Meet Minion: part-time lap cat, full-time diva. Cancer’s trying to slow her down, but with your help, we hope she’ll be causing chaos for many more years.

"This is my human. Listen to her story or face my wrath."

Yes, as Mini says, I'm her human, Casey. I adopted Minion ("Mini") from the Austin Humane Society sixteen years ago when I moved to Texas to start grad school. I was thrilled to have a space of my own because that meant I could FINALLY(!!!) adopt a cat. The first day I arrived in the city, we headed to the Humane Society. Unlike other kittens at the shelter, Mini was in a cage all by herself. She hadn't been rescued with her mother or litter mates - she had been roaming around with a tom cat. When we asked to meet her, she immediately crawled into my lap, kneaded out a comfy spot, and curled up. I was charmed by her evident gentleness and gave her some timid pets. She purred. I was delighted. So I pet her more. And she bit me. She BIT me, calm as you please, just to let me know, enough of that, peasant. Sure, I'll say it. It was love at first bite.

"Visitors to my realm are often warned of my ferocious fangs. The toothsome administrations I bestow upon the unwary are FEARSOME" (Note: she has never, not even once, drawn blood biting anyone. She's just a nippy lil' jerk)

I took her home to a nearly-empty apartment. In fact, the only furniture was hers: food bowl, water, litter boxes, cat tower. I kept her company for a while and then returned to my moving-in errands. When we paused to eat later that evening, we realized something. The new kitten, who had been padding curiously around her new realm all day, hadn't made a recent appearance. Like I said, the place was nearly empty, so it wasn't hard to dash through it, searching for Mini. Bedroom? Nope. Bathroom? Nope. Kitchen? Not a whisker to be found. She was gone. What had happened? Where could she be? We were distraught. She couldn't have gotten out on the balcony, could she? Surely not. Out the door? No, way...but what if...We were distraught. We ran outside and started flagging down our new neighbors, asking if they had seen a little tuxedo kitten roaming the neighborhood. And if they hadn't seen any kittens, had they seen any coyotes or predatory birds in the area?! We must have seemed unhinged. We admitted defeat around 10 PM and sat on the floor in our cavernous living room. I'd been crying for the past hour or so and was drained and exhausted.

Of course that's when Mini emerged, casual and unbothered, from the general direction of the kitchen. I straight-up screamed. It was later on that we figured it out. She had squeezed between the dishwasher and the wall and curled up behind the appliance. That's the last time I thought I had lost her forever. That crushing feeling nearly broke my heart, and I had barely known her a day. Now, 16 years later, I hate that feeling even more.

"Cozy? Yes. Regal? Also yes."

Mini was diagnosed with nasal lymphoma at the start of June this year. She had a growing lump on the bridge on her nose and a noticeable wheeze to her breathing. We first took her to an internist at BluePearl because all of the oncologists in our area were booked out for months. Their team got a fine-needle aspiration of the lump and confirmed what we dreaded - cancer. They gave her prednisolone to slow the growth while we waited to see an oncologist who could help us determine next steps.

"Oh, my nose? Your concern is touching. Don't worry. It looks rough, but my breathing has gotten much better since I started prednisolone."

While we waited, we decided that the most important thing was to preserve Mini's quality of life. She, being a sassy, independent feline, had always hated vet visits (which is highly unfortunate because a chronic condition had kept her in and out of emergency vets over the years, but that's a story for a future post). We wanted to make sure, above all, that she was comfortable and happy, able to bask in the love of her family for as much time as she had left. In short, we were ready to pursue palliative care and start saying goodbye. But this cat. This ferocious, bite-y, territorial, love-so-much-it-hurts cat, has never been one to give up without a fight. The oncologist at BluePearl told us that the cancer was localized and, with radiation treatments, that Mini could not only enjoy comfy, happy days ahead, but could live for years more.

"Quickly, subjects! To Chicago!"

We knew we had to get Minion the help she needed and started coordinating with PetCure Oncology Hoffman Estates to schedule her initial CT scan to "map out" the nasal lymphoma and her radiation treatments. It wasn't ideal that the closest radiation center was an hour and a half away (since, you know, Mini is a cat and hates automotive travel), but we were determined to make it work. When the adrenaline of planning next steps wore off, I had some harsh realities to face. Well, specifically, one harsh reality. The cost.

Over 10,000 dollars.

We had moved our family from Texas to Wisconsin in April for my work, and our savings had taken a big, big hit. We were still trying to dig ourselves out of THAT hole, and here was another huge financial drain. But it had to be done. So we requested an increase on our CareCredit limit and we paid the bills. Here's the breakdown:

That brought our total costs for her cancer treatments to $11,984.27.

This is probably the ugliest possible way to share invoices, but it's all I could figure out. Hurray, transparency!

Let's shelve the finances for a second and focus on the most important part: Mini made it through her radiation treatments like an absolute champion and is back home and on the road to recovery.

"I may be pathetic now, but you should see the scratches I left on that vet tech."

"Try to put me in the car ever again and I'll shred those pretty green curtains in the sun room."

Enjoying pets, cuddles, and lots of love. Paws crossed she's cancer-free! She is certainly breathing easier and living her best life.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading Mini’s story. Covering nearly $12,000 in medical expenses has been an incredible strain on our family’s finances, especially after a cross-country move. We’re so grateful we were able to get her the care she needed, but we're struggling to make ends meet with the huge CareCredit bills now.

If you’re able to contribute, no matter the amount, it will make a real difference for us. Every dollar helps us recover from this unexpected blow and keeps our little family afloat. And if you can’t give, sharing this fundraiser or just sending good vibes means the world to us, too.

Thank you for loving Minion along with us—she may have the teeth of a lion, but she’s got the heart of a marshmallow (don’t tell her I said that).

With gratitude,

Casey, Minion, & Family

"What the &%$@ is that???"