The Late Great Goblin Kitty, or How We Became Cat Surgeons

Over the last year of his life, Goblin Kitty was prone to cystic swellings and/or abcesses around his head and neck that required lancing. The first occasion, we had noticed a large swelling on the side of his head behind his left ear. The fur covering that area had also fallen out, so we assumed it was a snake bite. Gobs was our wild thing, and he would definately have taken on a snake. We decided to wait until morning, and take him in to the vet if the swelling had not gone down. Gobs never liked to stay in the house overnight, so we let him back out at bedtime.

He did not show up for breakfast for the next two mornings. It was not uncommon for him to roam for a couple of days at a time, but with his injury we thought it most likely that he wanted to be alone for a while and he was hiding out. Also not an unusual trait for ill cats in general. We were, however, kicking ourselves for not keeping him inside that first night. On the third day, I began to suspect that he had gone off to die.

That afternoon, the back door was open because I had burned dinner and I was trying to air out the smoke before the alarm went off. Gobs walked right in the door. The Boy was closer to him and saw that the abcess had burst, and I could tell by his reaction that it was not something I wanted to look at. I have a strong stomach, and in my previous job I saw my share of diseased human parts, but only after they were no longer attached to the human. What I can't handle is an injured, suffering, animal. I loved my Gobs, but I knew I couldn't look at him, and the Vansome would be home soon to handle it. I went to hide out in my bedroom in full-on avoidance mode.

Gobs was having none of that. He needed my help and he knew it. He jumped up on my bed where I was sitting and working hard at being in denial. He got right in my lap and turned so that I was forced to look at the left side of his head. I really desperately wanted to ignore it, but he knew I had to acknowledge what had happened to him in order to save his life. He had a gaping, oozing, raw wound larger than a half-dollar below and behind his ear. There was a hole in the middle of it large enough to fit my pinky finger (if I wanted to touch it) and deep enough that I could see inside his skull. This was not something that would just get better on its own.

As soon as the Vansome arrived home, I told him we had to get Gobs to a vet ASAP. By that time, the only place open was the emergency vet. They sedated him, took care of the damage, and pumped him full of IV antibiotics. They sent us home with more meds, a very sick cat, and a huge charge on our emergency credit card. Against his wishes, which he was not shy about letting us know, we kept Gobs in the house for a good week. We had to keep the wound uncovered and it drained constantly. It irritated him, so he would shake his head and fling nastiness all over the place. I was constantly wiping things down. Thank God for Lysol wipes, tile floors, and leather furniture.

The next time Gobs showed up with a big swollen bump on his head, we took care of it immediately, and without the assistance of a professional. The Vansome is a do-it-yourselfer in the extreme, and so we became cat surgeons. Initially I would wrap him in a towel to keep him from scratching me or trying to escape. Gobs figured out pretty quickly that what we were doing would bring him relief, so the towel became unnecessary. In fact, he would turn his head just so, in order to provide us with the most access to the place we needed to cut. Our wildest wild thing would lay calm and still in my arms and stretch out his neck as the Vansome approched him with a sharp scalpel.

The first few surgeries, either infection or cyst fluid drained from the incision. The last ones were a little more sinister. The last time we lanced him, he was full of thick, brownish stuff. Obviously tumor. The Vansome knew he was dying, but I chose the denial route again. Shortly afterwards, we took a two week vacation to Florida - Destin, then Disney, then family. When we returned, Gobs came in the first evening. He showed up again for breakfast the following morning, and then we never saw him again.

I grieved over that cat more than any other. It's been three years, and I still miss him.