Bonnie and the bots

Bonnie and the bots

servocrowI’ve got bad news and great news.

The robots are coming. But the robots have the potential to save the day…and the cat.

Bonnie the conqueror
Bonnie the conqueror

I’m not talking about Daft Punk. (We talked about them last week, anyway.)

I’m not talking about the bots who spam this blog. (XOXO, skeevy guys shilling Louboutins.)

I’m talking about the CyberKnife® stereotactic radiosurgery superbots.

But before we meet those heroes, here’s the unvarnished ugly news: Bonnie has an aggressive form of cancer in her nose. Traditional surgery is not an option. We can’t even use steroids, since in the past they’ve caused Bonnie’s stomach to perforate.

The best case scenario if we do nothing? Six months.

Six months scarcely scratches springtime.
Six months is less than a full season of Scandal.
Six months is…scandalous.

Bonnie is too valuable a Tabby's Place employee to even consider checking out. (Here she is seen managing the desk of Danielle, her favorite human in all the land.)
Bonnie is too valuable a Tabby’s Place employee to even consider checking out. (Here she is seen managing the desk of Danielle, her favorite human in all the land.)

But Bonnie is a gladiator, and six months ain’t the only option.

After Dr. Fantastic reviewed the foul facts with us, she cracked the door open to light: “There is one option.” Every ear around the table strained towards the speakerphone and a word of hope: “CyberKnife.”

Simply stated, CyberKnife is stereotactic radiosurgery. (OK, not so simple.) It is neither a cyborg nor a knife nor surgery. It is very likely the thing — o happy thing! — that will save Bonnie’s life.

What will this look like when it all goes down next week? Run this through the garden of your mind: A robotic arm dances around Bonnie, controlled by a computer. This modern marvel focuses radiation precisely on the area where it’s needed. Outrageously accurate, CyberKnife can even adjust in the middle of the procedure. Meanwhile, Bonnie’s healthy tissue, including her brilliant brain, is spared from exposure to radiation.

There’s no pain. There’s no cutting. There’s no need for the usual 17-20 blasts required for radiation.

And there’s every reason to believe that Bonnie can enjoy 2+ more years of healthy, cancer-free snuggles after this is all over.

Taking care of business: it's what Bonnie does.
Taking care of business: it’s what Bonnie does.

Two years is a veritable sea of time for Bonnie. She’s approximately fourteen now — skirting “old,” but far from cold. She’s beaten The Tragic Bereavement of 2013, The Terrible Upper Respiratory Infection of Later 2013; the Dastardly Stomach Perforation of 2014; and literal hundreds of kittens encroaching upon her space. Nose cancer is not a match for her.

So, kittens, please pray with us that the ‘bot does its best on Bonnie’s behalf next week. We’re not done loving this girl, and she is not done winning at life.

Photo credits from de top: The interwebz, Mark, Jess B x2.

Note: The bots in the top thumbnail are not the droids Bonnie is looking for. But if you know exactly who they are and love them with an undying love, I love you and we should be best friends.


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