By John Cairns

LAMMA ISLAND, HONG KONG – Within a few months, a cat named Lady has taught my wife Eva and I more than we ever imagined on important topics, like unflinching courage, gritty determination, positive thinking, quiet dignity and firm friendship.

While battling paralysis and an inoperable spinal tumor, Lady refuses to surrender, stays active and relies on a steadfast friendship with Gail, the family dog.

Lady first appeared at our door in 2004. When working in a home office, I often stepped outside for fresh air and noticed an unfamiliar cat lounging on the patio chairs to socialize with Gail. Sometimes the cat stayed all-day and all-night, snoozing in an empty flower box. Soon she followed Gail indoors and joined the family.

We called her Lady in tribute to her formidable social-skills. Unfailingly sweet, she disliked being held, but enjoyed pats and belly-rubs.

“For once, a pet chose us,” I told Eva, flattered. “Usually, people select animals, not vice-versa.”

Actually, Lady chose Gail. When not sunbathing together, the disparate duo shared the living-room couch. Lady devoted hours to groom-licking her bigger girlfriend. Sometimes Gail returned the favor.

Nightly, I escorted Gail to a sandbox where she relieved herself. Lady insisted on trotting along too. If unfamiliar dogs or humans approached, the street-smart Lady vanished off the footpath into bushes before rejoining us back at the house.

In early June 2006, Lady began to limp. Initially, we wondered why she had a sore leg. Her problem worsened, and within four days, she lost all use of her back-legs.

By foot, ferries, taxis and underground trains, we carried Lady for consultations with three different veterinarians. One promptly urged euthanasia: “I see a lot of spinal cases. Lady’s a serious one. There’s not much else to do.”

Eva and I shook our heads: “No way. Not yet.”

Despite paralysis and then incontinence, Lady showed no hint of physical pain. She stayed alert and hungry. Determination glinted in her eyes.

“She’s still the same old Lady,” Eva said.

“We’ll help her for as long as she wants to live,” I vowed. “If she loses interest, we’ll know.”

One veterinarian performed a series of acupuncture treatments – 10-20 needles per time, plus wires and electricity -- that didn’t cure Lady, but seemed to please her.

We discovered the cause of Lady’s troubles when a tumor emerged on her back. Pressing on her spine, it blocked signals to her back-legs.

“The tumor’s position makes it inoperable,” a trusted veterinarian said. “A surgeon could try to remove it, but Lady might not survive.”

Although unsure of Lady’s age, we knew that veterinarians had checked her teeth and declared her to be a “senior” citizen. Our best guess puts her at 15 years old. A huge medical operation late in life sounded unappealing, as did chemotherapy injections and their side-effects. We vetoed those ideas. And Hong Kong lacks facilities for radiotherapy on small animals.

“Will the tumor kill her?” I asked.

The veterinarian nodded. “Even if the tumor’s benign, it takes more space each day, crowding her internal organs until they fail. If it’s maligant, well…. Large tumors may burst too. Then blood vessels rupture, and the animal bleeds to death internally.”

The prognosis sounded dire. So Eva and I simply strive to keep Lady happy and comfortable one day at a time. That means feeding her extra well and providing a bed near Gail. Every few hours, we squeeze her lower torso, emptying her bladder. Twice a day, I manipulate her back-legs, exercising the muscles.

With advice from the charity Lamma Animal Protection, we built a cart to restore Lady’s mobility. But we strap her into the cart only when she’s closely supervised. Even without it, she stays active. Using her front legs, she drags the unresponsive hindquarters. She avoids bedsores by moving often. Luckily, our smooth floor-tiles don’t cause abrasions.

By day, Lady visits with Gail. At night, they stretch out together. Often Gail looks worried. Sometimes she licks at Lady’s defective back-legs while the cat purrs.

Each night, I carry Lady, her head bobbing as she sightsees, and we follow Gail on a short stroll. Some days, Eva and I awaken early, rouse Gail and place Lady in a pet-travel box. Then we take both animals to watch the sunrise at a nearby beach. Prodded by snout-nudges from Gail, Lady drags herself across the sand. But rocks frustrate her. When able-bodied, she’d have leaped across them. Now they loom like the Himalayas.

At moments when Lady’s problems distress us, we pay extra attention to her. She stares back, and we understand the message in her eyes – that she remains unbowed and determined, that we can’t quit on her.

So Lady’s battle continues. The tumor has grown huge, yet she shows no physical pain, refuses to concede defeat and seemingly enjoys each day. As we watch and learn from her example, our admiration for her deepens and expands.

The time for euthanasia may arrive. In fact, we expect it. But that’ll be later, much later… we hope.


UPDATE (November 21) – At the Lamma Animal Clinic, Lady the Cat, who had deteriorated rapidly in the previous week, received a lethal injection and went to sleep for the last time.

For months, we'd watched closely for her to signal if and when this might be appropriate. We believe that we finally received that message from her.

She’ll be missed and remembered, but let’s take a positive view. By now, she may be walking and running again elsewhere.

ARCHIVES

Lady the Cat soon may see bright lights
marking the end of her life.


Early on, Lady snoozes in an outdoor flower box.


Lady (right) and Gail (left) become best buddies.


Lady devotes hours to grooming her larger girlfriend.


Even clinging to Gail's back-legs makes napping nicer.


Once disabled, Lady regains mobility in a plastic cart.


Acupuncture treatments fail to cure
Lady, but she seems to enjoy them.


Despite the tumor visible on her back,
Lady savors an early-morning beach visit.


Lady leaves drag marks on the sand.


Encouragement from a close friend always helps.


Human attention still pleases the affectionate cat.


Rock barriers loom like mountain ranges.


At quiet moments, Gail worries about her friend.