Unfortunately, we found out yesterday afternoon that the mass they removed from his intestines is indeed cancer. Of course I was upset, I spent the hour after the vet called crying into my clay (literally) at the studio, but in my heart I already knew that was going to be the case. The vet is still trying to determine whether or not chemotherapy will work on his particular type of cancer (there was a lot of -omas thrown around when the vet was talking to me, I kind of lost track of what is actually going on, maybe a soft-tissue sarcoma?) and then of course we will have to make the decision as to whether or not that is something we want to do for him.
There is a part of me that is hoping that there is still a chance the Ollie will make a full recovery, that somehow he'll be the amazing miracle cat that beats the odds. But a more realistic part keeps that in check, making sure I don't get so hopeful that it's that much more devastating in the end. All I can do for now is make sure he's comfortable, spend time with him, and do what I can to make sure he knows that he is loved.