Midnight Crossed the Rainbow Bridge Yesterday

After receiving a "stay of euthanasia" twice, Midnight declined Saturday afternoon and kept going.

I contacted Dr. Beechler on Monday morning, and she only had one open time - and that was in thirty minutes.

In a very surreal, quick pivoting hour, the four of us jumped off work to send Midnight onto her final journey and then jumped back onto work an hour later.

The passage was slightly less smooth than we'd hoped, but in exchange Midnight received nearly three more weeks of life, where she saw the Christmas tree one more time (Timothy put it up early because she loves the lights), frolicked outside in the unseasonably warm weather (maybe God arranged that just for her), frolicked outside in the snow (maybe God arranged that, too, because Midnight also loved snow), ate a huge variety of wet cat food to tempt a capricious appetite (a wider variety in her last three weeks than her other eighteen years total), and reveled in many snuggles and pettings.

Midnight started her life in a horrible way with being dumped with her siblings in a carrier. But my oldest son Christopher just happened to stumbled upon that carrier and brought the kittens to his home.

Christopher found homes for all the kittens except Midnight, who was little and scared and skittish and full of ear mites and tapeworms (yes, tapeworms). So when she was sixteen weeks, he asked us to take her.

When we arrived at his Elwood home, she bolted, much the same way she bolted yesterday when she saw Dr. Beechler. But Christopher pulled her out from hiding and gave her to me. To help Midnight feel secure, I curled up in his recliner and just tightly held her. The sun was warm, and I was overtired from the route (I was always overtired in those days; we had so many short nights and long days) that we both nodded off.

I told the kids not to get attached, that we were proving hospice care. It took months to to get rid of the tapeworms, just long enough for Midnight to dash outside at one o'clock in the morning at nine months of age when the mercury registered eighteen below zero and get pregnant with the kittens Ron would later name Faith, Hope, and Charity.

But none of the kittens had worms, and by the time of their birth, neither did Midnight. And in due time, we sent all four for a mass spaying and neutering.

So Midnight had a rough start to her life, but that's not how she lived the rest of it. Sure, times got a little rocky during our homeless period after Ron got the dementia and lost his job (which led to the eventual loss of our home and years of juggling and scrambling).

But somehow we all managed to survive, and we met some wonderful people along the way that we'd never have met otherwise. And that includes Dr. Beechler yesterday.

For, again, Midnight had a rough start to her life, but she didn't go out that way.

Instead, she went out on soft blankets, held with reassuring hands, and surrounded by four people who loved her.

Faith and Midnight

We never expected to wind up with two cats with cancer.

We're grateful to everyone's whose prayed, thought good thoughts, and sent out healing energy their way.

Today's blog seems the best way to update everyone, since both cats had some medical stuff these past few weeks.

Yes, they are both alive and stable. It's not that kind of update.

Midnight

Midnight came to us at four months of age. Someone had thrown Midnight away along with her siblings. Christopher discovered them, rescued them, cared for them, and found homes for all except Midnight because she was "skittish" and no one wanted her.

So I named her Midnight and picked her up from his house when she was sixteen weeks (that's the short story).

Well, Midnight was skittish because she was sick, underweight, and fighting amongst the bigger cats at Christopher's house for her food. She had ear mites and tape worms, and I didn't expect her to live.

Our veterinarian would not spay her until she was free of heartworm segments. For months, Midnight had regular deworming treatments and we regularly submitted stool samples for testing. Midnight could not be spayed until she was tapeworm-free.

Well, one night she was nine months old and the temperature was eighteen degrees below zero, Midnight dashed out of the house at one in the morning as we were leaving to deliver newspapers. We circled back several times, calling out, "Midnight" all around the yard in the middle of the night.

Around four in the morning, Midnight crawled out from under the deck with three cats and she was not cold at all. I'm sure you know where this story is going.

Ron wouldn't hear of breaking up the family. He named the kittens Faith, Hope, and Charity, and we now had five cats instead of just our rescue cat Frances.

Charity used all all nine lives in three years.

Hope died in July two days before my birthday.

