered she doesn't have to stay the night. I left her in her cage with a towel from my bath and an undershirt. Not wanting to make too much out of it and frighten her with my own apprehension, I left the cage room quietly but couldn't resist admonishing Sam, "You don't bite these girls, Sam. Sam, be good girl. Mama Loves You." Sam stared at the other side of the room. I told her a few times what was going to happen; you never know how much an animal will understand, but she looked patient and resigned rather than scared.

The doctor was there and said, "Well, we'll see you later this afternoon then." I said "Oh, how did you know I wanted to visit her?" He looked puzzled then laughed. "No, I meant, you can come and take her home!" "Really? That's wonderful!" He said, "You guys have been through this before, she's as well off at home with you as she would be here. The receptionist will give you some reminders and instructions." This was truly decent of him since he wasn't the vet who cut out Sam's original cancerous lump.

The stitches are dissolvable, and the incision looks better knitted than Sam's first lumpectomy. A little mist of blood beside the cut, that's all. The incision is about an inch and a half long. The vet said he wasn't necessarily going to do a wide cut, but it looks like he did, and I'm glad.

We are not telling the University until we take Sam up there July 18th. The University doctor talked to my local vet on the phone, singing the praises of the unilateral mastectomy and asking him to encourage me to have it done. My local vet says technically they're probably right: the mastectomy would be the best thing for the disease as far as eradication, but perhaps not for Sam, the patient Patient. She'll heal faster from a lumpectomy. And, after all, this is what the University wanted to do in November '06 before we discovered the additional cancerous bumps on Sam.

The results of the tissue analysis will be back about Wednesday July 11th. It would be extremely interesting to discover that perhaps this unmoving, unresponsive to treatment Lump, is scar tissue or fatty tissue. That would explain why it's still in Sam after five months of chemo treatments. However I wouldn't be surprised to hear it's cancer.

Sam's Daddy and I went to get Sam at 2:30 p.m. Sam was a little groggy but reached for me, putting her paw on my chest, and I can't describe how happy the touch of that little paw made me. For one day, she will have to remain fairly quiet, no jumping. The vet said by tomorrow she'll feel almost completely better.

Upon arriving home Sam climbed directly into her litter box, weaving drunkenly, having to make two tries to hang on to the edge of the box, but achieved her goal. I would have thought she'd want to sleep, but no: she drank a lot of water, staring at the water bowl for a long time.

The vet said to give her the piroxicam for pain so we gave her half a pill at 3:30. After she ate the pill-in-food, she gave her Daddy a nice "Thank You" blink, and he told her she looked sleepy. She must have agreed, and ambled off to the bed in the family room, and he helped her up onto the bed and said he'd watch her (and the TV).

I thought she'd sleep for quite a while. But no. After about an hour, what do you think she did?

Trotted to the back door, with her bouncy gait growing more coordinated with every step!

"Sam, does Sam want to go outside?!" Turning her head, looking me in the eye, that unmistakable tone of whining!

I thought, What the heck. It's very warm outside, maybe she'll sleep. I put her harness on, opened the door, and you would have thought she'd stepped into a warm Jacuzzi. She glided over to her sun spot, hunkered down and almost immediately dozed off.

Later when I saw her walking around I went out to sweep the patio. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something move, then heard the swift swish of Sam's rope slither by as Sam herself shot past me with that sportscar acceleration she employs so readily. Moving so fast she was a black blur she even remembered where the rope ends, and pulled herself up. On the one hand it was funny, but I was horrified as I scooped her into my arms and looked at the fresh incision. It was fine, stitches holding snugly. Thank You!

She must have felt something odd, though, because she didn't try that little trick again.

That night I thought, will she still come to snuggle with me? or does she associate me with the pain and the vet's office? I needn't've worried. "Can we go to bed, Sam?" Sam walked into the bedroom with me, looked up at me; "Can Mama help, Sam? Mama will put this Sam on the bed." She walked to the center of the bed, turned around, sat down and looked at me. The second I laid down, she practically jumped on top of me, purring already, and kissed me all over my face. I guess she wasn't upset. (so thankful)

Today, Monday July 9th, 2007, she is behaving normally. The incision looks a little red; Sam has probably been licking it a little, but I haven't heard her characteristic "yodeling" from pain as she did before -- She's either not licking too much, or is being more stealthy about it. I told her very firmly not to lick it and she blinked at me, but as she is a headstrong little Sam that means exactly nothing in this case.

She's eating well and seems to be in good spirits. We walked around on her lawn a bit; she liked that.

Thanks again to everyone who sent good wishes for Sam and her surgery. We appreciate you and your thoughts more than you know!

Sam the Black Cat's Incision to Remove Residual Cancer Infects -- University is Glad to See Lump Removed -- Low White Cell Levels Prohibit Chemo Therapy -- Cell Levels Rise Again, and Sam the Black Cat can have Chemotherapy on August 1, 2007.

Four days after Sam the Black Cat's operation to remove the last lump of cancer, I looked at the incision and saw, and Smelled, infection. If you've ever smelled that noxious odor you know exactly what it is.

Sam's local vet seemed surprised and glared at me a little, as though he would lecture me, and I cringed a little because I'm sure I didn't do something I should have, though I don't know what. I felt bad because he trusted me to take Sam home the same day as the surgery, and now it's infected. I kept such an eye on her too, and never let her out again alone, after that first day.

Sam never uttered a sound over the last four days, and usually she sets up a caterwauling while licking a wound. She didn't do it this time. I washed the wound gently with warm water and used a salve or cream with Neosporin [sp?] daily to prevent infection, but it infected anyway. So I felt I deserved his outraged expression, but I just don't know what more I could have done.

The incision was almost entirely closed up. Only the lower 1/5 was infecting. If you've seen the picture of the freshly stitched up incision, it's the lower part that looks a little twisted, by the nipple, that infected. I took her to the vet on Friday, one week after the surgery, and he gave her a half bottle of ClaviMax, saying the cut would probably heal on its own, but since this is Sam he would recommend the antibiotic. Also he didn't like the odor either.

The report on the biopsied tissue was back from the laboratory, and said the lump was cancer. The lab called Sam's local vet and said they were having a hard time finding the lump at all, was he sure it was in the sample? He said to go look again, they did, and found it. The gland Sam's local vet took the initiative to remove ("Once I made the cut I realized I was close to the inguinal gland and we'd talked about that being involved, so I decided to take that too." God Bless this man!) was also cancerous.

(On a side note, I remember the first vet explaining Sam's cancer to me, on July 23, 2006, and I asked her, having perused the Internet, "Did you remove the near lymph gland?" She said "No, because I didn't know the lump was cancer." She's a Veterinarian and didn't know that 100% of lumps on cat's stomachs or breasts are cancerous!!!?? stupid! I am determined not to criticize her but it seems now in hindsight removing the gland at that point would have helped immensely. But I was still thinking the cancer had come down to the lump from the lymph gland or lymphatic system. )

Sam's local vet is very hopeful we got "all" the cancer, at least from that location. He says Sam needs a few more rounds of chemo, just to kill off whatever "seeds" may have escaped. He was very happy and ebullient, eyes twinkling: he's normally pretty reserved, and wary though I am of feeling hopeful, my heart leapt, and I pray he's right.

Four days later Sam was in the University for her chemo appointment. However her white blood count was down too far to administer chemo, and her University doctor didn't like the infection either, which was clearing up well by then but still apparent. She provided a full bottle of ClavaMax and surprising advice, which I passed back to Sam's local vet: Use Aloe on Sam's incision.

Both Sam's Daddy and I laughed because I have many many aloe plants in the house. After confirming the University vet meant actual Aloe Vera plants, I said I would gladly kill them all with over pruning, if they'd heal Sam's tummy.

