Wednesday, August 16, 2017

The Curious Case of the Vanishing Numbers

There is something strange occurring with Parker, and it may be strange in a good way.

While I was told that his blood-glucose numbers, following his dental surgery, may be erratic, what I have found is that they are changed but regular. Because I feared an unstable glucose level, I started testing his blood prior to each insulin injection. I have discovered that in the mornings, his numbers are high (though not alarmingly; in fact, normal for Parker), quite consistently hovering about the twenty mark. This means that I give him his insulin. In the evenings, for an entire week, his numbers have been what we want them to be, between five and ten. I have not been giving him insulin after such readings. The routine for a diabetic cat is a high number in the morning, followed by a drop (due to insulin injection) to a nadir about noon, with a subsequent rise to an evening high equal to its morning counterpart. Parker has been avoiding the evening summit.

I spoke with the doctor about this. She was surprised, and prescribed another curve for Parker, so that his blood-sugar level may be observed as it changes through the day. As it happens, this weekend is the orange boy’s scheduled curve. I feel sorry for him more than usual, because not only does he have to endure a whole day of bi-hourly (and, toward noon, hourly) poking in his ears to draw blood, but he has already suffered such indignities twice a day for a week. But it must be done.


This may lead to one of two beneficent options. Parker may be kept on insulin in the morning and taken off it in the evening, which is pretty much the situation now. But such a high dose (5.5 units) once a day may be too unbalanced. Therefore, his doctor suggested that if there is a gentle incline from a morning high to an evening low, the dosage may be divided, in a manner of speaking, and be given in amounts smaller than his current dose, but twice a day.

I queried the doctor as to whether the numbers could be the result of Parker’s surgery. She had not seen such a thing happen. But I think that if diabetes may be influenced by something such as digestion of certain foods, then surely there must be an effect caused by bad teeth and infected gums, which can leak poison into the body, and an opposite effect with their removal.

However, this is speculation and, for all I know, the numbers may resume their pre-surgical amounts soon, and the whole episode turn out to be nothing more than a temporary reaction to the operation. The curve this weekend may help solve the enigma.

In any case, Parker is doing well. He was very active last night, rushing happily about the apartment to the astonishment of the other beasts. Our play-time as well saw him energetic. This may be merely in response to the healing of his wounds allowing him to feel better, but I suspect there will be some permanent advantage to the removal of so many bad teeth and the repair of so much tainted tissue. My sturdy foster-cat missed his play-time, which I placed on hiatus until he had recovered himself somewhat, and he is as purr-ful as ever. I suspect that if his numbers return, they will even so reflect a healthier, stronger animal.

Friday, August 11, 2017

And That's Progress

I would like to thank all those who commented and thought about Parker during his recent ordeal. Certainly, many cats have been through far worse, but he doesn’t know that, so the good wishes are appreciated.


My orange foster-boy is doing well. He used the litter-box last night for both numbers one and two. What is it about pet-owners that makes us so pleased with regularity in waste-disposal in our animals? There is nothing wrong with Parker’s urinary and intestinal tracts, and that he had nothing to put into the box is perfectly understandable, considering his fast, and the subsequent lag between at last eating and the inevitable disposal of what wasn’t required. Even so, it was a good sight to me.

He continues to receive his medicine, which he finds onerous. On top of the three different doses given orally by syringe, there is his insulin and, because his blood-sugar numbers are up and down right now, I have to poke him for a test before each injection. But the number of such intrusions will diminish today, with the last of his pain-killers given this evening. I rather wish that particular medicine would last longer, as Parker is likely still in discomfort. But as healing continues, the pain will disappear naturally.

His appetite never really decreased and now he is back on his regular schedule, though the small amount of hard-food he had been receiving has been replaced with soft.

I am to report to the veterinary about Parker in a couple of weeks, unless something bad happens in the interval. But all is set fair, and I am grateful for my friend’s recovery.

Then there is this guy…


Tucker, being weighed here, is still heavy. His poundage fluctuates from month to month, but only within half a pound or so; I am not worried. On a definitely positive note, the experiment to stabilize his blood-sugar numbers has not worked the way I had hoped, but has worked. His dosage of insulin was lowered from four units in the morning and three in the evening to two-and-two. This was expected to raise his numbers, but to raise them to where they are even and consistent.

There is still inconsistency, but his numbers are in fact a good deal lower. Too much insulin can affect them as adversely as too little, and Tucker may not have needed so much for so long. So, in consultation with his doctor, I have kept my roly poly on two units of insulin in both the morning and the evening. He seems no worse for it, though I am vigilant as regards other signs, such as weakness in his rear legs.

And on that subject, we can’t have good news without some bad. Tucker is limping, favouring his left rear foot or leg. This, I’m certain, has nothing to do with his diabetes; that would have a different effect. I have examined the limb and he doesn’t flinch from pain. He played very actively last night and is in every other way normal (for Tucker). I was thinking of making an appointment for him to see his doctor, but I suspect she would just feel the leg and offer to take an x-ray, and I’m pretty sure there is nothing amiss that an x-ray would display. So we will see how well the leg does over the weekend.