Fast forward to the last couple of years: Midnight's had three surgeries in two years to remove aggressive spindle cell sarcoma tumors from her back. Each time, they've regrown more quickly than the last. She'd barely recovered from the last surgery when the growths reappeared. They grow larger every day. I now call them "Tina Tumors."

The insidiousness of spindle cell sarcomas is that the part you see is not the evil part. These sarcomas finger out and and out, typically with the lungs as their destination.

After consulting with Midnight's primary, oncologist, and surgeon, we learned that, even at eighteen, Midnight is a great candidate for additional surgery. All her bloodwork is perfect. She does have a grade one heart murmur that isn't always detectable. The heart murmur is not a barrier to more surgery.

However.

The next surgery would need extremely wide margins with the goal of removing all the tumors, going into muscle and part of her spine. She would need radiation five days a week and spend most of her days for eight weeks waiting in a cage for those treatments.

None of this will cure her, although it may buy her time. But what kind of time?

Midnight is terrified of all of it and she was shaking hard when Timothy had to leave her for her CT scan.

Oh, and she also has feline gastrointestinal eosinophilic sclerosing fibroplasia with two lymph nodes involvements.

Midnight can't decide for herself, so we decided for her.

We decided no more surgery for Midnight unless one of her tumors rupture or become necrotic. The surgeon said he could still remove the affected section should it happen as a palliative care option.

The heartbreaking part is that Midnight, at eighteen and dealing with all of this, is still Midnight in personality and activity level. And she may still be her regular Midnight self when it comes time for euthanasia if the reason for euthanasia is this cancer.

The good news is that these tumors have not traveled to her lungs so far. They do seem located despite their rapid growths. Both Midnight's primary and her surgeon feel confident she may die from something else.

So Midnight has joined her daughter Faith in palliative care.

Faith

Faith, as you know, was diagnosed with small cell lymphoma in early April 2022. After much soul searching and multiple opinions, we chose palliative care (for many reasons), which her oncologist said would buy her two to three months.

Chemotherapy treatment, if Faith responded to it, could have theoretically bought her two to three years. 

Well, Faith has lived two and half on palliative alone. At the time of this writing, she is sitting next to me on my desk chair, chin on my arm, and meowing at me when I look at her.

But.

Faith is slowly losing weight.

She needs her anti-nausea medicine daily now - and has Zofran as a backup should she vomit or start eating and drinking less again. Fortunately, we haven't needed it yet.

She was treated for dehydration again a couple of weeks ago.

She is hiding more.

And she looks like an older cat.

Well, Faith is now an older cat.

Faith is a sixteen-year-old cat with cancer.

Some days, she just looks tired, like a clock that's winding down.

She does not look tired now. In this moment, she's now standing on the arm of my chair, nuzzling me for attention.

She tends to look down or away from the camera when I point it at her. Just six months ago, she was such a ham for the camera.

As sad as we'll be when the time to say goodbye arrives, we are so thankful.

We could have lost Midnight all those years ago when she was just a sick little kitten.

We could have only gotten two or three months with Faith after her diagnosis.

And we also almost euthanized Faith eleven months ago. We never dreamed she'd still be with us.

Last November she'd stopped eating and drinking. She was assessed by her primary and a doctor who euthanizes in the home. No one found a reason for Faith's decline. Her bloodwork was good. Her heart and lungs were normal. She had no palpable masses.

So Faith received a modified care plan and had two days to respond. Otherwise, humane euthanasia on the third day was recommended. Daniel was out of town for business for a couple of weeks at the time, and we did a "goodbye" video visit with him, since he and Faith are close.

One hour before Faith's scheduled euthanasia, she jumped off the bed and ran to her food bowl. I took a video and sent it to the doctor. She canceled the euthanasia.

Then we scheduled another euthanasia appointment for two days later, a Saturday, with her primary, just in case. If Faith declined again, we didn't want to drive her an hour away, with her suffering, just to end it all.

We canceled that one, too.

Later that Saturday, Faith left the ugliest, largest hair ball by her food ball I ever saw. That likely caused a blockage that could have killed her. Seriously, this thing was as wide as a sausage and half as long, with long spiky hair sticking out of it.

