What a Stray Cat Taught Me About Resiliency
Her determination to live continues to amaze me.
Sweet Molasses kitty enjoying a sun bath.
The last thing I was looking for while living in cramped corporate housing with rented furniture was another pet.
I got home one evening, and my husband said, “I found a cat. I think it’s living in the bushes.”
A few days later, I walked downstairs and spotted a tortoiseshell fur ball sunning on the sidewalk. As soon as the stairwell door closed, it popped up and ran toward me.
It wasn’t a kitten, but undoubtedly young. As it looped around my legs, I saw she was a girl.
Her coloring was fascinating. While her body is a traditional tortie smattering of black and golden browns, her face includes classic brindle tiger stripes.
The most noticeable feature was her weight. She was gauntly thin with a long stick-like tail. She was emaciated but beautiful.
As I sat petting her, I saw that someone had left her food. Under a bush lay a slice of meatloaf, ketchup topping still intact, and a scoop of macaroni and cheese.
This is silly, I thought. I have cat food upstairs.
She was hungry and quite friendly, rubbing her face on any part of my body within reach. That was all it took. I started feeding and spending time with her before and after work.
She purred when she ate and intermittently took breaks between bites for chin scratches. I wasn’t sure if she was starving for food or love.
We already had a two-year-old brother and sister kitty combo, and I wasn’t looking to add to the brood. This sweet girl had other plans in mind.
Fittingly, I named her Molasses.
Choosing Love Over Convenience
One evening a torrential rainstorm arose. I grabbed an umbrella and ran downstairs to check on Molasses. As I paced the sidewalk calling out and shaking her food dish, I felt my heart sink.
My thoughts raced. Maybe she was hit by a car or eaten by another animal? Perhaps someone took her to a shelter?
As I neared the steps, I heard a high pitch shriek. Molasses, soaking wet, leaped out of the bushes. She was so thin, and while drenched, I could see her skeleton.
I had to act. I thought, if she lets me pick her up, I’ll take her inside. Kneeling slowly, I scooped her into my arms.
As I dried her, gently inspecting for wounds and fleas, I noticed she was declawed. Then it hit me. Maybe I wasn’t rescuing Molasses. Perhaps she was lost?
My husband took her to the veterinarian the next day. She had been spayed and declawed, but no microchip. They estimated Molasses was a year old, and besides being underweight, she was healthy.
I committed to adopting her while also pretending to look for her owner. She was a gorgeous cat, curious and playful. I couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to abandon her.
Already having two kitties, I knew Molasses would need to be separated for a few weeks. There was a cushioned ledge in the bedroom that became her spot to nap and groom.
Two months later, we moved into our new home. This was the opportunity for all the kitties to explore uninhibited. Sunshine streaming into the house became the rotational indicator that prompted new routines.
Peeling away the layers of fear, Molasses inched her way into our family. It took nearly a year before she’d intentionally lay next to me or sleep in our bed.
Faith vs. Fear
Over the next nine years, through diet, playfulness, and lots of love, Molasses maintained a clean bill of health.
She loves plucking furry creatures from the toy-box, parading them like fresh kill around the house, yelling like a banshee. For a petite kitty, it’s shocking how loud she can be.
One day, I noticed she looked thinner. Molasses traditionally ate small amounts, frequently meandering away from the bowl before finally finishing. When she started sleeping in the closet, tucked away in the warm quiet for hours, I called the vet.
A blood test revealed Molasses’ thyroid levels were double the healthy range.
The doctor explained our options. Molasses could start thyroid medication that would wear away at her kidneys and liver, decreasing her life span. Or, we could opt for radioactive iodine to be injected into her thyroid.
The procedure was expensive but had a high success rate without long-term medication. There were risks, but the rewards seemed to outweigh them. I was fearful of losing her. Hesitantly, we chose the surgery.
After the treatment, Molasses was noticeably vivacious and willingly ate full meals. For a year, she was healthy and strong. Then she started coughing.
I’d never heard a cat cough. It sounded terrifying like she was suffocating. Molasses also developed a runny nose that I repeatedly wiped like a toddler.
New rounds of tests began — each requiring an expensive trip to the vet. Worse yet, each of the results was inconclusive, leaving more questions than answers. I grew frustrated, doubting my choice in the surgery and feeling like a bad kitty mom.
The doctor recommended an MRI on one vet visit — another test with a comma in the fee. She said, “Molasses may have a brain tumor dripping fluid down her nose into her lungs.”
I was torn. By this time, my husband and I were preparing to move to Panama. I loved Molasses but had lost trust in the vet and was done paying for expensive tests that didn’t provide solutions.
I chose the least invasive path of medicine, essential oils, and love. Molasses wasn’t better when our moving date arrived. She may not live much longer, but we were undoubtedly going to take her.
Fighting for Her Life
Molasses was stoic through the moving process. We settled into a mountainside farmhouse with a jungly landscape. She seemed to enjoy the mild temperatures and watching the birds.
Nonetheless, she still had a runny nose and a cough. Eventually, her smell became obstructed, and she stopped eating.
Quite different from The States, a vet drove to our home to see Molasses. She received an exam, an antibiotic shot, and multiple medications to treat her respiratory infection.
The bill was $25. My faith in her healing was re-energized.
While on antibiotics, Molasses would get better, yet the symptoms would return within days of stopping the medication. We repeated this process three times in two months. I grew frustrated and concerned.
We took her to an animal hospital about an hour away. The doctor tested her blood to gauge organ functionality and overall health. Understandably, the multiple rounds of antibiotics had impacted her liver and kidneys. Yet, the vet’s recommendation was to give her stronger doses for a longer duration.
My decision-making became clouded as I worried about her suffering. Another nearby vet was recommended as an additional resource. We put Molasses in her carrier and drove to his office.
