Feline Squamous Cell Carcinoma - George's Story

This "tail" begins in early August of 2007. George was my 14 year old gray and white boy with a bright pink nose. His nose actually changed color if he was ill or sad or annoyed or happy. His own built-in mood ring, if you will. I had raised him and his 3 siblings, Grace, Ephraim and Smudge since they were wild, tiny 4 week old bundles of fur. Grace and Effie were tamed at first touch. Smudge growled at me for 2 days straight then decided I wasn't so bad. It took 2 solid weeks of constant effort until George willingly allowed me to handle him. But once he did, my lap was never empty - unless he was wrapped around my shoulders or asleep on my chest. All 22lbs of him.

So this is George's story of his brave battle with feline squamous cell carcinoma. I miss my boy more than words can say. But I hope this journal will help others out there who are facing the same thing. George would like that.

August 4, 2007 - George has a "bump" again, in other words an eosinophilic granuloma, and is drooling a tiny bit. We go see my vet who gives him a shot of steroids (Depo) and sends him home, just as we've done for the 12 years he's had it. We go on about our daily lives thinking the problem is resolved.

August 18, 2007 - George is drooling more and not eating well. It's very unusual and I'm worried. I take him back to the vet who notices a small lump on the right side of his tongue. She pronounces it cancer, tells me George has very little time to live, the end will be awful, gives me a bottle of Meticam (which I never give him) and sends him home to die. I am blindsided by this news as well as confused, upset, hurt, scared and more. I decide to take him to my dog's cancer vet in hopes there is something that can be done.

August 22, 2007 - We go see Dr. Stephanie Monk, my dog's cancer vet. Steph is a wonderful, caring human being who loves her patients nearly as much as the owners do. She looks George over and thinks we should take the cautious approach and make sure it's not just an infection or the EG taking more time to heal. She does tell me that if it is cancer there are many things we can do to make his life comfortable, happy and potentially longer with a good quality to it. I am hopeful.

Early September 2007 - George is still not eating well and drooling more. Nothing seems to be improving. I am feeding him cat food mush. He eats very little at a time, but it is obvious he's hungry and very interested in food, especially the dry Cat Chow Vitality that has always been his favorite. Despite that he remains positive and happy, the king of all he surveys. I worry constantly. Steph thinks it's time for a biopsy because the mass is still there, although not as inflamed after his round of antibiotics. I agree. We discuss several different cancer treatments, her favored one being Piroxicam. I am concerned over the possible side effects, like kidney failure, but Steph assures me that it is something we will monitor closely and act on immediately if it happens. She tells me that piroxicam has helped many cats with oral cancer and often slows the tumor growth or in rare cases makes it shrink slightly for a period of time. We also discuss the possibility of giving George a feeding tube. I am initially horrified at the idea, thinking that is a painful, cruel thing. She quickly allays my fears and tells me that they are very common and most helpful for cats with cancer since they can get all the food, liquid and medication directly in the tube with no discomfort to the cat. I go home that night and begin looking for information about all this on the internet.

September 12, 2007 - It's cancer. The biopsy is back and my dear George has cancer. I cry for a long time, then pull myself together and make plans on what to do for him. He's actually eating better since the biopsy. The dr. removed a good portion of the tumor and it seems to have helped. George is allergic to Clavamox and is on Clindamycin, which he actually enjoys taking, and a low dose of pain medicine to ease any post-operative hurts. The drooling is almost non-existant and he's feeling good.

September 16, 2007 - He hasn't eaten for 2 days and has no interest in anything. I try to tempt him 6 or 8 times a day with his favorite foods and there is no response. I am desperately worried and upset. Steph is encouraging me to do what I think is best and still thinks that a feeding tube and piroxicam would greatly benefit George.

September 18, 2007 - George has the feeding tube "installed" and stays at the Eastern Maine Emergency Veterinary Clinic in Brewer overnight to be monitored. The ladies there fall in love with him and comment on how sweet, patient and gentle he is. I call several times in the night to check on him, my sister runs in to visit him and all is well. For the first night in awhile I sleep peacefully.

September 19, 2007 - I pick George up at the vet that afternoon. He's sporting a 2" long piece of tube with a blue cap sticking out of the left side of his neck, covered in a handsome blue Vetrap bandage. One of the techs gives me a quick feeding lesson - canned a/d watered down a bit with his Tramadol (for pain) crushed and added, sucked into a syringe, put into the tube a bit at a time after first being flushed with some water, then flush with more water, put the cap on and we're done. By the end of it George is purring madly, his tummy full and his body relaxed. I knew instantly I'd done the perfect thing for my boy. I go home with all his medication, food, syringes and instructions and settle into our new routine.

September 20, 2007 - George begins his piroxicam - 5ml every 3 days, based upon his weight which is now around 20lbs. I marvel at the ease of his care and how relaxed and content he is.

