About ten years ago, we adopted a litter of four feral kittens, one pure black female and her three brothers: a tuxedo (black-and-white), a taupe-colored, and a long-haired gray. They were named by the kids across the street who had been fostering them but couldn't keep them because of allergies. Their names were Whizzer (because she did), GotMilk (because he has a white "milk" mustache), Ashes (the cat in the gray flannel suit), and Chester (aka "Our Lady of Perpetual Surprise", because he always looks surprised).
We lost Whizzer about three years ago; out of the blue, she started acting strange and when I took her to my vet I was told to get her to a specialty hospital immediately because she was dying. Turns out she had lymphoma and it was very advanced. They kept asking me if she'd gotten into rat poison or something, and I kept telling them no because after we adopted them they'd become indoor cats and never went outside. We decided to put her down because she was in obvious pain and it wasn't going to get any better.
Fast-forward to last December, and GotMilk's story starts.
GotMilk developed a lump on the inside of his right hind leg and I figured it was the "normal" fatty cyst that comes with age, but took him to the vet anyhow. Upon aspirating the fluid, the vet was as surprised as I was to find that it was blood, and he was also having a coagulation problem. After a transfusion and some Vitamin K, he seemed better, the lump had shrunk, and he came home.
Then in February the lump got bigger, and it seemed like there was a lump on top of the lump, strange as that sounds. There was the coagulation problem again as well, and after another test fibrosarcoma was diagnosed. He disappeared under the bed, hid, and wouldn't eat. I called my vet to discuss another transfusion, and she called me back and said that the clinic from whom she requested the blood the last time wanted to see him, so I took him in.
They kept him for a few days, did a biopsy, couldn't figure out what was wrong, did a biopsy of the biopsy, and sent him home to await the results. In the interim, they had given me Cypro and Prednisone, and lo and behold the lump shrunk to the point where it could be excised.
That was two weeks ago. He came through the surgery with flying colors and came home the day after with a little t-shirt to hold the stitches in place, and a little pocket for the drain they'd placed for the fluid. It was actually pretty cute.
They finally got the diagnosis: subcutaneous hemangiosarcoma, which is a fancy way of saying he did have cancer. The surgeon got the entire tumor, but couldn't get margins and in fact had to cut a little bit of the muscle, but it's not bothering him very much at all. They asked us about radiation and we went as far as to make an appointment with a veterinary cancer center, but then decided against it and cancelled. We didn't want to put him through something like that knowing that the cancer will recur no matter what. Our vet will continue to monitor him once a month or more often if necessary, and we think that's the best for both him and us.
So he is happily ensconced in the spare bedroom, away from his brothers and half-sister (Pretzel), recovering. He is eating Fancy Feast and sleeping a lot, and purring so loudly I can hear him through the door. He is also driving the dog crazy, which is what he loves to do.
Just a step at a time.