Goal: Pay for Slate’s chemotherapy over the course of 25 weeks, starting Thursday, Nov. 6.

The first time I met Slate was seven years ago. I opened a bathroom door in my ex’s apartment, and found Slate and another cat in a filthy bathroom, with a litter box that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, and they were both so dirty and so happy to see someone, Slate especially. They had been originally box-in-a-rainy-Walmart-parking-lot kittens and my ex had found homes for them, but after two years they both were returned. They were eventually surrendered to a shelter and the other cat was quickly adopted, but not Slate.

I’d never had a cat, never wanted a cat, but I really wanted to take her home.

So she went home with me. And it’s been me and her since.

Slate is a one-person Cat, and she loves me with her whole entire body. She can grow to tolerate and maybe even like others if they take the time and work for it for about a year. Otherwise, she’s a little terror. And has terrorized so many of my family and friends. When people are over, two of her favorite things to do is park herself in the hallway with the most traffic and swat at anyone that walks past her, and rub her head on you and hiss if you pet her wrong (you will). One time she jumped on my sister’s back, who was there petsitting, because she saw my sister trying to clean her litter box and thought she was being robbed.

Anyone who has ever petsit her have said “I think she’s going to kill me”. When I brought home a feral kitten I found in the road, Slate attacked my leg (and punctured) when she heard the kitten cry (I was trying to clean the fleas off him). The stories are endless.

But when she loves you, she will sleep in your arms every night, usually directly on your face. Whenever you sit down, she’ll demand to be on your lap, whenever you get a phone call, she runs over to be nosy and see who you’re talking to, she’ll meow every time you look at her, she’ll purr every time you hold her, and she will look at you with nothing but adoration in her eyes. If you leave coffee or sunflowers or ranch or Dr. Pepper unattended, she will immediately be there. She will stick her whole foot in your coffee if you’re not paying attention. She is the love of my life. My unexpected miracle. My whole heart, who I never ever imagined a world without her.

June of this year, she started throwing up excessively. We couldn’t figure if she was having food allergies or was stressed from a recent move. For a couple months, I took her to multiple vet visits, she had multiple X-rays, exams, and bloodwork, but everything was always inconclusive. In August, she was referred to an internal medicine specialist but the soonest appointment wasn’t until November 4, 2025.

Some medicine she was prescribed helped with the nausea, and she would have really good days, but then her appetite and energy starting dropping, and when she was off the nausea medication (it’s only take for a week at a time) she was frequently dry heaving and gagging.

This past Tuesday, October 28, for the first time, Slate vomited while taking the medication that literally suppresses the vomiting reflex, so whatever was happening inside her was getting worse. We took her to the emergency hospital, which turned out was is in the same building as the specialists she was scheduled to see in a few more days.

They kept her overnight and ran several tests and did an ultrasound. I received a phone call the following morning that the ultrasound found a large mass “associated with her stomach” and her care was switched over from the emergency hospital to the specialists.

After a needle biopsy was taken, the vet suspected lymphoma but was sending the sample to a pathologist for confirmation. I was able to take Slate home after that, with all the vets and techs saying she was “very spicy”, with four new medications for her to start taking to combat the lymphoma. On Friday, October 31, I got the phone call that it was 100% confirmed to be large cell stomach lymphoma.

From her discharge papers, the vet wrote: “We discussed the median survival time (50% of patients do better and 50% do worse) is dependent on the response Slate has to

chemotherapy treatment. If she does not show any response, the reported median survival time is around one month, with a partial response the median survival time is around three months, and with a complete response to chemotherapy the median survival time is approximately 11 months.”

So her Nov. 4 appointment, that was to try and get answers about why she wasn’t feeling well, was changed to Nov. 6, that was to start chemotherapy for what we now know is cancer.

From her discharge papers, the vet wrote, “Chemotherapy is generally well tolerated in cats and we recommended a combination chemotherapy protocol that combines three different medications along with steroid medications. These are given over 25 weeks and the treatment will alternate every week for 4 weeks, with a week off and then repeating the next cycle. The cost is approximately $7,000 over the 25 weeks of treatment, but may vary based on patient size.”

I very very very fortunately have pet insurance that reimburses me 90% once I’ve met the $1000 dollar deductible, which I have, but the annual coverage limit is $7000. The emergency vet visit, ultrasound, X-rays, bloodwork, panels, etc. from Tuesday night alone was over $3000 and I had already spent a couple thousand dollars with all the vet visits starting June. Her insurance will only be able to reimburse me about $2000 before I hit my annual coverage limit. This fund is to be able to afford the rest of her treatment.

I don’t want her to be in pain from a cancer that is wreaking havoc in her little body. I want her to get to eat whatever she wants whenever she wants, climb on any table and counter she wants, smoke as much as she wants, cause any mischief she wants because she has the energy to. Most of all, most selfishly, I just want a little more time with her.

We will be infinitely grateful for any help and support we can get.