After reviewing her records, the vet looked at me solemnly and said, “She may have feline leukemia or FIV.” I immediately began to cry.
She was vaccinated after we found her, and since then she was an indoor kitty. I hadn’t updated her vaccinations other than what was required for our international move.
As we awaited the test results, everything seemed to stop except my incessant mind. Again, I felt like a terrible kitty mom. How could I be so negligent?
Thankfully the tests were negative. While I was relieved she didn’t have leukemia or feline AIDS. It left us without resolving her challenges.
The vet apologized for not having more answers. He shared that only one doctor in Panama could help Molasses, and he was seven hours away in Panama City. We were on our fourth vet, and fear of losing her overwhelmed me. If I had to take her across the country to save her life, I was willing.
The Gift of Hope
Centro Felino is a veterinary hospital in Panama City that only sees cats. From the moment we arrived, I felt swirls of potential.
The team did a thorough intake of Molasses, noting her history, medicines, and symptoms. They were gentle and kind, reassuring us they would do everything possible to help our gal.
Molasses spent eight nights in the hospital undergoing a dozen tests on her organs, brain, blood, and urine. She had x-rays, an MRI, an echocardiogram of her heart and lungs, and an ultrasound on her liver, pancreas, and kidneys. She was on IV fluids and received a tremendous amount of care.
It turns out Molasses has asthma and allergies that caused inflammation in her lungs and promoted infection. Moreover, she’s also in stage three kidney failure and requires a special diet to help her body process food.
Dr. Francisco sent Molasses home with six medications, five supplements, and reassurance that she could live for another few years. I was overjoyed.
The silver lining was the bill. For her many tests, eight-night hospital stay, multiple doctors, techs, and medicines, the balance was $900. I giggled with amazement. In The States, the bill would have been over $15,000. I was overwhelmingly grateful.
Resiliency Tested
Molasses began a new medication routine, including a bi-weekly shot and an inhaler puff. She also took five supplements in the specially formulated food we syringe-fed her multiple times daily.
Our house felt like an intensive care unit, our schedules dictated by doses and feeding times. Hours of each day were dedicated to helping our gal heal.
Over time, Molasses grew stronger. The infection vanished, and her cough became minimal. Yet, as her liver and kidneys slowly healed, she still struggled to eat more than a few bites on her own and often vomited or had diarrhea.
Dr. Franciso was our lifeline. We’d text him with challenges of her stutter-step progress. He texted back, often late in the evening, with a hopeful attitude, explaining our options.
The stress took a toll on my husband and me. Molasses’ healing wasn’t linear. Just when we got into a groove, she would stop eating, vomit profusely, or meow incessantly, pawing at the door to escape her medical monotony.
I wondered if she was telling us that she was done.
One day, while syringe-feeding her, we saw what looked like a second tongue. Molasses had a nasty tumor growing underneath her tongue that mimicked half my pinkie in size — no wonder she wasn’t eating.
By this time, we were under strict quarantine due to the pandemic, and getting Molasses to Panama City wasn’t an option. I did some internet research. Unfortunately, the likelihood of cancer was strong.
As I drove Molasses to her appointment, both of us sat in silence. The pit of my body felt anxious. This gal is tremendously resilient. Maybe she’ll be ok?
Thankfully the vet was able to remove the tumor without cutting into her tongue. Regardless if she had cancer or not, Molasses would be able to eat and groom herself again. I was happy to return some dignity.
A week later, the vet called with the pathology results. Unfortunately, Molasses’ tumor was squamous cell carcinoma, mouth cancer.
Through tearful pauses, I nervously asked, “What should we do?” In his limited English, he said, “Keep going. You’ll know when it’s time to stop. She will tell you.”
My Teacher
Molasses is a warrior. She’s barely seven pounds living with the effects and treatments for low thyroid, allergies, asthma, stage three kidney failure, and now mouth cancer. I swear this kitty has ten lives.
We recently started letting her go outside. I figure at this point, what can it hurt? We live on a mountainside lemon farm with little danger during daylight hours.
Molasses loves traipsing around, teetering on rocks around the retention pond, and scouring for the best place to get a drink. She treks down the hillside to the farm, leaping across drainage trails, and navigating the rugged terrain. I often see her lying in the grass, enjoying the morning sunshine.
The porch chairs are her new favorite spot to lounge. Most days, she stays outside watching birds, taking in the sounds of nature.
For being health compromised, Molasses remains strong and in good spirits. She possesses a champion’s heart of perseverance. Her courage inspires me every day. When she climbs the grassy hill back to the house, I praise her. “You’re so strong. You’re a warrior. You can overcome anything.”
The vet that removed the cancerous tumor indicated it would probably grow back. A hard nodule the size of a small marble recently appeared on her chin, which is likely our next battle.
At twelve years old, she has lived a tumultuous life, yet remains as sweet as the first day I saw her sunning on the sidewalk. Sweet like Molasses.
She often lies on our chests, or beside me as I write. She nestles against my belly to sleep cozily overnight.
Molasses’ life is a testament to resilience. She reminds me that as long as I breathe, challenges will arise. This life is often not fair or easy. What I can control is my attitude. What I can do is have faith.
Most of all, she has modeled acceptance and grace for me.
Molasses hasn’t given up, and I haven’t given up either — for she is in me, and I am in her.
. . .
Rebecca Murauskas is a Life Coach for professionals. She helps people be free of stress and overwhelm, reclaim their purpose, and feel fulfilled. Rebecca and her husband, Adam, abandoned their careers and moved to Panamá in 2019 to pursue passions for helping people heal. Take the free Time Saver Quiz and find additional content at RebeccaMurauskas.com.