Friday, May 17, 2019

6th of June: D (Dental) Day

Next month is a significant one for my cats’ health care. Three of them will be going to the doctor for their dental procedures - two of them on the same day. Cammie and Josie will go together on 6th June, while Renn will follow a week later on the thirteenth.

I am glad I could get the girls in as soon as possible (three weeks from now is as soon as possible). I think Josie is suffering the most of the trio and, while Cammie likely needs the least amount of work, I want the doctor to check her anal glands while the princess is at the hospital. I saw her dragging her bum across the carpet one day last week. I have already started giving her Restoralax to encourage and soften her stools. Unsurprisingly, that is a more difficult operation than giving it to Tucker, who is also receiving it. Cammie has pooped since then, so she is not constipated, and yesterday’s specimen was exactly the consistency I like to see. Still, if Cammie is going to the hospital, I may as well have one end looked at as the other.

Having the girls go in on the same day will also save on a separate taxi-ride to deliver and pick up one of them. This is a not unimportant financial consideration. As it is, the three procedures will guarantee that the Mediterranean cruise I had planned for my summer holidays will have to be postponed. Or was a boat-trip up the Rhine and down the Danube? A rail ride across Canada? Well, in any case, I will staying close to home.

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Dividing by Half to Reach Zero

I thought it was time to report on Parker’s condition, as it’s been more than two weeks since he last appreared in this blog. Each time that I write about him, I note a deterioration in his condition, and yet he remains with me, and has not given me an indication that he wants to leave. He reminds me of the process of trying to reach zero by continually dividing a number in half: one keeps coming closer, but never gets there.

There have been some changes to Parker’s behaviour in the interval. He still enjoys his walks outside. We went for a couple last weekend; the weather was perfect, and we spent rather longer than usual in the outdoors (such as it is in a small city neighbourhood). Much of the time, Puck simply lie on the concrete, smelling and seeing the scenery. (I can’t let him on the grass because he constantly wishes to eat it; he throws up enough without assistance, thank you.) But now, he wants to go out all the time. He lies by the door, and scratches at it. I suspect that outside is the only environment in which he feels very good. I wish I could take him out more often, but numerous cats, and other non-feline responsibilities, limit our time there.

The orange boy has a desire to lie in new places about the apartment. Initially, it was on the large cat-carrier temporarily (one of those long-term temporarilies) in the corridor. I keep a half-box on it, one of several I have about the residence for quick use when I think someone is about to throw up. Parker decided that it a good place to lie.

Then, I found him on top of the litter-box in the library. This was certainly new, but did not last long. He later lie beside the box for a while.

More recently, he has taken to snoozing on top of the bookcases. This is not a novelty, rather a resurgence of interest. To reach the bookcase that he now prefers, however, means walking across one that is a little wobbly, and it sounds, strangely, just like a cat heaving before a good puking session.

But Parker is searching for new spots at which to rest. This may be an element of a need for comfort that he is not finding elsewhere, but when he lies down, no matter where it is, he does not appear to me to be in discomfort. There is rarely constant movement, no real restlessness, and his tail is usually still, not slapping in annoyance or dissatisfaction.

Another change is to his nose, which is darker than it once was, and seems to be losing fur. This may have something to do with his hygiene. That remains good, both in terms of his cleaning himself and in visiting the litter-box. But a spot he does not wash is his nose, which often has a residue of soft food stuck to it. I clean that off myself.

His vomiting has changed. It is no longer explosive, nor is it mostly liquid. It is of a smaller quantity, but a thicker quality. I would like to think that the calmer upchucking is an improvement but, given my sturdy-boy’s condition, that is improbable.

While Parker’s appetite has lessened, it is still impressive for an ailing fellow. Whenever the menu no longer appeals to him, I change it, so that there is always the possibility of something else for him. He now again enjoys a Royal Canin variety, and does not hesitate to eat a Nutro ‘loaf’ for senior cats. He has also, surprisingly, taken to Merrick turkey, which has not been a big hit in the apartment in the past. He finished off a three-ounce tin for breakfast this morning, which approximates his old appetite of eating half a 5.5 ounce tin at one sitting.