To finish a hectic, unusual week: a little bad news, but overwhelmingly good. And when steps forward out-number those backwards, it’s progress.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Home Comforts

What a day for Parker yesterday was. He spent it at the animal hospital and I picked him up after four o’clock. He looked bloodied and discouraged, his back to the door of the carrier when they brought him out. When he heard me speaking to him, though, he turned and started rubbing his face against my fingers at the bars. He had nine teeth extracted; his mouth was not in good shape. He was already missing a number of teeth, so he doesn’t have many left.


He started purring about ten minutes after I let him out of the carrier at home, but soon began pawing fiercely at his mouth, so I rushed into him some of the pain-killer the hospital gave me for him, and after some minutes of face-stroking and conversation, he was purring again. The veterinary technicians thought he might have to be coaxed to eat, since he had lost so many teeth, but that wasn’t a problem. He wolfed down the first small portion of food I gave him. I waited for any adverse reactions (eg. vomiting) but he was fine, so I fed him little portions through the evening.


Parker was silent during the night, as usual; he was probably exhausted from his ordeal. He was undoubtedly happy to be home. This morning, I fed him a larger amount of nutrition in three portions before I left for work. Also this morning commenced his course of medicine, all liquids by mouth, fortunately. He receives a pain-killer (twice a day), an anti-inflammatory (once a day) and an anti-bacterial medicine (also once a day). I intend to administer most of these in the mornings. This treatment will last four days.


As well, he must receive his usual insulin shots. I checked his numbers this morning, and they were lower than average. This may simply be due to less food in his system and a general reaction to the stress of yesterday; at the hospital, his blood-glucose numbers were quite high. But I will run a curve on him a week from this Saturday; it may be time to adjust his insulin dosage downward. We’ll see.

For now, he must be given his medicine, which he dislikes. I try to inject the syringe-full of liquid slowly and gently each time, but he doesn’t lie still for it, so I have to be swift. He struggles against the syringes, so I have to put the medicine in when I can. I think he figures he’s had enough doctoring.

I haven’t seen him drink water since his return, but he had urinated in his litter-box during the night, and he is eating soft-food only right now. Drinking may be a trickier prospect than eating for him; I can’t be sure. He doesn’t have canine teeth anymore to contain his tongue the way it used to be. The poor fellow has to adapt a bit. But he will; cats are marvellous at that.


Last night, he wanted out of the library, and this morning, he was at the library’s window when I came to say good-bye to him, so he is taking an interest in things. That’s a good sign.

The pictures here were recorded yesterday, late afternoon and evening, after Parker’s return. There is blood on his paws that he didn’t want me to wash off. Most of it is gone this morning, so he performed his own ablutions. He is a clean fellow.

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Parker at the Hospital

A month ago, Parker went to the doctor for an examination of his teeth. Today, he is at the hospital for a full dental. He has a few teeth to remove and plenty of cleaning to be done. I will know more about what is required when the veterinary calls me to explain the situation.

The orange-boy was confused this morning, confused and hungry. I couldn’t give him his breakfast, of course, nor his bed-time snack last night, due to the use of anaesthetic today. He still purred and was a happy cat - a hungry, happy cat.

Once more, I wish I could explain things to animals, so they would understand the necessary pain and discomfort they go through. But after this is all over, it will be forgotten, and Parker will feel much better. He’ll just have to trust me on that.


Monday, August 7, 2017

Dinner on the Terrace



This is one of Cammie’s favourite places to dine. In the later afternoon the sun shines on the ledge. I liken it to having dinner on a terrace overlooking a sparkling lake. It actually overlooks a concrete trench that serves as my ‘patio’, but perhaps the princess has a good imagination. In any case, trust her to find the most prestigious spot in the sanatarium for her meals.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

The Veterans



“They don’t make things like they used to.”

I think that phrase was first uttered by a caveman, lamenting the new-fangled man-made fire; why, in his days, they used ‘real’ fire, the kind that lightning had to start…

Well, the complaint has proved one of humanity’s most durable. Certainly, the invention of plastics lent it increased validity. Many products these days are cheaply-made, with cheap parts, none of which last long.

It may come as a surprise that the 1980s seemed to have devised some items, appliances in particular, that have stood the test of time, at least here in the cosy apartment. At the risk of jinxing these machines, allow me to introduce my veterans.

I have just recently had to have my vacuum-cleaner’s ‘power-head’ repaired. It required a new motor, a tune-up (I didn’t know vacuum-cleaners could receive tune-ups) and a good cleaning. This is the first time I’ve had to have it seen to in the thirty-five years or so that I, and my parents before me, have owned it. The repairs cost $154. I believe that, here in Canada, new vacuum-cleaners cost anywhere from just a little more than that price to three or four times that. But I will not discard something that still serves its original purpose well, just because it needs some maintenance, and so it remains in my employ.