The University vet said the cancer was moving from the lump to the nearest gland, and finding cancer in the gland wasn't a good sign. I said I had been told the cancer started in the lymphatic system and accumulated in the breast tissue as a lump. The vet said No, it's the other way around.

So all the congratulations after the lumpectomy were of no avail. Later at the CBC appointment I asked the local vet the same question ("What came first, the lymph gland or the lump?") and he said the lump, too. I told him again, how good he was to have removed the lymph gland in the course of the lumpectomy.

Did I get this confused in the first place? Did the shock of the horrible news disorient my memory somehow? Or was I told the wrong thing? Can you audio record a doctor? I may need to start.

The University vet also made the observation that the carboplatin chemo treatment must not be working. It killed off the other lumps present in November 2006 but not this last resistant lump, nor did it prevent the spread of cancer to the nearest (inguinal [sp?]) lymph gland. But. My question: was the cancer in that gland in the first place, and the chemo prevented the spread to other glands?

Cursed cancer!

While at the University, Sam's platelet levels were tested at zero, so she could not have the chemo. The University vet said she feared the platelets were "killed", which would be very bad. I didn't question her to find out how bad that would be. Time enough for that later. Sam should go to her local vet for a CBC the following week.

The University vet called the local vet to ask if he wanted to do the xrays and ultrasound, but he said he'd rather have the University do them primarily because they're more accustomed to interpreting them. It was professional of her to call him.

We left it that Sam would go to the local vet the following week for a CBC, then back to the University the next week on August 1, 2007, pre-supposing the CBC was okay.

The University vet wrote a note to present to a local pharmacist for Baby Benedril. It's an over the counter medication but we wanted to make sure we got the right kind. She recommended giving it to Sam, in case the reason Sam wouldn't stop licking her tummy incision was because it was Itching.

A good thought. Until I gave Sam the Benedril.

Sam leapt out of my arms and zoomed off like a jet plane. Her fur-sister Purr sidled up close to me and watched Sam in amazement. Around the house Sam flew, so fast she was a blur, growling. The second time around, I caught a glimpse of her, and it looked like she had a Santa Claus beard!

The third time around the house I headed her off and cornered her in the family room on her favorite window perch and wiped off the foam, because that's what it was. Sam was grumbling with her "meyowm, meyowm" sound as though she was trying to get the Benedril out of her mouth; too late!

I suggested she go "drink water", and she did, then walked behind the shelf unit and clawed on the carpeting. She does that when she's upset, especially when she's upset with ME, because she knows I don't like it. I said to her "Come out from behind there! It's dirty back there! There's probably buggies back there, and spider webs, and Sam will get dirty!" She emerged, looked up at me. "Now you're all dirty, Sam!" Grinning up at me with a slitty-eyed look, Sam shook herself decisively, then strolled over to the water again. I think she was watching me out of the corner of her eye.

Later I told her Daddy about it in her hearing and I swear, she smiled.

I thought, "There's another of those episodes I daren't repeat for fear of sounding like the Nutty Cat Lady."

I thought, This is awful stuff, this Benedril. Wonder how human babies react? What was this vet Thinking? After about an hour, I saw. Sam was lying stretched out comfortably on her window perch, sleeping heavily. I asked her "Sam okay? Baby all right now, sleeping?" Sam opened her eyes and gave me a dreamy, tranquil look with her eyes half open, smiling. "Go back to sleep, my little lover. Sam Good Girl."

She slept until I took her to bed, then curled up on my chest and went back to sleep. And, the next day her incision was notably improved. What do you know! So the vet was probably right, but the reaction was worrisome. If Sam's Daddy had seen Sam run around the house and foam at the mouth, he would have called the e-vet.

To capitalize on the experience and teach Sam something good, the next day I gave her the ClavaMox and examined her tummy, talking to her. "Sam, tummy looks much better now. You know how Mama put that in your mouth [Sam-lingo for medicine]? I know, it tastes icky. But Mama puts this in Sam's mouth, and Sam's tummy looks better now. Tummy feels better now? Not so bad to put this in Sam's mouth. Sam tummy better now!"

Two nights later, Sam's daddy gave her the ClavaMox one evening when I was out, and the next day when Sam saw the bottle, she exploded: wild-eyed, whining, trying to climb over my shoulder. I asked him if she'd given him a hard time the night before, and he said she was just awful. Warned, I sat down at the table with Sam and the bottle of ClavaMax drops. "Sit right here, Sam. Mama wants to put this in your mouth." Sam howled and wrapped her 'arms' around my neck, giving me "Sam Scared!" looks. Sam's Daddy said, "See, that's what she was doing last night."

I disentangled Sam, saying, "Sam, Mama loves you. Mama wouldn't hurt this Sam. Sam, sit right here. Put these leggies down here on the table. Good Girl. Now, Mama wants to put this in your mouth. (Letting her smell the dropper) See, this not so bad. Smells like bananas. Mama wants to put this in Sam's mouth, makes the tummy better. See? Takes just a minute and will be all done. Not so bad. Sit here. Put your head up, Sam. Open up. Mama wants to put this in your mouth, good girl." This may seem like a lot of talking but it's infinitely better than Sam having a Siamese temper tantrum, which she's ever only a hair away from.

I touched the side of her mouth with the dropper as I said "open up". Sam has heard this before, during teeth brushings. Obediently, probably thinking of the good taste of the malt in the cat toothpaste, she opened her mouth, and I shot the ClavaMox at the upper rear of her throat, thinking perhaps she'd taste it less that way.

Immediately (and feeling a little badly over fooling her) I dropped the dropper onto the table and swept her into my arms, hugging and kissing her and exclaiming in a happy, excited voice, "Good Sam! What a Good Girl to let Mama put this in your mouth! Oh So Brave, Sam! This is the Best Sam in the Whole World! So good, so smart, my Sam! All done now, Sam, and you're Such a Good Girl to let Mama put this in Sam's mouth! All Done! Not so bad, Sam!" and so forth for about a minute, then said "Sam wants water now? Sam drink water?" Bemused, she slipped gently to the floor, made a great show of licking herself, just to show me her independence (ha!), then, as though it was her idea and hers alone, negligently sidestepped to the water bowl. Such a Sam she is.

Now she takes the drops very well, hardly struggling at all. I never call her to me for this, I go and get her. Sam's Daddy shook his head and said, "She'll do anything -- for you." But now you see how it was done. Cats are so fond of praise!

ClavaMox or ClavaMax Amoxicillin for Animals

Click the box for information about ClavaMox and its use on pets from a neutral source.

(Oh dear. I wanted to check the spelling of "ClavaMax" -- it's spelled ClavaMox, but you wouldn't know it because the manufacturer uses a tear shaped symbol for the third vowel -- and found this article on administering it to cats. Pills, my foot! -- well, that's my opinion. Oh, Dear! Can it really be this bad?! Oh my sweet Sam! I confess to threatening to wrap her in a towel to give her her medications but have never had to do it (yet). Have a look:
http://www.pet-care-experts.com/archive.php?19632 )

Between the aloe, the ClavaMox and the one dose of benedril, Sam improved very rapidly, and by the next Wednesday when she went to her local vet for the CBC the incision was almost entirely closed up. Sam's local vet was very glad to see this, and Sam herself was pleased to hear him say it, too, I think: She let him pick her up and look at her tummy, and allowed him to knuckle-rub her head, though she rumbled a bit. She sat in the scale basket, and in trying to reach the window sill -- she likes to sit there and will very carefully stretch over to it from the table, but this time she over-reached because she was sitting in the scale -- knocked over the scale with her in it, and hardly reacted at all! He commented on how much better she looks now, compared to when he first saw her. After the scale-upsetting incident and her placid reaction, we decided she is learning and adapting to being there, in his exam room.