I am pleased by this, of course, and not just because it means Parker is receiving much-needed nutrition. I believe that cats enjoy their meals more than the average human does, and that they derive great pleasure from them. After all, in a life in which sleeping, watching and the odd play-time are the biggest parts, eating takes on a wider importance. If my cats don’t enjoy their food, I feel that I am depriving them of something to which they look forward. Parker continues to look forward to his meals. I have the feeling that his appetite will continue strong until immediately before he dies, or perhaps will even be unfazed by his condition. I hope so. A full belly works wonders on moral, human or feline.

My remarkable friend continues to defy mortality, if only for a few more days. Next week may bring disaster, but that’s next week. When I left him this morning, he was resting, content with his breakfast, and an earlier visit to the litter-box. We measure his life in hours, and these recent hours have been, all things considered, pretty good.

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Beggars Can Be Choosers

I have recently learned that my newest outsider cat, whom I have named Hugo, may have a home. Speaking to some of my neighbours, one is certain that he lives in a house down the alley by which he usually comes to and goes from our apartment building. I myself watched him finish a meal and amble down the lane, to turn in at the house mentioned. He very likely, therefore - considering his condition and friendliness - has people caring for him, though they may not feed him soft-food.

Then again, they may. Hugo is a very fussy fellow. He has left food more times than he has consumed it all whenever I provide him with something to eat. It’s true that these portions are often leftovers or experiments for which my beasts did not care. Even so, it shows that Hugo is hardly starving, and is in a position to be picky. He reminds me of a family I’d heard of who went to the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Christmas Days for the free meals given then, even though they were well-off. I may limit Hugo’s servings in the future; not eliminate them, but perhaps keep more for needful cats.

On that subject, I have yet to learn much about Polydora, the white and dark-tabby cat who has come around Café Cosy now and then. Her visits are not frequent, which suggests that she too may have either a home or at least another source of food. I will keep an eye out for her - or ask Renn to do so.

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Something Smelly This Way Comes

Saturday night is the only time of the week when I can relax for more than half an hour at a time. After feeding the cats their snack about eight to eight-thirty, I have a bath, then sit down with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie.

Renn is a big part of Saturday evenings. That’s his night with me. He loves bath-time. When I tell him it’s bath-time, he becomes very excited and sits with me while the water plunges into the tub. After it is full, he leaves to see to matters important to himself.

Last Saturday, I stepped into the tub and lie back. It wasn’t long until I smelled something unpleasant, and strong. It was like a gas line had ruptured just outside the bathroom door. I knew what it was, but it was intense, almost overwhelming.

It was so bad, I actually yelled out, “Is someone going to bury that?!”

Alas, no one heeded. My options were limited. I could submerged my head - and nose - until the stench faded, which, being a poor imitation of Buster Crabbe, I did not believe would succeed, or abbreviate my bath and deal with the problem myself. I reluctantly chose the latter.

I looked in the store-room, where the litter-boxes are kept and found the contents undisturbed from when I had scooped everything prior to my bath. I was puzzled, and a little alarmed; I hoped someone had not done his business outside a box. Then I recalled the spare box I had set up in the library. Sure enough, there were Renn’s results. His are often big and smelly. Rarely as bad as this, but then, I am frequently absent when he feels the need to relieve himself. I quickly dealt with the offence.

Unnecessary though it may be to write, my big boy was untroubled by his actions, and settled down next to me to watch - or, in his case, sleep - through the movie. Though not a grade ‘A’ film this time, it at least wasn’t the stinker Renn was that night.

Monday, May 13, 2019

One Step Forward, One Step Back

Raleigh has again decided that I am someone to fear. He seems to have reverted almost to the stage at which he came to live with me. He doesn’t come onto my lap anymore, and scurries away from me whenever I walk near. It needn’t even be in his direction; he takes fright and runs.

