Butter ‘the tripod’ doing well after amputation

Photo by Alyssa Landau

In three previous installments of Alyssa Landau’s saga about her beloved cat Butterscotch, she described how Butter broke her leg after being pushed from the top of the couch by another of her family’s cats, followed by Alyssa and her mom’s agonizing trip to the veterinarian. Last week, Alyssa described the terrible prognosis from the veterinarian: Butter’s leg broke so easily because a tumor was eating away at the bone.

“We have to make a choice to either put her down or to amputate the leg,” Alyssa’s mother told her. “There is no other alternative.”

It was fairly obvious that we were not going to put her down but amputating the leg was still very expensive. We talked to the vet again, asking his opinion about what would be best for Butter. The fact that she is 13 years old made me very nervous because the probability of her coming out of the anesthesia as easily as a younger cat wasn’ high. I wanted to make sure the odds were not against us.

All that was going through my head was, if she died, who would sit outside my shower and fall asleep from the steam? Or who would greet me with a long meow when I got home?

“We are going to amputate,” I heard my mother tell me. We had just gotten done calling my brother and dad, letting them know what was happening. They agreed that amputation was the best alternative; but still, I was scared that, because she was older and wasn’t on the slim side, she would have big difficulty with trying to walk.

They kept Butter that night. They were going to perform the surgery the next day. I had school and spent the entire time waiting for my mom to text me to let me know everything went well. The surgery was supposed to occur around 11 a.m. I kept looking at my phone and seeing that it was 3 p.m. and still no text.

I finally called my mom; the phone rang five times before she picked it up. I asked her what happened, and she said that they had to push Butter’s surgery back a couple of hours but that she had just gotten off the phone with the vet – everything went smoothly and she was recovering now. We could pick her up in a day or two.

Relief crashed over me and I melted in my chair. She was okay. However, now I worried about the recovery and how the other two cats would treat her after she had been away for a while. She would smell different, and I worried that Forrest would try to hurt her again. I was aware that a lot of animals like to pick on the weakest link in the pack and just hoped that they would welcome her back without any fuss.

A couple of days went by and we prepared the house for her arrival. We bought a large dog crate and a cone that was inflatable because I knew that the plastic one wasn’t as nice. We got extra dishes of water and food and a bed to put inside the crate, as well as a litter box. We placed a blanket over the crate so that she would feel more comfortable and secure.

The next day we picked her up. She was still pretty in and out from the pain medication; but once she saw me her face lit up and she started meowing like crazy. My heart melted and I stayed by her side, petting her through the crate in the car.

Then we got her home. The hardest part was figuring out how to pick her up and put her in the dog crate. The vet had told us to restrict her movements while the stitches were in and, once we went back a week later to get them taken out, she would be allowed to wander around the house. I was happy with the crate idea because it kept her safe from the other cats in case they tried to attack her.

After about 15 minutes of trying to decide how to pick her up and who would, my brother did it. There was no easy way of doing it without her getting hurt, so we just went in really quickly, picked her up and placed her in the crate. She whined a little bit but I think the pain medication lightened the sting.

Once she was situated inside the crate, I couldn’t hold back my tears because this was the first time I had seen her without her leg. To this day every, time I see an old picture of her with her four legs still intact, it pains my heart a bit. But I knew the surgery was the best alternative and I was excited to help and encourage her to walk all over again.

It’s now been three months since her surgery, and Butter is doing fabulous. Once she began walking, and after a few tumbles here and there, she mastered walking on three legs. Her age and weight haven’t hindered her at all.

She tends to run more often than walk because the momentum propels her easily down the hallway. Forrest does still pick on her; not all the time but, when he does, I have to come to her rescue.

Butter tends to stay in her crate most of the day. She is still recovering and just learned to jump on a small scratching post we bought and propel herself onto the couch so she can sit with us again. She can’t make it on top of the bed anymore, but I tend to pick her up and put her on mine and I make sure to put her back down if she wants off or if have to leave the room for any reason.

She is a trooper; and although she will still whine every once and a while, she is the sweetest and most loving cat I’ve ever had the privilege to own. It goes to show that you shouldn’t judge someone by their age. She will always be my beautiful Flame Point Siamese tripod survivor. I love you Butter.