It was one year ago, on July 23, 2006, that Sam's other vet said she would be dead in six weeks. How persistently I had to pursue her to get her to refer Sam to the University!

It was like this: Sam and I went there to get Sam's stitches removed after the lumpectomy and the horrible news, and one of the techs said, while the doctor was out of the room, to bring Sam in again for xrays of her lungs and liver to see if the cancer had spread. I said, but the Doctor says Sam will die in six weeks!

The tech (as it turned out, she had done the actual operation on Sam) said, knowing how heartbroken and determined I was, Schedule the appointment now, and tell the doctor you want to take Sam to a cancer treatment clinic for animals if the xrays are negative. So I did, and thankfully there was no spread of cancer to lungs or liver.

It took three more phone calls and two visits, but about a month later we were able to bring Sam -- and her records -- to the University. During one call I had the distinct impression the vet was attempting to talk me out of the treatments! She was dwelling on the cost and that Sam was too "fractious" to be given the chemo treatments and would need sedating. I was thinking "So?! Veterinarians handle scared animals all the time, that's their job!" Since that would be such a problem, she maintained, the "very costly, two or three thousand dollars" bilateral mastectomy would have to be immediately performed in lieu of the chemo treatments. I suppose, she has to present the worst scenario.

But what a hard time getting the referral from that vet -- I felt as though I was negotiating a ransom demand! And I also never quite forgave her for the brash, seemingly uncaring way she said, almost casually, "Sam's lump was cancer, a very aggressive type. There's not much hope. Sam will be dead in six weeks. If you like we'll euthanize her for you." -- It must be very hard to deliver such news, but it seems there are more graceful and thoughtful ways than the one she chose. Surely prospective vets must be taught that in school.

We mentioned the preceding to the new University vet and she said "Well now I'll know how you talk about me to other vets," preening and smiling at her intern attendant as though she'd delivered a real coup. I thought, Oh, you are so young. I said sweetly, "Only if you have a similar dialogue and attitude in that same situation!" Snapping a look at me, she said, in a different tone, "Well, I hope that doctor's no longer Sam's Vet." I shook my head 'no'.

Conversation veers around a bit and the mention of 'pet owners' led us to a brief segue into pets' rights, and how in Canada a pet owner would be a 'guardian' of the pet. I imagine that gets ticklish legally -- What if the owner doesn't have enough money to medically treat the pet the way the veterinarian wants? The vet implied I am Sam's custodian, or guardian, even here in the US. I sensed the trap and leaped: "Custodian, guardian, caretaker, whatever; I don't know anything about that. I own Sam. (Sam's daddy said, "Or she owns you," and they chuckled.) Perhaps so. I am responsible for Sam's health. I am Sam's Mama; I love her. I could not sleep at night if I didn't do everything possible to help her."

I wanted to phrase that carefully, as I know Sam bit and scratched people while in the examining area. Sam's Daddy says they are probably well insured against such occurrences, and so they should be, but it's never a bad idea to be careful with words.

I'm sure my conversational 'leap' landed me right into Nutty Cat Lady territory with this new University veterinarian and her intern, and her records of Sam. As long as that record is clear that I'm a caring, responsible Sam-owner, let them laugh and shake their heads.

I took Sam in to her local vet's for the CBC and although one reading is a little low, it is within specifications. I called the University yesterday and got a call back this afternoon saying, yes, Sam can have her chemo on Wednesday the first. I hate for her to have to have it, but if it helps her, then have it she will. I wonder what kind of chemo they'll give her? Sam's first University vet indicated if we came to this impasse it would severely narrow the chemo drug choices.

Wednesday August 1 2007 will tell.

Thanks to everyone who has expressed their dismay at the situation and condolences and sympathy for us and for Sam. Your thoughts and prayers for her are so much appreciated!

Sam the Frisky Black Cat Enjoys her 12th Birthday on November 15, 2007

It's been a long summer for Sam and we hope, an enjoyable one.

Sam, the "Faux Havana Brown" Cat presents:

REAL Havana Brown Cats!

We call Sam a "Faux Havana" cat because of her coloration, breeding and general behavior (like touching objects and people with her paws). Now that you've seen Sam, here are REAL Havana cats. The last two scenes are hilarious!

Sam the Black Cat Outside on her Patio

It's nearly fall and there won't be too many more days of warmth so Sam goes outside with her harness and leash at every opportunity. Here she is about October 10th, talking to her Mama and watching Daddy put the pool furniture away. Enjoy! (if you see nothing below please click the link "Sam the Black Cat on the Patio"; opens in a new window.)

Sam the Black Cat on the Patio

Sam has not had to have chemo! The University vet said we should wait at least six months then start again with the original chemo drug, though Sam still takes piroxicam every third day.

And the reason we can wait six months?

I had to hide my face in Sam's shoulder to muffle an involuntary sob as the University vet said after Sam's post-post surgical exam, "Sam's Clean" (no cancer)!!

My darling, brave, marvelous Sam!

Now, you may wonder why I'm not jumping up and down and inviting the whole world to a party. It's not that I'm not ecstatically happy, I am. It's just that this feline mammary adenocarcinoma is very stubborn and aggressive and is well known to re-manifest itself. But, for right now, right this minute in time, she is Sam the Without Cancer Cat. And we are, actually, very happy, gloriously happy, in a quiet way.

Sam looks marvelous. Her eyes are bright and her fur glossy. She races around the house with her tail puffed out, leaping up her kitty tree with her effortless gravity-defying bounds. She had a wonderful time outside this summer, out on her leash in her yard, or walking her Mama around the house. The mosquitoes were monumentally bad this year and I was concerned for her, so I had all the underbrush in the rear of the yard cut down which improved the "skeeter" situation immensely.

Sam eats well, lots of "people food" too. Oddly enough since she's been off the chemo her food preferences have changed again. No more cottage cheese or yogurt, though she still likes milk. She prefers the wet Friskies food with hot water now, not with canola oil as before.

The University vet we've had this summer is leaving so Sam gets a "new" vet for one month, then Sam's nemesis -- her original University vet -- returns in January. The vet from the summer left a very nice note in Sam's record: "Sam is a very sweet soul." I wonder where that came from.

I do recall one day at the University with the four of us -- Sam, the doctor, Sam's Daddy, and myself -- around the table in the waiting room and the doctor said, in reference to tummy lumps, "Here, I'll show you," then turning to me said, "Will Sam let us see her tummy?" Sam was curled up on my left shoulder. I looked down into her green eyes and said "Sam, Mama wants to see the Sam's tummy. Okay?" Though she yelled and complained a little, she stretched out and didn't move, too much, as the doctor showed Sam's Daddy some maybe-lumps on Sam's stomach. When she was finished she looked right at Sam and said "You ARE a good girl, aren't you, Sam?" Sam stared right back and gave her a profound blink and the vet laughed.

One of Sam's very sweet MySpace friends (you may have seen her on this page; she walks her cat on a leash, too) sent Sam a dogtag with a pink Breast Cancer ribbon and inscribed with the words "Fight Like A Grrl". I showed it to one of the University vet techs. She read it, laughed and said, ruffling Sam's ears, "'Fight like a girl' -- that's right. And We, Fight Dirty!" Sam's nurse neighbor got a chuckle out of that, too.

