Snoop, my Calico cat developed an ear on her bump.

Over Christmas some sort of smart-ass mast cell tumour reared its hideousness on Snoop’s left ear. All was fine until she started scratching at it and by the time I got her a date with her not-so-favourite person (v-e-t) it was pretty mangled.

The thing about cat ears is they are really fine, so not much can be done with a mast growth like this other than to pretty much amputate the ear to just above the base. An earectomy costs $1300.00. Now don’t get me wrong, while this is a chunk of coin Snoop is 13 so really $105 per year isn’t bad considering this is her first real run-in with some evil health shit.

I didn’t bother for another $200 to send it to London for pathology. Let’s face it, while I love her dearly advanced treatment is neither an option or a desire. Having watched my dad go through chemotherapy and knowing what was happening, there is no way I would put any animal through that hell who doesn’t contemplate why they are sick or why they feel like ass.

Anyway, I have an half-shaved unhappy four-footed beastie. I call her “cony” for the plastic cone she has to wear and despises. She looks like peter in a Christmas Carol with his best starched collar on to impress Bob Cratchit. Snoop sorta looks like a cat on the right and a boxer dog on the left. 

I’m sure once the cone is retired in a few days she will be back to her usual self, ruling the house with an iron toe. (the black one of course!)