YUCK!

So now our daily routine looks like we're running an animal hospital, with medication rounds twice a day for both cats and regular weigh-ins. Midnight is taking two, Faith is taking three, and both have additional "as needed" medications, too.

So that's the "tail end" of our update. 

We are thankful.

We are grateful.

We are in awe.

Thank you for taking this journey with us. 

Happy Monday!

Six Cat Photos

We received the results of Faith's bloodwork yesterday, and she is, overall, doing really well, especially for a cat with cancer. A few numbers are a little off, either from the cancer or taking steroids for two years.

The lab did say she has a 95 percent chance of developing kidney failure in twenty-fourth months. We are not worried. She will be seventeen in April and was diagnosed with small cell lymphoma two years ago, which we opted to treat with palliative care only. Faith will most likely not be here in twenty-four months where kidney failure is a concern.

However, Faith gets concerned whenever I leave my room and will check up on me. I caught his photo at her eye level before she darted away (as if I didn't see her).

Here are a few photos I snapped of our cats: Faith (calico), Senna (tabby), and Midnight (black cat and Faith's mom).

All three cats are rescue cats.

Midnight and Me

After eating Thai food with Timothy at his townhouse on Friday night, Midnight jumped onto my lap for a long pet.

But my dress was thin, and Midnight's claws were sharp. So I set her on the kitchen floor and gave her a long petting. Afterwards, she moved a short distance away, done with petting but wanting to stay close.

That's when Timothy snapped three photos. 

None are particularly flattering, especially in the age of filters and social media smoke and mirrors, but who cares?

When I was looking at them, I realized we really didn't have any photos of Midnight (Faith's mom) and me over the last seventeen years. I don't care about selfies, and I'm often the one otherwise taking the cats photos.

So I really treasure these, especially with the run of losses we've had this year. And Midnight certainly doesn't care either.

Maybe it's because I'm a journalist that I prefer reality to look unvarnished.

At any rate, here's the trio of photos that showed Midnight and me enjoying our post-bonding on Friday night, looking as tired as we felt.

Have a great Tuesday!

Our Cats Went "Batty" Last Night

So this advertisement appeared in our BryonySeries email (bryonyseries@gmail.com) a few days ago.

After Rebekah and I had a little giggle over the pet cat bat wings, she ordered them.

I didn't know until they arrived yesterday.

So last night, after a family movie and pizza, we tried the bat wings on our cats.

The cats weren't thrilled.

They kept hanging their heads and refused to look at the camera - no matter how much we coaxed them.

We snapped their photos anyway.

Keep scrolling for Bat Midnight, Bat Senna, and Bat Faith!

BAT MIDNIGHT

BAT SENNA

BAT FAITH

Christmas "Hope" Ornament

Some people have "hope chests" into which they place items they'd like to use one day in their marriage.

On Friday night, Cindy "gifted" me with a "hope ornament" for my Christmas tree this year.

This "hope ornament" features all three of my cats: their names and their basic likenesses.

It's especially sweet considering that all three are seniors now and that two are not in good health.

Frances is eighteen, has full-body arthritis, and recently battled her first urinary tract infection.

Midnight is sixteen, slowing down, and had a sarcoma removed a couple years ago, so we have to watch her for further skin lesions. She might also be developing arthritis.

Faith, one of Midnight's "kittens," is fifteen and nearly died this spring. She has small cell lymphoma that we have decided to treat just with steriods, vitamin B, and medicine for nausea as needed. 

Charity, one of Midnight's "kittens," died quiet unexpectedly in 2013 and is buried in the backyard of our former Channahon home.

And Hope (yes, we have a cat named Hope), also one of Midnight's kittens, is living the fun life is Morris.

Photos of all four cats below the ornament photo.

And finally Hope - who is living her best life (not with us):

Blessed

On this day in 2014, my freelance career ended as I became an official employee of The Herald-News in Joliet and of the Shaw Media Network.

I'm also sixty-one and a half today. And in the midst of a pandemic and that it brings, I am feeling really blessed.