While this is a set-back for the Peach’s integration into the household - which was proceeding rather well, in my estimation - it is not a complete reversal. At meal-times, he will often advance toward me as I carry the food-bowl to him, and he rarely runs at those times; on other instances, he goes back to hiding in the corner behind an armchair, and waiting for his food there. He also still comes out to play. He will sometimes expect the string-toy to come to him, wherever he has placed himself out of the way, but he is more involved with me at those times. He also enjoys rushing into the tunnel and fighting the string-toy from there.

While this is a frustrating development, I must remind myself that rescuing a homeless animal is about the animal, not the human. As I tell others, it may be months, even years, before a cat is fully comfortable in his new environment. He may never become comfortable. I don’t think that will be Raleigh’s fate. I believe he will find that he is safe and welcome in the cosy apartment. It will take time and patience. It will take his time, and my patience.

Friday, May 10, 2019

The Great White Iceberg

Josie’s test results were reported to me yesterday, and they were not as good as I had anticipated. My Chubs has some kidney issues.

The doctor stated that Josie is in stage two kidney failure, which isn’t disastrous, but isn’t good, either. The SDMA test’s ‘normal’ range ends at 14. Josie came in at 15. She may need to go on a special diet, but not yet. We are on a watching brief right now, and I will take Josie in for a re-examination in three to four months.

This affects her prospective dental surgery, but does not eliminate it. Some of her teeth are bad; they are causing her discomfort, so that she chews on one side of her mouth only. Her mouth must be seen to. If not, she will be in pain for the rest of her life. Neither her teeth nor her kidneys are going to improve, so it is best to tackle the former while the latter is not in a dangerous state. She could have as many as six teeth removed, but the extent of the procedure won’t be apparent until it’s begun, and the doctor can see what’s what inside the Great White’s mouth. Josie will be on fluids for the whole day that she is at the hospital, before, during and after the operation. I will set a date for the surgery today.

I suppose diminishing kidney function is to be expected as my cats age, but Josie has been changing - aging - so gradually, so it seemed to me, that I didn’t expect her to be suffering, either from such bad teeth or from incipient organ failure. As with all cats, she is an iceberg when it comes to health, or, rather, ill health: there is much below the surface.

Her problems, however, will be attended to, and she will feel much better, heading into the last quarter of her life. And I hope to make those years worth living, no matter how many she has left.

Thursday, May 9, 2019

My Own Little Sultan of Swat

My cats generally get along with each other. Cammie hisses and snarls if one of the others inadvertently comes too close to her, but aside from that, there is little hostility shown. What Tucker does from the dining table doesn’t really count, in my opinion.

His favourite location for relaxation is a chair at the dining table. Initially, he disliked the thin cushions with which I equipped the seats, but he eventually changed his mind, and now curls up on the central chair very often. It’s his chair, not only due to its comforts, but because of its location. From here, the roly poly can whap any cat going by.

Tucker is not a violent animal. He will eschew confrontation if it arises. But now and then, he will strike a passing cat. That is especially the case if that cat is passing under or near his chair at meal times. When he does it, I will remonstrate with him, and he will look fittingly contrite. And then whap the next cat who comes near his chair.

He is my own little sultan of swat.

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Why Mornings Fear Me

Each weekday morning, I wake at five minutes after five o’clock. Well, that’s my goal. Because the prime vomiting time in the apartment is between four and five, I generally wake during that hour. On weekends, I sleep to five-thirty. (I have to give the sugar twins their injections at the same time every day.) Some Saturdays and Sundays, Josie will wake me at six minutes after five, thinking that I am over-sleeping. She’s helpful is my Chubs.

Anyway, this morning was a bit different. After cleaning up the puke - Parker threw up at 2.20, so it wasn’t him this time; I think it was Tucker; despite the hairball medicine and laxative, he continues to toss up bile - I fed the beasts. I noticed a new outsider-cat, a white and tabby animal whom I am naming, for convenience, Polydora. She seemed to want something to eat, so I fed her, too. Then I cleaned the litter-boxes, washed and shaved, made the bed. Then I heard the sounds of feline confrontation.