Sam's getting to be such an old hand at the University. As fall approached, some of the clerical helpers rotated out and new ones replaced them. I saw this when we walked in -- new faces behind the counter -- and the imp in me directed me to set Sam on their desk counter as I usually do. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the eyes of the girl behind the counter widen as Sam casually sauntered a few steps away from me, dragging the leash. Keeping my peripheral vision on the girl, I said "Sam, lay down, stay here with Mama," and as Sam first turned to look at me over her shoulder, then laid down, I saw the look of shock and growing astonishment on the helper's face that I love to see and makes me so proud of my little Sam.

Sam, the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (breast cancer) had cancer chemo treatments from August, 2006 to July 7, 2007 when the second lump at the site of the first was removed. Sam has not had feline cancer chemo since. In these pictures taken March 2008 she surveys her kingdom from the top of her kitty tree scratching post.

Since we could skip a University visit I didn't want Sam's car skills to get 'rusty' so we took a ride around the neighborhood, Sam calmly sitting on my left thigh, her paws on the window sill, surveying her kingdom. Seeing a dog with its owner out getting the mail, I pointed the dog out to Sam; the lady with the dog looked up at the same time and laughed and waved. Sam accepted it as her due and continued to look around, never moving from my knee.

Whenever we return to the house, I tell her "This is Sam's Neighborhood", and as we draw nearer the house I say "Now Sam, where's Sam's house? Where's Sam's yard?" and she swivels her head looking until her gaze rivets on the house, whereupon she immediately insists on getting out of the car and presumably to her litter or food. I started doing this a long time ago, thinking that if Sam were ever to get loose or worse, get stolen and then escape, she might have at least a foggy idea of where she lives.

For Sam's 12th birthday on November 15 she got another ride in the car, down to the river park. It was too chilly to walk around, but we saw some birds and big dogs. That night Sam ate some raw steak. She had to be urged a little -- "Taste, Sam. This is num-num. Smell. Doesn't this smell num-num? Just Taste it, Sam: you don't have to eat it if you don't like it." Eventually she will lick it, and the episode ends with her snapping the bits of meat from my finger tips.

Sam is a little bored right now because it's too cold to go outside. I let her go out every day, telling her "It's too cold outside, Sam. Cold paws outside! Is Sam sure she wants to go out? Cold outside!" as temperatures dropped into the low 50s. Finally Sam herself realized that just because it looks nice outside, doesn't mean it's going to automatically be comfortable for a little thin-blooded, tender-footed house cat, and gave up on asking to go out, for this year. So all the old cat toys come out and there will be more car rides and trips to PetsMart so as to scare away cat-boredom and keep Sam being a good girl.

December 5th we return to the University for another post cancer check up. Though these examinations are costly (more so than the chemo treatments!) the resulting peace of mind is worth it.

Thank you again for the notes and thoughts and prayers, and mine go out to all of you who have been kind enough to say that this page and info have been of some help or reassurance to you.

Sam the Black Cat Goes for Another Post-Chemo/Cancer Checkup -- Other Problems on Sam's Health Horizon? -- Merry Christmas from Sam the Black Cat and her Family

I told Sam we were going for a long car ride in Sam's car for three days prior to the trip to the University for Sam's post cancer checkup. That morning she waited patiently for me, sitting on her heated bed. Such a good Sam.

At first Sam snuggled in my arms in her smily-blanket, but started roaming around "her" car, and crying: softly at first, then more urgently, ending with the rowling yodeling signifying her need to throw up. I pointed her at the passenger side floor, soothing and reassuring her. After that she was fine. At that moment we remembered our instructions from the doctor not to feed her on that morning! So it seems Sam listens better than we do. For future use, I now have an extra "throw-up" towel in the car.

I have to remember to put more kitty litter in her car litter box. She likes to put her two front paws on the edge and climb in, then stand up in the potty (which never fails to make me laugh -- She looks just like a little man!). Well there wasn't quite enough to weigh the box down enough to bear her weight as she started to climb in, and the box tipped a little. I reached down and held the edge down.

Sam cried out and jumped up on the car seat, then shot me a puzzled look. Why had I touched her potty? I tried to explain to her that there was nothing wrong with her potty, just that dumb Mama didn't put enough potty in her potty. I think she partially understood me, because she got back in the box and pawed very fast at the bottom of the box, looked at me and hopped out again. To my vast and thankful relief she re-entered the box after a fashion and performed the desired function. I certainly don't want her to not like her car potty!

Sam was assigned a doctor other than the one recommended to us. As we were introduced I remember thinking, She's short, like my grandma. So for our purposes here I will call her "Dr. Short".

Dr. Short said she was given Sam's case because she is "crazy about cats", and unlike most of the doctors-in-training here, she has been "in practice" at a veterinary in New York. Judging from her remarks, she'd taken the time to read Sam's by now voluminous file, too.

She said she would have to keep Sam until 3:00 p.m. and I said "Would it be possible to shave about an hour off that?" 3:00 would mean four and a half hours for Sam at the University hospital which is a bit longer than usual.

"Oh I would like to but I have to work with others and by their time schedule," she said.

"Perhaps you might be kind enough to let them know -- for Sam's good, not mine! -- that she has a two and a half hour car ride home, and the earlier we start back, the better it is for her. I undertand your situation, but feel compelled to ask this of you, on Sam's behalf -- she's been so very good and patient!"

To Pamela, Purrsy's Mom (CaroCats)

I emailed you three times but suspect the mail went to your Junk inbox, so I'm hoping you'll see this. Yes, Sam's piroxicam dosage is definitely and without mistake 1,000 mg., or 1 gram, of piroxicam powder, in capsules. My best to you and Purrsy; you are both very brave!

Dr. Short didn't like that very much, but said she would try, and whipped away, holding Sam on her shoulder wrapped in her towel. Sam's Daddy and I went to breakfast, wandered around a little and came back. I was feeling concerned and couldn't seem to stop thinking something was wrong.

We met a gray cat, Max, and his Mama. Max is four years old and this isn't his first visit to the University; he has had two sets of problems prior. His Mama brought him in a soft side gray cat carrier but held and talked to him much of the time. "We don't see that many cats here," I said sotto voce, and she replied "I've noticed that. People don't seem to ... " We looked at each other in frustration. Lowering my voice still more, I murmured, "Throw-away cats," and she nodded vehemently. Giving each other a wry look, we stroked Max, who was enjoying the attention.

After a fashion one of Sam's "friends" -- vet technicians who know her -- came by and we buttonholed her. "So how is this new Dr. Short? Is she a good one?" said Sam's Daddy, who has no problem with bluntness.

"She's pretty good with cats especially, and has a lot of insight into cat problems. She is a bit of an introvert though and has to work a little harder than most to be outgoing with the pet parents. We even have to urge her to comment on procedures for the instruction of the interns. You guys are such extroverts, you should be able to bring her out, and put her at ease!" Sam's vet tech friend said.

It was good to have a "key" to our new Sam-doctor.

Later, attempting to amuse myself through the seemingly interminable waiting, I chatted with the receptionist for a few minutes; we have known her since the beginning. She rummaged around under the counter for cat treats. "You seem a little nervous today -- bad car ride?" she asked. I thanked her for her concern and added, "I'm a little worried about Sam this time, a premonition or something, I don't know what. I sincerely hope I'm way wrong about it."

At about 2:00 the receptionist handed me a couple of tickets for free soft drinks or coffee. "Have you any idea or feedback about where Sam is?" I asked her, thinking of the long walk to the vet center's concession stand. "I just heard, she has one procedure left," the receptionist replied. Thinking that would be quite a wait yet, I struck off for soft drinks. Returning, as I came within sight of the waiting area, I saw Sam's Daddy hunkered over a soft white blanket bundle on the table and I broke into a trot, glad I had put tops on the pop cups. Our Sam had endured yet another post feline adenocarcinoma examination.

