Our cat Erasmus was diagnosed with inoperable oral and lymphatic cancer last month. Most folks reading this blog know that Brad has fought off lymphatic cancer before... twice, in fact. So this feels like a real pot shot on the part of the universe... a sort of "OK, I didn't get you, so I'm gonna kill this adorable kitten" kind of thing. At moments like this I wish there were a god, just so that I could smack him for being so fucking vindictive.
The good news, though (and we'll take what we can get) is that Erasmus qualified for a clinical trial at a world-class veterinary school, which means that he's getting several thousands of dollars worth of chemotherapy for nothing more than the cost of some blood work and gasoline. Not a bad deal.
Odds of success are slim... based on canine trials probably only a 40% chance of a 50% reduction in the tumor sizes. But Erasmus has always been an extraordinarily healthy cat (strangers cannot believe he's just shy of 15 years old) and he's kind of... well... demanding.
So we're hopeful.
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