None of mine were in a fighting stance. In fact, they seemed interested in something that was transpiring outside. This wasn’t good. I looked out the door; Polydora was long gone. Instead, Hugo and Smudge (another outsider-cat, and a neighbourhood regular) were facing off. They did not sound as if they were debating the respective merits of eighteenth century French and Italian opera.

I seized a long and sturdy stick (it is used while I am absent to ensure that the door to the ditch cannot be slid open more than an inch) and stepped outside. Before I could distract them by banging on stones and wood, they closed, and the battle was on.

They rolled furiously and the fur flew, most of it Smudge’s black and white hair. Hugo is the bigger and, I am sure, more dominant; Smudge probably wanted simply to retreat but couldn’t afford to turn his back. I started yelling, and advanced upon the combatants, thumping the stick on the ground. They were likely confused by the approach of an unknown quantity - a middle-aged human in carpet slippers shouting incomprehensibly - rather than frightened of me. Whatever the reason, they parted. Now, I pressed my advantage and moved into the three or four feet between them. I spoke more reasonably, urging them apart. They walked, slowly, carefully, in opposite directions. When I returned inside, Hugo was sitting at the corner of a fence looking victorious, while Smudge had retired out of sight.

I calmed down my beasts and finished the morning routine in time to arrive at work almost not late. All this is why I wake two hours before my work-day must begin, even though its location is just ten minutes away by bicycle.

Oh, and just before I left, I saw Cammie dragging her bum across the new rug, and I don’t think she was hoping it was a water-slide. This can’t be good…

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Josie's Turn with the Doctor

It was Josie’s turn to go to the doctor yesterday. There was nothing outstanding about her health for which I was concerned, except some smelly breath. I thought it might be indicative of gingivitis or bad teeth and, being fifteen years old, she would need any surgery that might be required done sooner rather than later.

My Chubs did well at the doctor’s office. She purred from nervousness and hid in a little cubby-hole until the doctor came to see her. The results of the superficial examination were good; Josie’s lungs sounded clear, her heart was strong. She does have a few bad teeth that may be causing her discomfort when eating. Blood and urine were taken and have been sent away for analysis. I will know the outcome today or tomorrow.

The doctor was confident that the Great White will have little wrong with her. Josie has always been one of my healthy ones (it makes you wonder how she ended up in the cosy apartment) and I myself did not think anything except a dental procedure would be necessary. I hope that is indeed the case. If so, a surgery will be scheduled for her.

This will make three cats (along with Cammie and Renn) of mine who require dental work. This is to be expected at their ages. It nonetheless will entail a considerable financial outlay on my part - it’s no use asking them to contribute anything - and I think that I should own at least a modest portion of the veterinary practice by now.

Still, if my beasts will be comfortable and, hopefully, set for the rest of their days, it will be worth it. It may provide them with greater enjoyment during their meals, which in turn will mean more food consumed, and more money spent on nutrition, and… Hey, wait a minute…

Friday, May 3, 2019

Getting to Know Our New Customer

Firstly, I want to thank everyone for their support of Parker and me during his illness. I know most who read this blog have previously experienced the loss of a pet, as I have. It’s never easy, but Parker is a popular fellow. We always meet admirers of his when we take our walks, and he of course has his friends on the internet.

But in addition to the bad, there is good in the cosy apartment, or, in this instance, just outside. I have been becoming better acquainted with Hugo, my new outsider-cat pal. He has let me come quite close, and, Wednesday evening, allowed me to pet him. At first, he brushed against me and veered away, but then presented his head for a rub. He even purred.

I think he would very easily take to the indoor life, though, in fact, I don’t know that he isn’t partially an indoor feline already. My next task is to watch or perhaps follow him when he leaves my location, to determine if he has a home. Following him, of course, is tricky, as it might cause him to deviate from his routine or plan. From the look of him, he is likely neutered if male, though he may be female. His coat is coarse but not matted, as may be seen in the photographs. It is a little dirty, but no more than a long-haired cat would become if he rolled in the dirt once while outside. I have not touched him enough to know well if he is thin under that thick coat of his.

