So, almost as soon as I'd posted my last more or less positive comments about Phil, we got a call from the surgeon. She got the biopsy results from the growth a bit faster than I'd expected.
It's a tumor.
Of course, the surgeon (who really is quite a nice person, don't get me wrong) emphasized that the tumor might not be anything but benign.
However, she said, she advised that we undertake the operation to remove Phil's left ear canal, to prevent any possibility of non-benign tumer growth.
And of course we're going to, although we told her we wanted to talk about it over the weekend.
We'll do it. A lot of my retirement money is going to go into taking care of Phil. And I'm a selfish enough old broad that I'm begrudging those dollars.
But it's Phil; it's our little kitty, and it's only a month or so since we lost one of our other beloved kitties.
Poor Phil; he's not in for a good time.
But I'm hoping that this will help him live beyond his current 8 or 9 years. Had he already been 14? Perhaps the decision would have been different.
But he's not 14, he's only 8 or 9. So we'll fork out the retirement funds, and pay for something that will, I hope, make him ultimately feel better.
On a scale of 1 to Las Vegas, this is, of course, not a big thing.
But, fuck. What a fucking way to end the week.
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