"We Find No Signs of Cancer"

Another Month of Holding the Terrible Feline Adenocarcinoma (Cat Breast Cancer) at Bay -- Sam the Black Cat's Success Story (So Far)

I wanted to phrase the heading as above because I see searches for "cat cancer success stories" on my server log. And as far as we've come -- from July 2006 to December 2007 -- Sam the Black Cat, despite her occasionally bumpy health travails, has had a success story.

Dr. Short appeared a short time later and I tried to stifle the apprehension in my voice as I asked her, "So how IS our Sam?"

Dr. Short replied, almost sounding frustrated, "I have physically examined her and run many tests, and an ultrasound, and x-rayed her lungs and liver, and I can find no cancer in Sam."

I had difficulty fighting down a whoop of relief and triumph; striking a theatrical pose, hands folded under chin, I said "Now my heart can beat again!" She laughed and said "Yes, Sam has had a remarkable journey through her health crisis. I have never seen a cat recover so well from what she's had." Through my bursting heart the memory of what Sam's local vet said surfaced: "For some cats the chemo treatments produce such awful side effects they can't be tolerated. Sam has held up very well!"

I asked (only half jokingly) if this qualifies Sam to get her portrait painted in oils and added to the collection of 2x3 foot paintings of successful pets and their owners hanging in the corridor between the Cancer Wing and the Small Animal Hospital. "Just Sam, though, not me. Sam's the one who's done the hard work!"

Surprisingly Sam has gained some weight -- she weighs eight whole pounds (and didn't seem to be carrying those extra ounces of potty, this time!). Though, as I commented to Dr. Short, she appears skinnier, but it may just be the visual effect of a shaved tummy. She is so tiny it's hard to believe she's eight pounds.

Sam the Black Cat 8 months after Second Lumpectomy Surgery for Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma :: Her veterinarian also successfully removed a cancerous lymph gland near the cancerous lump on her breast and probably saved her life July 7, 2007

My dire premonition reared its head though, when she said Sam's blood work wasn't completely finished yet and she would give me a call the next day "as I wanted to bring Sam out to you as soon as possible, so she doesn't have to ride home in the dark", for which I ardently thanked her, saying "I know Sam appreciates this so much; she is So good in the car, but I hate to push her, and she didn't sleep much last night". But for the time being, it was time to get Sam's smiley blanket out of the car (we gave the soft white blanket back, and they can keep her "bundling" towel), wrap her up against the early winter chill and start the long trek home.

On our way out, while collecting Sam's paperwork, we stopped to greet a "dog daddy" we knew and Dr. Short was just sitting down to his table. I winked at him and said "You're in good hands here." The time was 2:35.

Phone Calls from Hell -- Sam May have Feline Hyperthyroid problems

My afore-noted premonition still demanded attention and after not hearing from Dr. Short for a couple days I called her to ask about Sam's bloodwork. I got the distinct impression of "good news -- bad news" as she told me all the post feline cancer tests were good, within tolerances.

Then she dropped the bomb. "However Sam's thyroid levels were a bit high both this past appointment and the time before. I want you to have your local vet run a total thyroid function test and a free T4 test. I will call them for you and explain it to them."

It has been a week and I haven't heard from Sam's local vet, but I did some internet research.

This page is a good explanation of feline hyperthyroidism.

It says the three methods of treatment are: administering methimazole, or Tapazole® (bad for the

cat's kidneys), surgery to remove one or both thyroid glands, or Radioactive iodine treatment.

This other page outlines the symptoms of feline hyperthyroidism:

Signs of hyperthyroidism can include:

weight loss
increased appetite
increased activity and restlessness
aggressive or "cranky" behavior
a poor hair coat
a fast heart rate
increased water drinking
increased urination
periodic vomiting
increased amount of stool or diarrhea
occasional difficulty breathing
occasional weakness
occasional depression

I have to settle myself into a pragmatic diagnostic mode and try to assimilate all this new information.

Sam shows none of these symptoms with the possible exception of periodic vomiting. We encourage and praise the cats for drinking water because it's good for their kidneys. Cats are originally desert animals and can go for long periods without water but it's not good for them, especially male cats.

As far as haircoat, the University vet specifically noted Sam has a "great haircoat" -- and she does; her fur is silky and glossy.

She can be "cranky", or hiss/snarl from fear, but she's normally not what I'd call aggressive. -- Without addressing each symptom ad nauseam, I would say overall she doesn't fit the profile.

And Sam has a secret weapon, built right into her breeding: she is half Siamese. Siamese and Himalayans are not usually susceptible to feline hyper thyroidism.

Her system is a little "off" from the chemo and the piroxicam we still have to give her every second day.

I read that too much canned food makes the thyroid react. Additionally there is a study out currently saying Salmon flavored and Liver and Giblets flavored cat food in particular is bad. Sam had been eating quite a bit of Salmon flavored Friskies wet food. Well, no more! I gave the cans to our neighbor for her two year old female cat.

Also clay/silicone based, so-called flushable litter isn't good for cats. A sort of obscure New Zealand study of a limited number of cats suggested thyroid readings in cats using clay litter were higher than cats going outdoors, or using another type of medium.

I checked out the alternatives: Pine pellets, corn and another vegetable kind. My cats don't mind the corn type: it's called "The World's Best Cat Litter". Clumps very well, does track (but at least it's not sharp little clay bits!), excellent odor control and seems to last longer.

I tried the pine pellet type, putting it in the box first and a layer of clay over, as the package directs; for two days everything was fine, then Purr wet on the living room wall right in front of me! I don't think she likes to stand on the pellets.

Purr and I discussed the subject: read: Yelled at her, shook her and made her watch me clean it up, then closed her in her room for the rest of the evening.

While she was in there, I brought in additional fresh clay litter mixed with the World's Best and added it over the top of the pine pellets as I did originally. "Mama fixes Purr's potty, Purr." Purr watched me do this, and it seems to satisfy her. I showed her the pellets and told her, no more pine pellet cat litter!.

Many cats have hyperthyroid problems starting at 10 years old.

Some cats run a tad high on thyroid readings, were given the medication, but ended up not needing the drugs, as it is normal for them as individuals to have slightly higher readings.

I will have to call the local vet and see what he thinks. I'm hoping changing Sam's diet will bring these thyroid levels back down. I am not finished researching; perhaps vitamin supplements would help (now that Sam's off chemo).

I am also curious how the University vet can tell her thyroid levels are high without running the test -- what is she seeing?

Sam the Black Cat, Feeling Good and Playing with her Toy

if you see no video above called "Sam the Black Cat, Feeling Good and Playing with her Toy", please click here to see it -- in fullscreen! Opens in a new window.

Sam the Black Cat Puts On A Show For Visitors in Her House

We had company for a couple of days last week (December '07), and the lady was very taken with Sam, and expressed her profound astonishment at Sam and her fur-sister Purr's intelligent behavior and friendliness. At the expense of again sounding like the crazy cat lady I will tell you this, dear reader: I explained to both cats, a few days before, especially Purr who is very good about this kind of thing, that Mama and Daddy were having people come into the house, that it was okay with us, and the people like cats (a slight prevarication there -- the man can't stand cats); and that they needed to be good, and let themselves be touched and petted. And, they did.

I held Sam up to the female half of our visitors and whispered to her who it was, and that Sam should say Hi. "Watch for Sam to blink at you," I said, and much to the lady's surprise, Sam looked her right in the eye and Blinked. Very deliberately.

Drawing back in surprise, the lady (we'll call her S---) said, "What does that mean?!"