Hugo’s shyness suggests that he is homeless, while his readiness to permit me to touch him shows that he knew (or knows) affectionate human contact. Trying to follow him to his home (whether that is with a human family, or simply a rude shelter of his own choosing) may take a while, so I thought I would advertise him on Facebook or some such venue and see if anyone knows him, being careful not to divulge too much and even more careful of replies.

I believe Hugo is lost or, more probably, abandoned. Fortunately, whether he has another source of food or not, he won’t starve, so long as he continues to patronise Café Cosy. And doesn’t mind being stared at by the staff.

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Glad He is With Me

It may be repetitious, and is certainly disheartening, to chronicle the diminution of my friend, Parker. But, for both him and myself, I think I need to record his last weeks. And, indeed, I feel that his last weeks have come.

Two or three times now, I have felt that he has taken a definite step downward in his fight against his cancer. Though difficult to describe, I could tell each time that something had occurred to change his abilities, both to resist his illness and his means of dealing with it. Another descent was made this past weekend.

Parker is moving very slowly now, and there is a brittleness to his actions. He is eating less, though still more than I would have expected a cat in his condition to eat. He has been eating Hounds and Gatos pork for some time. It is, I believe, a good food, and he still appears to like it. However, he has twice since Saturday turned away from it. I have substituted Fancy Feast chicken-and-liver, and this he accepted at those times. I have a wide variety of brands and flavours with which to tempt him when he finally discards these favourites. Since his illness became known, he has rejected several varieties of food, and not gone back to them. I dread the day that he refuses everything. But this morning, he consumed a third of a 5.5 ounce tin of food; not bad, considering his situation.

Strangely, his nutrition does not seem to be effected by his periodic and violent vomiting. He throws up so much that if it contained as much food as other debris, he would have starved to death by now. His wretching is so fierce that it leaves him panting. I was lucky last night to note the signs of an approaching episode, and was able to put him in front of a box lid, one of several I keep around the apartment for the cats’ amusement and comfort, and for such emergencies. Though he is eating and the food is doing him good, Parker is losing weight, and his body is sinking, due to the weight and size of the tumour.

On the advice of a knowledgeable friend, I have increased Puck’s Prednisolone dosage from a quarter-tablet a day to a half. I hope this will have a positive effect on any discomfort he may be feeling. So far, he has eaten his food with the crushed pill hidden inside it. The medicine, fortunately, has little or no taste.

He has been asking for attention a little more lately, and when I cook or wash the dishes, he often lies against my feet. I try to spend time with him when he asks for it, sitting on the floor with him, talking to him and petting him. Then, he will decide that he’s had enough and move away. He’s never been an overly sentimental fellow.

But I am glad that he is with me at such a time. It is discouraging and frustrating, maddening and tiring, and always sad, but I am glad he is with me. Because some day, probably soon, he won’t be.

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

If He Would Just Wear a Monocle...

When Raleigh came to live with me, he was in rough shape. He had, and has, FIV and stomatitis. The former we watch - or rather, we watch for its effects - and the latter we treat with Prednisolone. He has a chronically leaking left eye. He drools, and he doesn’t groom himself as he should. And he has mats in his fur.

For some reason, these mats, little knots of hair, are restricted to his rear flanks. Perhaps they represent the limits of what he did groom in the ‘wild’. He didn’t seem to acquire any more after coming to my apartment. Nonetheless, they are unhealthy and probably uncomfortable. While he lies on my lap, therefore, I slowly brush them out.

I could, and do, use a comb now and then, and I could cut them. But such is Peachy’s fright at sudden movements or actions that he deems threatening (which is the majority of a human’s actions), that I prefer to use the gentle approach of brushing while he is relaxing. The advantage to this is that he likes being brushed. I can feel him slowly melt onto my legs as I slowly pull the brush back. When I reach a mat, I brush over it, slowly but repeatedly, sometimes giving it a series of soft tugs. He appears to stand this much better than a similar effort with a comb.

