|Anna the Fluffy Diva|
Meet Anna, my feline BFF for the last fourteen years. Anna and I have seen a lot of life together. She's actually been great for my contamination issues. So many times, I felt like she was dirty, but I kissed and hugged her anyway, well, because she's just so cute and squeezable! She's a diva who runs our house. Anna has been known to hiss, swat, and even bite, if she's angry enough. (I have a few small scars to prove it.) However, she's also affectionate, loving, and purrs so loudly, that sometimes you can hear it from across the room. She's the only cat I've ever met who doesn't like to eat shrimp or tuna. She loves milk though, and if you set a bowl of cereal down and walk away, you will come back to find little milk droplets on the counter around the bowl, and all over her fuzzy little face.
Unfortunately, my little girl has a growth on her lower lip. I saw the veterinarian on Monday, and the vet said it looked like a cancerous tumor. An aggressive, cancerous tumor. We won't know for sure until we receive biopsy results, so we scheduled a biopsy for this morning. I have been, of course, obsessing slightly over this. I did some research on the type of tumor that my vet thinks it may be, and the prognosis is not good. I was really looking forward to getting this biopsy done today, as I knew it would at least give us an answer, one way or the other.
I drove all the way to the vet's office this morning with my baby, only to be reminded that I was supposed to have withheld food and water from Anna after midnight last night. The biopsy is to take place while kitty is sedated, and it is necessary to have an empty stomach for safety reasons. Ugh, I can't believe I forgot to tell my husband not to feed her this morning! This means that we are unable to have the biopsy performed until next Tuesday. More waiting. More uncertainty.
I'm going to choose to look at this waiting as an exposure. If it's the type of tumor we think it is, there is really nothing to be done to help Anna, other than make her comfortable. One more week will not make a difference to her survival. It will give me one more week, however, to simply enjoy her, not as a sick cat with cancer, but as the little cuddly fluffball that she's always been.
I have been mentally preparing myself for this day for the last year or so. I knew she was getting up in age, and this is not a shock. Of course, it would have been better if I had just lived in the moment with her and been mindful, rather than wasting any time of this past year to prepare for this. It obviously changes nothing. It just steals the time away. I am going to work really hard over the next week or so to just enjoy her. She's here now, it doesn't appear that she is in any pain, and she's acting like her usual, high-maintenance self.
I don't know what the future holds. The truth is, I never knew what the future held, even when I was unaware she had a tumor. I have today, though; that much I do know. You have today too. Is there anything in the future that you're worrying about, when instead, you could be enjoying what you have today?