"She's saying Hi to you. Tell her Hi back, and blink at her in a friendly way, and she should return the gesture." S--- and Sam blinked back and forth like semaphores. The more blinking, the more laughter ensued.

Havana Brown - Animal Attractions TV

S--- wanted to hold Sam but I, ever monitoring Sam's reactions, sensed a bit of excitement or strain and demurred, saying Sam had been through a round of doctor poking, prodding and touching just recently and might not be amenable to "other people" close, hugging contact right at the moment. But petting might be just the ticket. "This nice lady here, Sam. This is S--- [just to remind Sam of our earlier conversation about visitors]. S--- likes Sam, says this Sam pretty Sam. Can S--- pet this Sam?"

To my over-protective surprise, Sam reached out with her paw and after a hesitation, S--- took it, grinning hugely. She is a dog lover, but maybe that night will open a new interest. She said she spends a lot of time alone, and would like a little friend to cuddle with.

Sam Never fails to amaze me.

The man and Sam's Daddy were playing with Sam near her kitty tree while S--- and I talked in the kitchen. I could hear Sam racing about and Sam's Daddy laughing. Sam's Daddy was pulling Sam's favorite orange ribbon across the floor and the base of the kitty tree.

Suddenly both guys exclaimed and amid the laughter I heard the man say "This supposedly sick cat just jumped five feet in the air! She's feeling pretty good for an old cat!"

I didn't tell him but 12 years old in a cat is equivalent to 55 in a human so actually she is younger than he.

I sent them this video about Havana Brown Cats. If she liked our "Faux Havana Brown" Sam, she should love a real Havana Brown.

If you see no video titled "Havana Brown Cats -- Animal Attractions TV" at above left, here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiVtk29l8kQ

Sam, the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (breast cancer) has survived almost two years since the diagnosis (July 23, 2006). At that time 2 centimeter lump was removed from Sam's "stomach", or breast. Here Sam the Black Cat is lounging in her warm "smiley" blanket on the heated bed and smiling at Mama with the camera.

Sam, the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (breast cancer) has survived almost two years since the diagnosis (July 23, 2006). At that time a 2 centimeter lump was removed from Sam's "stomach", or breast.

Here Sam the Black Cat is lounging in her warm "smiley" blanket on the heated bed and smiling at Mama and the camera.

Thank you so much, to those of you who have written me about Sam, and your cats. I appreciate hearing from you all so much.

One lady said I had taken a "valiant stance" on Sam's treatment. Thank you, that's a simply Splendid thing to say!

I am endlessly thankful and grateful I have the time and resources to take care of her; especially when Sam and I are snuggled in bed together, with Sam purring, licking, drooling and kneading the sides of my neck, and even harder and louder when she hears me say "Mama loves you to pieces, Sam!" I hug her tighter and kiss her face, and pray in thanks that I can.

And another grateful thanks to Sam's Daddy, who has been more help than I can list here.

Continuation of Sam the Black Cat's Brush with Hyper Thyroid Symptoms

Concern about Sam's thyroid continued to plague me for a few days until I had collected and assimilated more information about the feline hyper thyroid condition as described above. University oncologist Dr. Short's comments about giving Sam Tapazole spurred me into asking her, "With all due respect, aren't Sam's kidneys being affected detrimentally by the piroxicam enough without doubling the harm by adding Tapizole?" She said something like, "If Sam doesn't take the Tapazole, then we'll have to lay her open on the operating table and remove the thyroid glands." Knowing how hard Sam heals now, and also that removing the thyroid glands only remove a part of the hormone-generating material, I knew I had to make these symptoms go away.

Cats after RadioCat iodine treatments must not be in physical contact with their owners more than ten to thirty minutes a day, for two weeks

Radiocat offers "Radiocat Radioiodine therapy and Hyperthyroidism, a condition caused by a benign tumor of the thyroid gland that’s currently the most common endocrine disease occurring in older cats"

I had already decided based on Internet research if Sam needed treatment for hyperthyroidism I would take her to Radiocat, as the University does not offer this service. The cat is injected with radioactive iodine, which kills All the hormone generating gland tissue. That's it. The cat will never need thyroid medications or surgery. (Cost: about $1500, depending on the size of the animal.) The prime drawback is, for the succeeding two week period, the cat can only be close to humans for a maximum of 10-30 minutes a day -- until the radioactivity wears off! Modern science is fascinating. Sam sleeps with me, lounges on me, asks to be hugged, and I would have to work out a way to stay within the restriction yet let her know she is still a very good girl, Mama is not mad at her, and in a little while snuggling will be okay again; that would be the hardest part of this particular procedure.

Sam had an appointment in January, then again in February, which I cancelled, using the reason of inclement weather, buying time for my improvised "cure" to work. By the time we returned to the University in March, the resulting report made no mention, thankfully, of thyroid.

Also by that time, Sam's original oncologist, whom I will call "Dr. Cheery", had returned from his out of state internship, and we were able to keep the pact made before he left, hand over paw over hand, that we all would meet again. We explained to the University our choice to have Dr. Cheery see Sam again had nothing to do with Dr. Short whatsoever, but everything to do with wanting Dr. Cheery to see how Sam had improved in the period of his absence.

Sam the Black Cat Rides in her Car to the University
If you see no video above of "Sam the Black Cat Rides in her Car to the University" please click here.

Sam the Black Cat Without Feline Adenocarcinoma, Returns to the University for Post Cancer/Chemo Checkup No. 3 on March 19, 2008

Sam was very good in the car. Upon arriving at the University I had a short talk with her again about being good, not biting "those girls", no hitting, and no claws on ANYbody, and that no one was going to hurt her, they just want to touch her little body, and see her tummy. That she would go to sleep, and when she woke up Mama and Daddy would be with her, and there would be no fur on the

In a post-cancer chemo checkup, the University said an ultrasound of Sam, the Black Cat with Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (breast cancer) shows infiltrative disease of multiple layers of her small intestine (March 2008), which might be due to feline lymphoma. Blissfully unaware of my concerns for her, in these pictures Sam is extraordinarily good tempered and patient about mama taking her picture as she poses on the table.

tummy. (They shave her for ultrasound, so I thought I would warn her. Does she understand? I don't know. Is it worth a try to communicate the idea to her? Always!)

When the tech came out to get her I reminded Sam again, then juggling her and the towel, laid the towel on the table and put Sam on it. The tech was darting between, trying to "help"; I appreciate what she was trying to do but needed to get Sam to focus on me, so I could wrap her up, and everytime Saw saw the tech's hands she startled and struggled to her feet. Gently I shouldered the tech aside and murmured to her, "Watch".

"Sam, lay down here. Mama wants to wrap Sam up with the towel. Just like after a bath, Sam." Sam reared up once, giving me a look that makes all Mamas go "Aww, poor baby!", hugged me and rubbed her silky soft muzzle on my cheek. I hugged her back and kissed her, saying "Mama will kiss and hug this Sam all the way home in Sam's car, in a little while. Right now Sam lay down here so Mama can wrap Sam in the towel."

Sam reluctantly laid down, and with the skill of a thousand repetitions I had her wrapped up in a few seconds. I try to be pragmatic about this, but her expression, the touch of her paws on my face and neck and the satin rub of her muzzle and warm breath affected me, and I fought the impulse to cry with worry. Handing the Sam bundle to the tech I instructed her to hold Sam tightly against her chest to keep the blanket tight, and the girl must have seen my concern, because she said "Sam will be fine, Sam is a good girl."

We returned from breakfast, waited and after a while the same tech came out and said she'd seen Dr. Cheery with a couple of tissue slides and my heart sank within me. That usually means he's found something.

