Harlie: Night, Day, and a Whole Lot of Attitude in Between

If you’ve been following along, you already know Harlie doesn’t do anything halfway. Not living. Not loving. And definitely not surviving.

A few short weeks ago, we were staring down something terrifying—a massive tumor on her chin that seemed to appear overnight. One minute she was just being her usual feral-but-fabulous self, the next we were knee-deep in urgent vet visits, biopsies, oncology consults, and a whole lot of holding our breath. Washington State University’s Veterinary Teaching Hospital became our second home, and words like oncology, surgery, radiation, and “we’ll know more soon” took over our vocabulary.

It was a lot. Too much, honestly.

But here’s the part that matters most right now:

Harlie is doing great.

And when I say great, I mean night-and-day, holy hell, who is this cat great.

She’s eating. Like, actually eating. Not struggling. Not avoiding the bowl. Eating like a proper, unapologetic cat who expects her meals on time and with enthusiasm. Drinking water. Lounging. Demanding snuggles. Issuing orders from her favorite spots. Reclaiming her throne.

The difference after surgery is impossible to miss. With that massive mass debulked, she’s clearly more comfortable—and it shows in everything she does. Her personality, which never fully left, has come roaring back with extra spice. She’s bossy. She’s loving. She’s opinionated. She’s very involved in all household activities.

Including laying directly on my wet painted rocks, because obviously that is the most ideal place to rest.

Classic Harlie.

Her stitches will be coming out soon, which feels like a huge milestone in itself. After that, we’ll head back to WSU to meet with Oncology and talk next steps. She’s not out of the woods yet—we know that. Cancer doesn’t just pack up and apologize. There’s still monitoring, follow-ups, and likely more treatment ahead.

But here’s the truth I keep coming back to:

She feels better.
She looks better.
She is better than she was.

And when you’ve watched an animal struggle just to eat, just to drink, just to be comfortable in their own body—this kind of turnaround feels nothing short of miraculous.

Harlie doesn’t know she’s been through something massive. She doesn’t know about test results, lymph nodes, or oncology departments. She just knows she can be a cat again. And she’s leaning into that role hard.

We’re taking this one day at a time, soaking up the snuggles, the sass, the small wins, and the quiet moments where she curls up and reminds me why we fight so hard for them in the first place.

Thank you to everyone who has checked in, donated, shared, prayed, sent good vibes, or simply cared. It mattered. It still matters.

Harlie’s got a road ahead—but right now, she’s walking it with a full belly, a loud opinion, and absolutely zero respect for freshly painted rocks.

And honestly?
I’ll take that win every single time. 🖤🐾