The good news is, I still have my little dragon. That's right. Harley is still kicking it, much to the surprise of my vet. When I called for refills on his prescriptions she said, "Frankly, I'm a bit surprised you're still calling me about him. He must be a real fighter." Oh honey, you have NO idea.
People always ask, "Is he still eating? You'll know he's near the end when he stops eating." And the answer is yes. He is eating me out of house and home. Why, you may ask? Because he now mostly only eats premium food. Oh, I still give him the usual stuff. And he'll eat that too, but the second I say the "v" word, he forgets there's anything else...
The "v" word, you may ask? My friend Jen was up visiting, shortly after Harley's diagnosis. We had to run out to pick up more cat food and I said I was thinking of buying him a treat, just to spoil him a little. (Cuz that never happens....) Jen says, "You can buy him venison..." You've never seen a sixteen-year-old-cat-with-cancer's head snap around so fast. His ears perked up and his eyes got big. (I'm talking Disney big.) It was decided.
Now, for those of you who know me, you know that my totem animal is the deer. As such, I cannot stand venison. Yes, I've actually tried venison. Venison steak, venison jerky, venison sausage... yuck, yuck, YUCK. I can't even stand the smell of venison. So the fact that my cat wanted to eat venison was already a tad disconcerting.
Flash forward to the pet supply store. We pick up the usual cat food (special food for my Shoe, nummy food for my Loki, and nutritious food for my Harley). I then proceed to walk up and down the aisles looking for venison. At first, I must admit I wasn't looking that hard. But then, realizing I had promised Harley I would pick some up for him, it became a mission. After what seemed like forever, I finally found ONE company (one!) that had venison in gravy. In a teeeeeeeny tiiiiiny can. For almost a dollar each. Each can. Each teeny freakin' can. But... a promise is a promise, so I picked one up for him.
I admit, I had hoped he wouldn't like it. I had hoped he would think it was disgusting like I do. I swear, I puke a little in my mouth when I open the can. The smell... Urgh... the smell... Anyway, I give him the can. He devours it in no time flat and then looks at me as if to say, "That can was tiny. You bought more than one, right? RIGHT?" *sigh*
So now, I get woken up every morning, usually 1/2 hour BEFORE my alarm goes off, by Harley standing on my head and screaming. He does this until I get up and give him venison. I've tried everything. I've tried to ignore him. Somehow, I can manage to block out the deafening yell in my ear, but can't get past when he tickles my nose with his whiskers. (Never let him fool you into thinking he ain't smart.) I've tried getting up and giving him regular food. He eats a bit of that and then goes back to standing on my head and doing his impression of an ambulance. The only thing I've found that even attempts to work is to kick all of the cats out of the bedroom and shut the door. This, of course, prevents him from standing on my head, but only makes the screaming louder. And I hadn't thought it could GET louder.... The instant that I put him in the hall and shut the door, he turns and yells louder and louder until I let him back in. Should the screaming not work, it escalates to pounding on the door.
On those rare occasions where he gives up before I give in, he does so only long enough to throw up EV-ERY-WHERE. Once the whole house is covered in cat vomit, he then goes back to screaming and pounding on the door. He's persistent, I'll give him that...
Well, I'd keep writing, but I guess it's time for more venison. There's a cat on my head. Screaming. Loudly. Subtle, he ain't....
