Long before there was a Pebbles, long before I met Atomic, long before I lived here, I had Max. She's been my furry, four-footed, rambunctious little friend for twelve years.
When Atomic and I moved in together, we changed her name to Monkey because his cat was also named Max. So now we have Monkey and BooBoo, and we love them both.
I was looking forward with both joy and trepidation to the cats' reaction to Pebbles' arrival. Would the critters be curious? Depressed? Resentful? Oblivious? Would BooBoo pee on the baby like he pees on anything else placed on the floor? Would Monkey jump on her like she jumps up on every person she meets? Would we wake up and find Monkey in the crib?
In the meanwhile I've been enjoying snuggling up with one or the other of them. I especially love it when they rest their little heads on my tummy and purr. I imagine Pebbles likes that.
But now, now we're just hoping that Monkey is still here when Pebbles arrives.
Monkey stopped eating last week. After three days, we took her to the vet. They ran some tests and sent her home. The following night, after she still hadn't touched food or water, we brought her back, and they admitted her. A biopsy revealed that she has lymphoma. Kitty cancer. They removed about four inches of her intestine and finally released her Thursday night.
She's still in a lot of pain, and has to be fed through a tube three times a day until she eats on her own again. She's a trooper, though. Apparently the chances (damn statistics again!) are about 30% that she'll go into a full remission with chemotherapy, in which case she might be with us for another couple of years. If not, well, we'll have to enjoy all of the moments we have left with her.
I would really love for her to meet the baby, for the baby to have some memories of her. I know that's not terribly likely at this point, but even if the only memory that Pebbles has of Monkey is the distant sense memory of being lulled to sleep by purring while still in utero, that will be enough.