Best-laid plans went adrift today – instead of lunching in a writerly way with two other literary ladies, I had to make an emergency visit to the vet with Mystic.
For the third time since the Old Boys came to live with me, he was holding his left eye closed this morning, and when I gently opened it to check it was all flared up and red with infection.
He’s had a two-week antibiotic injection, has eyedrops to be administered thrice daily. This is familiar ground.
However, the vet and I got on to the subject of the skin cancer, since it seems unlikely to me that all this life eye trouble is totally unrelated to the left nostril erosion that’s visible on the outside.
The new erosion has progressed more rapidly than the one that was there six months ago, and indeed is bigger than the first one. So since cats in general, and Mystic in particular, are so uncomplaining about pain or discomfort, we’ve added a daily dose of painkiller just in case.
The vet mentioned a specialist cancer vet a couple of counties away, but I feel at Mystic’s age and with the condition being ultimately unbeatable, it would be harsh to keep driving him up and down the M5 regularly for treatment that won’t save him. I’d be glad of advice and comments from anyone who may have been in this situation.
I plan to continue with the nicest of food and lots of cuddles. Ironically, apart from the cancer his condition is superb, as is also true of Fluff and Felix – they all look so much better than when they first came home.
I’ll do my best.