Saving My Cat: Why No Price Was Too High

I had to choose between mutilating Fritz or leaving him at high risk of premature death. I'd seen cancer relentlessly stalk and kill humans. I made my choice—our choice. I hoped Fritz would agree.

After presurgery screenings, Fritz's rear left leg was amputated at a California veterinary cancer center. The cost was about $4,300. He rebounded just fine, only to be struck two months later by severe pancreatitis—a potentially lethal affliction that required extensive diagnostic tests and a one-week stay in intensive care. He also needed round-the-clock medications—including an expensive anti-emetic drug originally developed for humans undergoing chemotherapy. The bill was $3,250. A second, less severe attack two months later cost an additional $1,250, and follow-up visits and medications racked up $2,200.

"That's what credit cards are for," I said when preauthorizing treatment. But an agent from my bank called the day after Fritz came home. "Is this 'veterinary services' charge for real?" he asked.

I can understand the investigator's incredulity. I am a well-paid, single university professor with a flexible work schedule that was much needed: when he came home, Fritz required monitoring and multiple medications for several weeks. I could not help wondering how poor families with fixed budgets and work schedules cope with such matters. How do parents tell their children that they cannot afford to treat a beloved pet? And how do vets deal with clients who refuse to pay much of anything for a sick pet, perhaps requesting euthanasia for an otherwise healthy animal?

I admit sometimes questioning the reality of spending $11,000 on my cat when there are greater human needs. I am fully aware that Fritz is not a person. But I have to believe that as a society, we're a long way from 17th-century French philosopher René Descartes, who claimed that animals have no right to humane treatment because they have no souls. Today, I'm one of many who think that higher mammals are self-conscious, spiritual creatures.

Do I have doubts about Fritz's extensive, expensive treatments? Sometimes—mainly insofar as they caused him pain. But as I watch him romp around the house, those doubts fade and should dissolve altogether if, in October, we beat that 600-day average prognosis.