Progress is slow, but I have cleared up most of the mats on his left side. His fur is gradually looking better and feeling smoother. Raleigh will never win any beauty contests, but he is becoming a rather presentable gentlemancat. Perhaps with a topper and a cane, he will be welcomed in the best establishments in town. Now, if I can just convince him to wear a monocle…

Sunday, April 28, 2019

How a Cat-person Buys a Rug

It was at last time to buy new rugs. Throughout the apartment, I have my own, highly disposable rugs covering the building owners’ carpets, so that urine and vomit (the cats’, that is) doesn’t stain property for which I would have eventually to pay. Needless to write, the cats usually manage to do their horrible business just beyond the edge of any rugs I place as a protective measure.

But not always. It was time then to replace the rugs. The one in the library meant emptying bookcases and moving them and their contents, so as to unroll the rug under their positions. That was trying. Furthermore, the original rug did not serve its purpose entirely, as the cats had, as some point, wet on the carpet underneath, probably before I put a rug in that location. There is no escaping the slight smell of urine in one corner. But at least with a new rug, it is not obvious to me. Whether it is to the cats is another matter. I had hoped that the new item would help alleviate Tucker’s need to wet in that corner, but, alas, that has not happened. I continue to require a soaker-pad there which, of course, may be part of the problem: no matter how well it is washed, the pads undoubtedly retain traces of urine from previous incidents. But to remove the pad all together runs the risk of someone (who shall remain roly poly) wetting on the unprotected rug. It is a vicious circle.

The rug in the corridor will no doubt be more successful. No one ever wets there, though Parker tends to throw up on it quite a bit. I’ve no doubt it will need replacing in its turn. But for now, it is pristine. It was also too wide. The previous rug was not, but when I was searching for rugs to buy, the narrower ones were thrice as expensive as the wider, so I bought two and cut one of them down to fit. It doesn’t look quite even, but I never have visitors anyway, so except for these photos, no one will see it.

Buying the rugs was interesting. I found myself taking into account factors that non-cat people would never consider. Others might want a colour or pattern to hide pet accidents; I wanted one to show them. After all, I want to see whatever Parker throws up, in order to gauge the amount and frequency of his upchucking, as well as its content. The thickness of the rugs was measured in regard to urine soaking through them, and the backing was felt for the same reason. How well bits of litter or food would resist a vacuum-cleaner’s suction was pondered, and the basic question of how easily the fabric might be cleaned. I think I spent more time deciding on rugs than an interior decorator with a millionaire client.

But it’s done now. Tucker spent an afternoon avoiding the rug in the corridor, trotting along its edges. But he quickly realised that the strange smell would disappear the more he lie on it. As long as he doesn’t think the same advantage may be had by wetting on it, the results of my purchases will be satisfactory.

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Raleigh, Possessive, Not Plural

It was only a matter of time.

On a weekend evening, Hugo came to visit. I was in the kitchen preparing something for him to eat, when I heard a thumping on the glass door to the ditch. I came out to see Hugo by the glass, waiting. Raleigh was near by, as was Renn. I thought it rather cheeky of Hugo to start demanding I hurry like that. It’s not as if he were being asked to pay for his fare at the café.

A couple of nights ago, I saw Hugo on the steps leading down to the ditch. He was waiting again. Raleigh was on the carpeted ledge next the glass door. I went to get some food and I heard another thump on the glass. Coming out once more, I observed that Hugo was still on the steps. It had been Raleigh who banged on the window.

Peachy was protesting a new cat coming too near his home. HIS home. He’s reached the possessive stage. I knew this would happen. Sigh.

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Meet Hugo

There is a new customer coming to the Café Cosy. I’ve named him Hugo.

