Thanks for the kind thoughts, guys.
OB (as we call him for short) is still here--he jumped up on the bed this morning and woke me up for some head-scratches and sew Fourth. The vet's got him on steroids for the cancer, or something--I can't figure it out myself. We also have some kitty opium, which we give him when he's in obvious pain. Thankfully, we don't have to give him much of that, since the Irish have the weakness, and the last thing I need is a strung out cat.
So far, he seems to be (mostly) pain free; he still has his back leg wrapped, where the tumor is, but he's walking around fine, purring a lot, eating everything in sight, and using his box. He's, as always, almost absurdly affectionate for a cat. We plan on keeping on with this care while OB's life is worth living, and when that changes, well, we'll take care of that then.
The other night OB jumped up on my lap and fell asleep, and it was then that it hit me, that he wasn't going to be around for long, and I became totally unmanned, and started crying like a schoolgirl. All this accomplished was to aggravate OB, who jumped down and stamped off, pissed off. So, I'll try to continue to be strong.
My little brain can't even comprehend how deep that is.
--beefsupreme, commenting on his super rare Deep Blue wartche