I was sick on the day I was hired (I didn't know it at the time) and was feeling pretty overhwhelmed. I had worked as an independent contractor for so many years and corporate rules had changed. I had never used  aMac. And I had no idea how to work any of the programs.

In fact, my last employer was Rax Roast Beef in Joliet. I was nineteen.

At the time I was hired, my three young children and I were officially homeless and had lived with relatives for nine months.

My husband had dementia and was also living with family. 

But the job enabled my family and I to move out in May to a small, two bedroom apartment in walkng distance from the job and near public transporation for my two youngest, who were both working and attending school at Joliet Junior College.

I walked back and forth to work nearly every day carrying every file and every piece of paper I might need and my laptop in this case. Through the years, I wore out the wheels of many, many cases since I put about five miles a day on them.

On top of the case went a cooler/lunchbox, which held enough food for a long day, in case I got busy and had to stay. I had no transporation and no money. 

I walked in nearly all kinds of weather: rain, wind, snow, heat, and on ice in zero degree weather. Zero degrees was my limit. If temperatures dipped below that, I made other transportation arrangements.

But I never not made it to work unless I was deliberately working from home.

After the first nine months at The Herald-News, the kids and I moved into a small, two-bedroom townhome and life felt a little easier. 

Two of my cats (Faith and Midnight) knew the routine and were not always happy to see me leave.

But I always left, no matter how much they tried to persuade me otherwise. The cats always seemed to beg for petting once I was suited up and ready to go. Strange...

Faith really liked the days I did work from home. Through the years, my time did become more flexible, and I gradually started working two days from home.

Bertrand the Mouse, went back and forth to work with me. That's how the world works. Real aimals stay home. Pretend ones can hitch a ride.

I have a huge collection of hats and wore a different one every day starting with Day One. Here is my "editor in the yellow hat" picture.

I also wore out my many pairs of thermal boots. Here is one such pair, from those early days.

Walking back and forth to work meant I could experience the seasons as they unfolded and bask in them. Here is one view on Springfield Avenue in Joliet.

And here is another view on Springfield Avenue in Joliet.

And here is one view from Glenwood Avenue in Joliet.

Bertrand, of course, didn't mind the cold.

At work, I had coffee, small gifts from friends, and plenty of inspiration tacked up to keep me grounded, motivated, and inspired.

This is Chloe "Lucky" Hawk, my office plant. A job shadower presented her to me. She is the only plant who has ever stayed alive (and flourished) under my care. I still have her.

Bertrand, of course, liked hanging out at the office...

...and reading the news...

...and getting a little exercise on my desk "jungle gym...

...and finding ways to amuse himself when I worked late, which happened a lot on Friday nights.

Eventually, Fridays became so busy, I stayed put and worked from home.

Of course, since writing fiction is my hobby, Saturdays could get a little busy. See Bertrand playing editor?

In October 2019, right before the start of the pandemic, my two youngest and I moved into a three-bedroom townhouse two doors down from the two-bedroom, where Timothy remained.

What a godsend to have the extra space! Because a few months later, we had a pandemic and went home work.

Because for six years (2013 to 2019) Rebekah and I shared a small bedroom, which also doubled as my home office.

Now she finally had her own room. And I had my own bedroom/office.

This is the view of my office space the day before we moved again into larger townhomes, just this past August. I was working; Rebekah and Jasmine were packing; and Rebekah had just had her first gall bladder attack ever and landed in the ER.

As you can see from above, it was a busy day.

Of course, when we started working from home again, Chloe came home, too. Home agreed with my office plant because she kept outgrowing her planters.

Here is Chloe today in my current home office work space. Chloe and the cats (Frances is pictured) have learned to share a window view.

This photo shows how much I love my job.

I was interviewing a photographer in The Herald-News conference room. He was known for his wonderful candids of the people in Nepal.

He sat with his camera on his lap the entire time. He claimed he had a knack for snapping candids of people without them being aware that he'd taken them.

I was skeptical, of course, but whatever.

After he left and I returned to my desk, I opened an email from him. 

Attached was this photo, taken during the interview.

My skepticism vanished.