She left and I, more to take my mind off the situation than anything else, went around and talked to some of the other pet owners. An older man with a cute white cockapoo-terrier mix looked a little worried too, so I sat down next to him and exercised my "dog whisperer" skills. I like dogs very much and would have another now, but Sam's Daddy is allergic to dogs (and only slightly less allergic to cats, as it turns out, but over the years the allergy has assimilated, or he has learned to tolerate it better). The dog was not very ill, thank goodness, and it cheered me to see the man lose his concerned expression and laugh.

A beautiful, large well behaved dog with decorations on her harness went to the exam room and I noticed his "parents" looked especially grieved (which is not too unusual, as this is the place very sick animals come). Their dog had had radiation treatments for 14 days in a row; cancer in her leg, then cancer somewhere else. We talked about how much this is costing us (they had that sort of expression; the subject popped right out quite naturally) and how we must love our "mutts" even though they aren't precious pedigreed animals, to put our hearts above our wallets this way. I love purebred animals, and the fact you can trace ailments or tendencies back through generations; you pay for this privilege, but you know what you are getting, and you have the breeder as an information source. However my heart belongs to this little Sam, despite her undistinguished ancestry.

The tech came out again to say Sam was doing fine and waking up, and while we were talking Dr. Short walked past, or I should say was dragged past by another Large dog. My tech sang out "How're you doing, B***? [her first name]"; Dr. Short looked over and I knew in the whirl of her distraction and it having been a few months, she didn't remember me immediately. Then I saw the look of recognition dawn, her face closed up and she made a little shaking-off gesture and mumbled something to herself.

Instantly I turned to the tech and said "Sam knows Dr. Short; she's the cat expert of the Vet Clinic." The tech replied "Oh yes, B*** helped prep Sam for Dr. Cheery, earlier." I thought Oh that's not very helpful to Dr. Short's ego, to have her client handed off to Dr. Cheery, the senior vet, and then have to do the dog-work, so to speak, as an assistant. And lord only knows if her supervisor told her the truth, or used the whole episode for some political purpose against her for unrelated reasons.

So for Sam's sake I poured on the compliments, burgeoning through the barrage of her almost-sullen expression until it dissipated. I was not unsympathetic to her status as a young professional trying to carve her own niche, having been there also, but I took my knocks in my day, and she will undoubtedly take hers in the course of her career. As I said to my boyfriend (Sam's Daddy) later, she is proficient in her reports and observations (she saw things about Sam no other intern or doctor there has noticed) and seems intelligent and devoted, and there's nothing wrong with her a few courses at a charm school wouldn't cure.

Finally Dr. Cheery appeared. He led off slowly, saying Sam had lost half a pound. I said I'd wondered, and felt badly for not giving her more whipping cream to drink (the kind in the dairy carton). He said milk is not good for cats and could cause pancreatic problems. I stared at him and said "Why didn't you say that on the phone when I told you I was giving her milk and cream with her meals?" He said "Well ... " and glanced at Sam's Daddy, and laughed. I said "I only give her a teaspoon or two at a time! Do you think I pour out half a cup and let it rot for hours while she decides whether to drink it?" He said "Why cream?" I replied, "Fight cancer with high fat." He looked surprised and said, "Well that's true."

Dr. Cheery said Sam's mesenteric gland is enlarged, her liver shows abnormal changes, which turned out to be a mild lipid accumulation (fatty liver accumulation) and an infiltrative condition is appearing in her small intestine. They are not sure what that is, and their past experience doesn't give an answer. We discussed cats can get seven different kinds of cancer, and what is developing in her intestines may be feline intestinal lymphoma, but the ultrasound does not give enough detail to form a definitive diagnosis.

What would provide that would be exploratory surgery.

He was watching me closely as he said it, but I had the tight control acquired from 20 years of corporate training holding my facial muscles steady. He went on to say, "... at a cost of $1500 to 2000."

Now money isn't the issue. What was running through my mind was, Sam had a very hard time healing from this last lumpectomy, which I told him at this point, also slipping in the aside that on the occasion of Dr. Cheery next speaking with Sam's local vet, large kudos would be a professionally kind thing to give, as that blessed man took the initiative to also remove the inguinal gland or node closest to the cancer lump, and it turned out to be cancerous also. What came first, the cancer in the gland or the lump, spreading to the gland? Dr. Cheery said he didn't know, and we may never know.

Pressing my small advantage, I said "Why isn't there a micro piece of technology she could swallow, that would show you her intestines? Can you do a cat colonectomy?" He looked surprised and said "That's an idea. But the problem is, this infiltrative process involves multiple layers of the intestine, and we would only be seeing that inside layer." I thought, when Daddy had that procedure done, biopsies of the intestine were done through the colonectomy tube. Could they not do this with Sam too? I decided to hold onto that idea for further research. The problem with that is, the limited amount of tissue obtainable with that method lessens the chance of a definite diagnosis, though some facts may be ascertained.

He outlined the surgical procedure a little more, and I could see Sam's Daddy, out of view of Dr. Cheery, shaking his head "no". I heard him out, then asked him, "Give me the odds of a definitive analysis of Sam's condition after the surgery." I will give him credit for reading my mind, as he immediately said "We will be able to see better, which may help our diagnosis, but I cannot guarantee that even by looking inside her, that we'll know what is the matter. What we may be able to rule out, is intestinal cancer such as lymphoma.

"Conservatively, what we can do is watch Sam for vomiting, diarrhea, decreased appetite, and weight loss. The weight loss bothers me. We could re-ultrasound her in a month to see if the changes seen on today's ultrasound are still present."

He is right about the surgery being the best way to get a full-layered bit of tissue for analysis, and to rule out not only feline intestinal lymphoma, but also inflammatory bowel disease, though he says the changes in her intestine seen on the ultrasound do not exactly correspond to that.

Here is a good overview article about cat / feline intestinal lymphoma (cancer), chemotherapy, life expectancies, symptoms, and the reasoning behind needing a tissue biopsy, updated in early 2007. Though it's pretty dire, there was one ray of sunshine: Siamese cats have a more favorable response to treatment than other breeds.

Sam's University Veterinary report says they will send more piroxicam as needed, and they gave us a 90 day supply. At the end of the report Dr. Cheery wrote, "Sam is a great pet and was a pleasure to see again!"

I am still musing over this. I do not want to cut Sam open just to look, or even to get a large tissue sample. Yet I want to catch it early, whatever is happening to her. I think, at this time, one month is too soon for another ultrasound, unless Sam starts showing symptoms as he described -- vomiting, diarrhea, etc. Perhaps in two months, or ten weeks, or possibly when her pills run out, if she is still all right.

She is eating well at this time, not wolfing, but steadily, sometimes leaving for a rest and returning to finish her food; she gets about 1/4 to 1/3 cup of wet food per meal, and of different brands now, not only the Friskies wet food. She did have a slight bout of diarrhea two nights ago, but I felt it was because ate some fried fish. She eats her vitamins without protest, and we grow oat grass for her -- she loves it.

It's still too early for her to spend much time outside, but we have been out walking around. The new neighbors have a cat they let out. I don't care where else on Sam's property the cat goes, but it had better learn to avoid Sam when she is in her yard on her lead, or Sam's Mama will have to do something about it.

I feel Sam's being outside in the fresh air and sun and not in the stuffy house is very good for her. Also I smoke, though I am very careful not to do it in Sam's vicinity or in the rooms the cats spend the most time in; I run the fans and open the windows. It must help some, because non-smoking visitors say the house doesn't smell.

We got her a carton of cream (to fight the weight loss), but Sam let us know it was spoiled, though it didn't smell bad. Upon examining the contents I found curds, so back it went to the store. I just now reminded Sam's Daddy to please get some more.