Then there is the apartment-sized deep-freeze unit. This fellow is about the same age as the vacuum-cleaner, though it may be a few years younger. It is a god-send for those of us who like to buy in volume, or who make some of our own meals, freezing the prepared portions for quick, later use. The mechanism that keeps the door up and open is broken, but all else works well.


Then, the captain of the team: my micro-wave oven. Weighing more than a Volkswagen Beetle, and built to withstand the blast of a bomb, it was born in the late 1970s. It takes up enough room for two or three ‘modern’ micro-wave ovens and probably throws off more radiation than Chernobyl, but it still performs yeoman service. I use it to warm up the cats’ soft-food and periodically to thaw frozen articles for my own consumption, so it seemed pointless to replace it with a slimmer model. It has followed me through four moves of residence – no doubt much to the consternation of the movers – and will stay with me until one of us dies. I may actually go first.


And so, while I do not collect antiques, it seems that at least a few have clung to me, for protection and use. They continue to do what I ask of them. When an appliance fulfills its purpose without fuss or undue cost, why replace it? Besides, would I be obtaining anything better? After all, they don’t make things like they used to.

Friday, August 4, 2017

The Infiltrator

There is something strange happening with Cammie. You may have read my article from last Saturday in which I described how Cammie played with / taunted Parker. It has happened just the once. However, I have noticed the princess doing other things that I find odd.

Principally, she has been placing herself where Parker often is. The orange boy likes to lie in the far corner of the sitting room, on the carpet, under the patio door that is open to the screen. Lately, Cammie has been lying there. And when she is there, she is usually snoozing, as if it has always been her preferred spot. 


Then, I caught her sleeping in the library. Ever since Parker has come to live with us, the other beasts have explored that room when he is elsewhere, sniffing what smells they could find in there of the newcomer. Even timid Tucker has edged his way in. Renn and Cammie, bolder, have taken more time in the library. I’m glad of this, as I don’t want that room to be thought of as exclusively Parker’s. But this was the first time Cammie has snoozed there, as if uncaring as to whether the sturdy-boy would come in.


Strangest of all was what I witnessed yesterday. In the late afternoon, Cammie was stretched out in the sitting room’s sun. It was just after dinner, and Parker had been released from the library after being quarantined while I was at work. He roamed about, seeing and smelling what was new since he had been incarcerated. He cautiously approached the prone princess, whose back was to the advancing foster-cat. He sniffed, she jerked her head up - and then lowered it again, settling down to snooze some more. She must have known that a cat was there, probably even smelled Parker’s unique aroma. Yet she did not hiss, or even look. This was very odd.


Will it continue? Cammie hisses as much as usual, wanting everycat to keep his or her distance - and then these events occur. Perhaps Parker is the one who will become her feline friend. Perhaps she is luring him closer to kill him. I would prefer the former, as Parker’s dismemberment by one of my cats would be awkward to explain to the rescue-group for whom I am fostering him. Besides, I like him. So I will hope for friendship. I also hope to win the lottery.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Which One is Hooch?

In 1989, Tom Hanks starred in a movie called Turner & Hooch, about a small city police detective who takes in a huge, ungainly and slovenly dog. Hanks’s character is very fastidious, almost a neat-freak. The dog is his antithesis. Needless to write, the two become good friends, and Hanks grows, if not less neat, then less unforgiving of hygienic trespass.

This, I have found, is similar to my life. I was never as much of a fanatic for cleanliness as Hanks was in the film. Few are in real life, as his character was exaggerated a bit for the purposes of comedic effect. Nonetheless, I think back to the days before I had a cat, or at least to the days when I had just one or two, and I see a change.

It is not that I am less clean. People remark on how clean my apartment is, even though I have several cats. I suppose they must expect droppings and vomit left all over the floor, or perhaps cats smoking cigarettes and tapping the ash onto the carpets. I sweep and vacuum, I dust and wash. But my attitudes are not what they used to be.

Now, when I find a cat-hair on my dishes, or even in my food, I am not disgusted. I don’t sterilise the bowl immediately or get another one to use. I let the cats on the dining table, though I wash it thoroughly before food is placed on it (my food; I don’t wash it before I put their food there.) I have lint rollers placed all over the residence like a stereotyped great-aunt from a 1940s film who likes a secret nip from bottles she thinks she keeps secret. But if I see cat-hair on my shirt, I don’t immediately leap to remove it. In fact, I find cat-hairs on newly washed and dried clothes and simply wonder where they found the time to appear there. While preparing meals, I talk to other cat-people about feline digestion and waste disposal. I pick up any stray kernels of litter a beast may have tracked from the boxes, but don’t fret about the germs that may be attached. After all, my cats lick me with affection, and I can guess what it was they had licked just prior to that.

So, while I sigh when the westering sun shines on my floors and makes the linoleum looks as if it’s a shag rug, and despair over yet another regurgitation that just missed the cheap mat I laid down over the apartment’s fitted carpets, I don’t worry overly much. It’s part of the evolution of the feline-fancier. Though I don’t suppose Hollywood will make a movie about it.