The duration of the pardon is less important than what is done with it

It was an emergency call. This bedraggled old bag of feline bones was only hours away from euthanasia. A Rio Rancho Animal Control agent asked Barbara Bayer of CARMA (Companion Animal Rescue and Medical Assistance) in Corrales, NM if she could save this elderly man who deserved better than termination that day.

Barbara, who never hesitated to save an animal in need, called me because I fostered elderly and special needs cats. With the time of the essence, I had to run to Animal Control to take it away at that time.

Surprisingly, despite his pathetic and weakened condition, he was still friendly. She only glanced at her mouth to see why there was no meat on her bones. She was disgustingly shocking. Her mouth was nothing but rotten teeth and diseased gums. In one day, dental surgery extracted eight teeth.

Casey became my home office buddy where I could monitor him. Slowly, with his industrial-strength antibiotics, he began to recover: he ate painlessly, put on weight, and accepted my careful care of him. It wasn’t long before he fully shared his affectionate nature and overwhelmed me with head rubbing, licking, cat kissing, and (unfortunately) sitting on my computer keyboard.

He was turning into a handsome white shorthair cat with the most stunning robin’s egg blue eyes. The months passed quickly as he revealed tasty foods, treats, brushing and lots of active play time in his new life. It was an incredible metamorphosis.

Then suddenly something changed. After his seven-month resurrection, he began to appear lethargic. Blood tests showed elevated liver enzymes. X-rays revealed a liver tumor in a fluid-filled abdomen. An ultrasound confirmed the worst.

Throughout all of this, Casey never complained. Even during the hour-long ultrasound, he lay completely still on his back in the padded saddle-like structure used for the test as biopsy needles continually punctured his swollen abdomen. Ultimately, he showed that Casey not only had a mass in her liver but also in her urinary bladder. And the fluid in his abdomen was bloody – the origin of it is unknown.

After draining a large volume of fluid to relieve pressure on his internal organs, his vet said there were basically three options: surgery, chemotherapy, or nothing. Given Casey’s age and condition, only the latter seemed appropriate for him. His prognosis: four to six months. But he only had to look into the depths of Casey’s echoing blue eyes to know that these medical professionals were seriously wrong in his calculations.

With a Zip-Loc sandwich bag of hypodermics filled with painkillers, Casey and I headed home. For his last four days.

It seemed so unfair that he should die in such a horrible way after having led such a horrible life. Yet at the same time, he was also grateful that we had met, even under those harrowing circumstances.

In my “thank you letter” to him, I expressed how glad I was that he had finally had a good, happy, fun time filled with lots of loving attention, and how blessed I felt to have been privileged to help make it so. . By simply being his sweetie and me his, he had left me a wonderful gift. He could only hope to have reciprocated a small percentage of that.