09/05/2026
When I handed Calypso over to the transfusion team at Harmony last Saturday, I promised her no more bad days. If she was ready to fight, we were ready to fight for her. And we did. She fought, I fought, and all of you rallied behind her. She bounced back and had a great appetite. She purred, cuddled, and made more biscuits than you could ever imagine this week. She had great days this week and we all had hope.
When I woke up this morning and she was in the litterbox instead of on my chest where she had slept every night since Saturday, my gut clinched. When I put her up on the bed for breakfast she ate a few bites and slurped up her HydraCare, but less than 10 minutes later she vomited. We immediately loaded up and headed to Venice Animal Clinic for urgent bloodwork. As soon as I saw the tech’s face, I knew it was bad. After a quick consult with Dr Flores, we quickly headed to Blue Pearl in Sarasota for additional testing and forwarded Calypso’s new bloodwork to Dr Sabshin at Harmony Vet Care to consult while we were on the road. Given this morning’s bloodwork and Dr Davilla’s exam at Blue Pearl, it was concluded that Calypso likely had lymphoma. Her body was attacking and destroying red blood cells faster than she could make them. The diagnosis hit me like a semi truck and I knew I had to say goodbye to the little six pound, two year old girl that my entire world has revolved around for the past two weeks. I promised her no more bad days. A lymphoma diagnosis meant more bad days ahead.
Yes, we could have done another transfusion today that might have gotten us through the weekend and then we could have consulted an oncologist on Tuesday. Then we could have done another transfusion to get her ready to start intensive chemotherapy. We considered our options, but ultimately her vet team felt that her prognosis even with chemo would be “guarded.” I know what guarded really means. And I know the hell chemo would have put her through so I opted to keep my promise of no more bad days.
Tonight at 5:30pm, I held Calypso as she left her weak body behind and headed to a different world free of suffering. I am shattered as I know so many of you who loved her without even knowing her will be as you read this. This hurts badly.
I want you to know that even as we sat at Blue Pearl receiving the devastating diagnosis, Calypso was making biscuits, pushing her face into mine, and enjoying Churus. Her last day was not a painful one. Despite her horrendous bloodwork, she somehow didn’t go into respiratory distress or start having seizures. I explicitly point this out because I want everyone reading this to know what I learned the hard way. I once waited too long to opt for euthanasia because one of my personal kitties was still purring and making biscuits. I didn’t listen to his vet team. I thought he had more good days ahead of him so I stomped out of that office and took my boy home. My love would heal him if those doctors couldn’t. That weekend he went into severe respiratory distress. It was horrible and I have never forgiven myself for being selfish and making him suffer because I didn’t listen to his vet team just a few days prior. And while sharing that here may open me up to criticism, it may also help one of you when faced with a similar circumstance in the future. It is our duty as caregivers and pet parents to put their precious lives ahead of our personal feelings. Please don’t let the bad days outweigh the good days.
From every piece of my shattered heart, I thank you for your financial donations and emotional support over the past week. Calypso’s vet bill today was $786. Your donations allowed me to never blink. We ran the bloodwork. We looked at blood smears under microscopes. We consulted with Dr Flores, Dr Sabshin, and Dr Devilla without hesitation. And when everyone was in agreement that euthanasia was our kindest way to help Calypso, your donations also allowed me to choose a private cremation and her ashes to come back to me. And for that, I am eternally grateful to you.
As rescuers we lose sleep wondering what if when the cost of care keeps us from getting answers. When money keeps us from trying. When we have to let go without testing, without treating, without really knowing. This ending sucks. It’s not what any of us prayed for, but your donations allowed us to try. Your donations paid for her transfusion. They paid for her medicine, special food, and supplements this week. They paid for her testing and ER visit today. Your donations gave her more good days, more time on my chest, more Churus, more Temptations, and more love from her fan club. You have no idea what that meant to her and to me.
I will be taking a small break to work through my emotions and start healing, but because of the outpouring of support for Calypso this week, I will get myself together and I will fight just as hard for the next kitty who needs me. Thank you for loving her and thank you for trusting me with her care.
Romp freely among the butterflies, Sweet Calypso. Your fighting spirit gave us all hope and brought us together. We will continue fighting in your honor. 🦋
Sincerely,
Erin
