I met Spider in the fall of 1997, while visiting a friends home. Spider, a completely black kitten, along with the rest of her siblings, had been thrown into a croaker sack and tossed on the side of the road. Infested with fleas, her bones easily visible under her skin, and mewing constantly, Spider did not appear healthy. The friend and I gave all of the kittens a flea dip, after which Spider came to my side. Draping herself over my foot, she immediately began purring. I had a pet.

She went home with me the next morning, quickly making herself comfortable in her new surroundings. It wasnt until the early summer of the next year that I knew my kitten had a problem. Spider was not like normal cats. She displayed aggressive tendencies towards dogs. Not the normal defensive hair raising, hissing, posture but a truly aggressive nature. Two dogs lived behind us, separated from our yard by a chain link fence. I spotted Spider sitting idly ten feet from the fence while the dogs went insane, trying to poke their bodies through the fence to get at my kitten. As I watched, she rose and approached the dogs. My heart jumped, fearing she would be dog food any moment. When scant inches from the dogs, she swatted each of them with her claws. The dogs yelped in anger and pain, going nuts. Spider, with a sniff of disdain, turned and walked away.

After her experience with the dogs, I checked Spider to see if she had somehow been mauled, explaining her aggression. She had not, but I found strange bumps along her neck. The next day we made our first trip to the doctor. He did a thorough check up and then sat me down. He explained to me that Spider had feline leukemia. After a short discussion of the symptoms, he quietly told me it was his honest opinion that we should put her to sleep. I stared at him in shock and despair. This kitten was the only emotional stability in my life; the thought of killing her was beyond my comprehension. I suppose my devoted attitude toward Spider was in part an extension of the circumstances of my life. I emphatically stated my opposition to his suggestion.

Then in simple terms Spiders doctor explained the facts of life to me. He explained that Spider would be in pain most of her life, and her allergic reactions would become more severe as she aged. She would never be able to have kittens; he offered to spay her, but suggested she was currently ill enough that he would wait because her system would not handle the surgery. He assured me that in the later stages she would have horrible tumors and would suffer infection after infection. Basically his prognosis was a lingering, painful death. Still I remained insistent that she be allowed to have whatever life she could. The vet then dropped the other shoe. He explained that Spider must never be allowed to interact with other cats. A single bite or scratch from Spider, even contact with her bodily fluids, would doom another cat. My alarm grew with this, and I openly wondered if I were in any danger. His assurance was immediate. Feline leukemia could not be transmitted to humans. He explained that negligence in this isolating her from other cats could indeed get me sued. What he and I did not know was it was already far too late.

Spider was already pregnant, which did not take long to become apparent. The news necessitated another trip to the vet. It was he who discovered she had already been pregnant at our first visit. The vet then insisted that I go door to door in my neighborhood and apprise my neighbors of my cats condition. The response was less than enthusiastic. Almost to a person, my neighbors insisted that I pay for their pets to be tested. Even the dog owners requested this. I agreed to pay for the tests, and amazingly all came back negative. Our search was not wide enough as evidenced by her pregnancy. She had definitely interacted with another cat.

Spiders time was soon upon us. The night her kittens arrived, I sat up with her. The birthing experience was very difficult on her, as with most first-time mothers. The vet was correct about the fate of any kittens: two were still born; but they all died. Spider was a nervous wreck during this, as was I. She had not been able to produce milk. The experience left Spider a pitiful mess. I often found her carrying my socks up from the laundry, just as she would a kitten. I would find her tucked away in a closet I had forgotten to close, five or six socks closely grouped around her. She would be purring, mewing, and licking the socks. Her paws would open and close to a rhythm only she knew. Obviously she was reliving her kittens. It was the only litter she ever had, though she got pregnant twice again before I figured out she and a male were making contact. She miscarried on both of the subsequent pregnancies.

Spiders symptoms grew worse. Her bowel movements included blood. Her aggressive tendencies increased. I would allow Spider to accompany me when I worked in the yard. I had the pleasure of seeing her stare down a pit bull. Which would have been amazing, but the dogs owner was so cute I hated to see him and his dog leave. On another occasion Spider suddenly jumped up from where she was napping, watching me plant bulbs, and streaked across the road. Too late I spotted a man walking his dog. Spider first attacked the dog who cowered, and, when the man tried to kick her off his dog, she attacked him. I ran to their aid, popping Spider between the ears, which caused her to shake her head, look at me, and just as suddenly as she attacked, she seemed to come to her senses and run for home.

Spiders discomfort was becoming evident before she died. She moved more slowly; her allergies peaked; and we were getting her shots twice a month. Her last act of aggression baffled me. I tutored college students in calculus, and during one session, Spider lazed on the futon. One of the girls stuck her head under the futon to find her book. Spider, waking, saw a furry head (the girls hair was short) and attacked. The wounds required stitches, but the girls face was unharmed. The look of shame and shock on Spiders face was nothing short of human. It was the last time Spider attacked anything.

Early in 2000 Spider died. She did not die of feline leukemia -- in some small way the fact that this proud mother, warrior, friend, and companion died before the disease could run its course, became a comfort. I was preoccupied that night with things at the office. I never noticed Spider did not join me for dinner. The next morning I found her. Her body lay trapped by the garage door.

Spider suffered from a horrible disease that eventually would have left her crippled, in terrible pain and practically hairless. Perhaps the vet was right, but my time with Spider was precious to me, and the added expense and effort to support my pet was worth it.

If you own a cat, I suggest you have it checked for this disease as it is easily spread among cats that are allowed to wander. It requires a simple blood test. The test should be repeated in a few weeks to evaluate the seriousness of the infection. Two positive test indications might mean your cat is losing the battle with the disease.

There are three forms of feline leukemia: Leukemia, cancer of the lymph nodes, and non cancerous. Symptoms vary by the form your cat has encountered. Spider appeared to have the non-cancerous form of the disease.

Your vet can give you appropriate advice as to the proper treatment and course of action for you to follow. I, for all my desire to offer you information, am not an animal health professional and do not intend for this article to represent a technical discussion of the disease, nor all possible side effects. If you would like to learn more I am including some excellent websites that discuss all of the aspects of the disease.

http://www.animalclinic.com

http://www.animalhealthchannel.com/FeLV/

http://www.winnfelinehealth.org/health

http://www.vetinfo.com/cfeleuk.html

http://www.cathospitalofaustin.com/Library