Thank you to everyone for all the kind comments, sympathies and good wishes. I know I am not alone in this; I have heard from many cat parents now whose animals have or have had cancer. My great love for Sam will continue to drive me to keep her alive, for as long as she is happy and having a good life, and hearing from you helps keep my spirits up. I know Sam can't live forever, but I must do my utmost to cheat the old bastard Death out of as many months of Sam's life as I can.

July 28, 2009

Just a quick note to say . .

Sam is still with us! after two more lumpectomies.

This month, July 2009, marks three years since the horrible diagnosis of Mammary cancer in my cat Sam. At that time the doctors said my beloved Sam only had a month to live.

Thanks so much to all who've asked about her, and best wishes and all the love and sympathy in the world to those of you who're suffering from Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma right along with your poor cats. Keep smiling and keep fighting.

I have a substantial update for this page, on my laptop, which is malfunctioning right now. Please bear with me.

Sam sends her love and best wishes too.

Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (Breast Cancer, Tumors): My Cat Sam's Story

Sam the Cat was diagnosed with mammary adenocarcinoma -- breast tumors -- on

July 23, 2006.

Her veterinarian gave her only four to six weeks to live.

A Smart Cat is a Fun Cat | The Horror: Finding a Lump | The Cancer Treatment | Is There Hope For Sam? | The Fourth Chemo Treatment: An Update | "You Sure Don't Act Like A Sick Kitty, Sam!"

October 18, 2006: Sam Has a Complete Blood Count Done | A Nervous Cat at the Veterinarian's | Finding a Good Match in Vets | Is Sam the Cat 'Poorly Socialized'?

Sam's 11th Birthday | 100 Hours of Obedience Training Pays Off (Yet Again) | A Rollercoaster: Change in Plan for Sam's Second Cancer Surgery (bilateral mastectomy surgery)

How much do Cancer Treatments for Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (Cat Breast Cancer) Cost? (On right of page, under the Dollar Sign Cat)

Rexin-G: New Drug for Cancerous Tumors (Gene Therapy) | Notes and Links on Rexin-G, a Cancer Tumor Reducing drug | Can the University Provide Rexin-G Treatments for Sam's Cancer? |

Hopes of Cancer Remission: Sam's Mama's Christmas Gift | To Tell Sam About Going to the Veterinarian or Not? Sam Gives Her Answer (Part 1 and 2)

Questions: How long will a cat live with feline mammary adenocarcinoma? | How did you know Sam had feline cancer? | Do your cats have their vaccinations? | How is your cat Sam reacting to the chemo drugs? | How did you get your veterinarian to let you hold your cat Sam in the examining room? |

Feline Cancer Links | Sam's Large Photo Page | Check out Sam's videos

I trained my other cat Fur using a chair. Sam would hop up on the chair of her own volition, as if to say, "Me Next, Mama!" Of course, Mama was happy to oblige.

Sam is the light of my life -- a sweet, personable blackish-brown cat, who from the very first has gotten under my skin and into my heart over the almost eleven years she's been a part of our Farhaven family.

A Very Smart Cat (Is a Fun Cat)

Sam can also reason and make decisions when given a choice. It's awe inspiring to see her bow her head, thinking about what was said, then react. Not that she always agrees! But there is no doubt of her comprehension.

(Note: I hear you saying, "anthropomorphizing". No. I have had enough experience with animals, and I assert, she understands. After as much training as she has had, she has proved herself.)

And best of all, Sam understands that Mama is a sentient being too. Upon hearing me say her name she turns and looks me straight in the eye.

Sam goes Techno

New Sam Video Clip: Sam Rolling Outside in the Sun from MySpace.com.

Sam before cancer DX Sam's page at MySpace.com Sam would very much like to hear from you. Sam has the honor of having a very famous "MySpace friend" (hint, hint); click to see a screenshot. See Sam's MySpace Page and be her friend.

Sam would very much like to hear from you. Sam has the honor of having a very famous "MySpace friend" (hint, hint); click to see a screenshot.

The Horror

"In the midst of life, we are in death"

The lump was removed and biopsied, and the horrifying news came back: the lump was composed of cancerous cells, originating in Sam's lymphatic system. The vet gave her four to six weeks to live.

To say my world was shattered doesn't even begin to describe my agony. For ten years this little sweetheart slept with me every night with her 'arms' around my neck, snuggling and purring and licking my face until she dozed off. My friend, my soul baby.

There had to be a way to fight back, to trample and kill the disease that threatened to kill her.

The Treatment

Sam now goes to the university for chemo treatments. It seems we caught the cancer a little early -- the lump was between two and three centimeters, which can be the difference between three years of life and one.

She tolerates the chemo pretty well. I wish we could say the same for the poor doctor; they have to sedate her for each treatment. Secretly I'm glad, since if she jerks suddenly they may miss the vein and from what I've read, that wouldn't be good at all.

Is There Good News for Sam? "strength is in believing, hope never dies." -- Supriya Gupta

Yes, I'm happy, and grateful, but at the same time I hardly dare hope.

Thank you to all my dear friends who have expressed their concern for Sam, and also for her Mama and Daddy. I appreciate your caring, and your kind words and thoughts mean more than I can say.

Sept. 25, 2006

Update: The Fourth Chemo Treatment

October 11, 2006

Sam was at the University for four hours today. The doctor says he's come up with a new way to examine the always reluctant Sam: give her a light sedation right at the outset; accordingly they monitor her until she's awake again, so it takes longer.

He gave her the same two chemo drugs as last time for this session, and we must bring her back again in three weeks on November 1st, which will be a turning point. If these drugs don't work, then at that time he will try two others.

Sam also has to go to her regular vet for a complete blood count next week. Oh joy (not)! At least she's getting more accustomed to her usual vet, partly because he's been very accommodating about her fears, doing the blood draw while I hold her and talk soothingly to her.

She has lost weight, and I tried to feed her Iam's Maximum Calorie food, but she won't eat it. We do mix her piroxicam pill with canola oil for the omega fatty acids, and I troll the Internet for more information.

"You Sure Don't Act Like A Sick Kitty, Sam!"

Kitty business-as-usual: You can't keep a good cat down

She sleeps a lot, but then most adult cats do.

Hungry Cats and the Morning Wake Up Call

Who says you can't train a cat?

See this video full size: Opens in a new window

Sam is such a camera ham when she's in the mood. Note her "racy chemo kitty cut" -- we take great care to tell her how nice her tummy looks with her new "Mohawk". Click pictures to see larger versions (opens in a new window).

Feline Breast Cancer (Mammary Adenocarcinoma) Treatment Cost

Remove Lump, Analyze, Surgical Aftercare

$700

X-rays Chest and Abdomen, Exam, Sedation (2 trips)

250

Chemo, Exam & Ultrasound

750

2 CBCs (Complete Blood Count)

90

Chemo 2nd

350

2 CBCs

90

Chemo 3rd & Ultrasound

400

Chemo 4th

300

1 CBC

45

Chemo 5th

300

Chemo 6th, pre-surgery exam, Ultrasound

600

2 CBCs

90

Chemo 7th, exam of chemo dermal reaction

240

Chemo 8th (12-27-06)

240

CBC

45

Chemo 9th

240

How much do Cancer Treatments for Feline Mammary Adenocarcinoma (Cat Breast Cancer) Cost?
(On right of page, under the Dollar Sign Cat)

Sam before cancer DX

Sam's page at MySpace.com

Sam would very much like to hear from you. Sam has the honor of having a very famous "MySpace friend" (hint, hint); click to see a screenshot.

See Sam's MySpace Page and be her friend.

Is There Good News for Sam?

"strength is in believing, hope never dies." -- Supriya Gupta