Late September 2007 thru January 22, 2008 - All these months have passed with little change in George. He drools quite a bit, but he and I have our little drool jokes. I tell him I feel like I'm living with a miniature St. Bernard. Occasionally I'll see him with a string of drool slung over his head. I call it a drool-over instead of a comb-over. He gave up drinking water on his own in late December. He's had a couple of low times with a small infection in his mouth, but a round of Baytril soon cleared that up. Several times he's had to have his feeding tube restitched. Steph says he's the only cat she's ever met who can have stitches put in while awake. He just lies there patiently while she stitches everything back in place. Not many cats need to be restitched, she tells me. George just happens to be a busy scratcher and bather. His tumor is static and causing him very little trouble. The piroxicam is working well but his kidney values have gone up slightly. I feel momentarily deflated when Steph tells me she wants to err on the side of caution and give it to him every 4 days instead. That little bottle of medicine, costing me a mere $20 a month, is helping to keep my precious boy with me. His Tramadol is on the $4 list at Wal-Mart, his Prilosec is cheap. I note in my mind that this is a relatively inexpensive disease to treat. But only monetarily. The real cost is his life. I know that all these months have passed and this beautiful time won't last forever.

February 4, 2008 - His newest test results are in for his kidneys. The levels have gone up enough so Steph wants me to give him sub-cutaneous (subq) fluids, 100ml every other day. It's an easy process. Since George is always thrilled to have feeding time - running like the wind onto my bed, jumping into the middle of the pillows and giving me clear access to his tube, purring all the while - I am hopeful he'll like being poked between the shoulder blades with a very large needle and having a 5 minute snuggle session while the fluid drips away. I hang the fluid bag off the hook for my curtain tieback, shoo the other kitties away from playing with the line, hold my breath, give him a poke and start the line dripping. No surprise - he likes it. I also have a new nickname to tease him with: Hunchback. That 100mls of fluid makes quite a hump on his shoulder. Thinking back on it now I could've called him my camel boy.

Early February 2008 thru Early April 2008 - George is happy and content, still the king of the household. He's never lost interest in food, sometimes trying to eat by rubbing his nose in the dish, and is playful and busy, keeping an eye on the wild turkeys outside. But there are changes. His tumor is growing and his lower jaw twists at a strange angle. Then suddenly his jaw is back in alignment but seems to be receding. His mouth bleeds on occasion. Late in the second week of April his drool is no longer clear, but nasty and turns his face, legs and chest dirty and unpleasant. George, with his marvelous white ruff, hates to be unclean. I begin to give him baths which, of course, he enjoys. But he still balks at being brushed, just as he has from kittenhood. I tell him that if he can have his stitches resewn without being knocked out, surely he can stand me brushing his fur. He meows at me and tries to slap the brush out of my hand. Silly boy. We've increased his dosage of Tramadol to 12.5mg 3 times daily and he's still alert and doing fine. Steph says that even though he is obviously a cat with an incredibly high tolerance for pain, making sure he has no pain is a big priority. I could not agree more. His weight has dropped down to just over 14lbs despite his regular feedings. He's on Baytril or Clindamycin nearly all the time now to stave off any infections.

April 22 thru April 24, 2008 - George had been to see Steph on Tuesday and was anxious, uncooperative and found it hard to breathe. She opted not to do much of an exam because he was so stressed, not like George at all. I knew things were coming to an end with him, but waited for him to give me the signal. Steph told me before that he'd let me know when it was time for him to go, but up to this point I'd seen no signs. Wednesday was a lovely day for George, his siblings and me. He cuddled around my neck like old times, purring like crazy. We lounged around much of the day, but by late evening his breathing was getting noisy. I laid in bed most of the night listening to him. At 7:32am I was awakened by terrible noises as he gasped for breath. The episode lasted only 3 or 4 minutes, but left him spent. It was time. My boy wasn't going to endure anything so awful again. I called the vet at 10:30 to make the appointment, hoping during those 3 hours I'd see some kind of miracle with George so he could be with me longer. The appointment was set for 2:30 that afternoon. I told George that in just a few hours he'd be well again and he was going to see Pippin (his feline mother) and my dear Kate who had died just 11 weeks to the day earlier of heart failure. His whole body relaxed and his breathing eased. I went through our normal routine, giving him his last meal and medications, just like a regular day. His siblings cuddled around him, washing his ears. They'd never been separated for more than 1 night in almost 15 years. I laid on my bed, cats crowded around me, George comfy in his pile of pillows, reaching up to bump my nose with his every now and again. He stretched out on his back, waiting for a tummy rub. It was something he hadn't done for months because the drool would make him choke. Today he didn't care. At 1:45 we left our home and life together for the last time. We arrived promptly for our appointment. As Steph guided him gently through the process, looking at the beautiful, healthy body overtaken by this disease she commented that cancer is an evil thing. How very true.

George died peacefully at about 3pm. He was free.