I know nothing about him, not even his gender; I am assuming he is male for the convenience of writing. He is not feral, as he allows my hand to come within a few inches of him, but he is wary. He looks fit and, though appearances may be deceiving, in good health. He may not be a stray, and could have a home at which he is regularly fed. He shows up outside my ditch door in the early mornings and late evenings, and waits patiently for a meal.

I have not seen any of the other outsider-cats for some time. Sable and Sablette were last by to visit more than a month ago. I worry about them, but vanishing for weeks at a time is not unusual for the pair, and I seem to recall that they did the same last spring. Come the warmer weather, the sisters don’t visit as often. A friend remarked that they may have gone to their summer place already…

While I have always provided Sable and Sablette with soft-food when I see them, they also eat the hard-food available, so they would sometimes come by without my knowledge and have a snack. I have not seen Hugo enjoying the hard-food, and he may not like it. Feeding this big fellow even an inexpensive food could become costly, so I hope he will turn his attention to the hard-food bowl now and then.

But making sure my visitor has something to eat isn’t that much of a hardship for me. Anyway, while he may have a home, he may not, and I may be his sole, or at least principal, source of food. In any case, who am I to turn away the Café Cosy’s newest patron? I’d hate to get a bad review…

Monday, April 22, 2019

A Sunnier Day

Raleigh is feeling better. I noticed a change as early as Saturday night, when I was playing with the cats. Peachy joined in just a little. That is, he lifted his paw a few times to try to capture the string-toy. It was a start.

Yesterday, I saw that his right eye was surrounded with brown goop, as if an inflammation had burst. I cleaned him up, added more eye-drops and noted that the eye was less swollen and red than it had been. Last night, he was more interested in playing.

This morning, he was impatient for his breakfast, and ate what amounted to three quarters of a 5.5 ounce tin of food. He was also running about a bit, as he does sometimes before a meal. His eye looks better still.

I have two days’ worth of anti-biotic to give him, and I will be giving it to him. I want to pound that infection back to where it came from, so he gets as much medicine as I have. He will also continue to receive the eye-drops.

An interesting aspect is that Raleigh is now crawling back onto my lap, even though I am still putting medicine in his eye. I think, though he dislikes such a treatment, what he really disliked was receiving it in a sore eye. Now, I suspect, it is more an inconvenience than a pain. As well, I have taken to brushing him immediately after he gets his drops, which he enjoys.

Unless he has a serious relapse, he will not be going to the doctor; I had planned to take him today. That would have been enough to set off any number of stress-related difficulties, and I want to keep him as relaxed as possible. While I am loathe to count chickens before they break out of their shells, I think another crisis has been overcome.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

My Usual Long Weekend

It’s the Easter long weekend, and at the cosy apartment, a long weekend means that someone is sick. This time, it is not Cammie, who is doing well right now. It is Raleigh.

Raleigh has an eye infection. His left eye, which leaks a thick ooze on a chronic basis is, relatively, healthy. His right eye is infected and somewhat inflamed. Before the weekend, I acquired drops and anti-biotic pills to give Peachy, and thought they would solve or at least reduce the problem. They have not, and I am reproaching myself for not taking him to the veterinary prior to the weekend.

Naturally, Raleigh is very reluctant to have the eye-drops applied, as I must open his sore eye to do so. He is therefore avoiding me, and no longer comes on to my lap. As well, he is not feeling good, and eating much less than he usually does, so I am anxious every time I must give him his pills, which are crushed up in his food. He is taking his Prednisolone tablet each day, as well as two anti-biotic pills a day. This necessitates him consuming enough food to accommodate three tablets. I could, if it comes to it, force the pill whole into him, but Raleigh is the most easily stressed cat in the world, and that would be traumatic for him. So far, I have been able to get his requisite amount of medicine into him, but it is a struggle.

I suspect that, with his FIV, such episodes will be almost common with the Peach throughout his life. I feel very bad about this, and can hope only that the food, warmth and companionship that he will also receive will be enough of a compensation.

As an aside, Parker is now receiving a quarter-tablet of Prednisolone to ease any discomfort he may be experiencing. I spoke with his doctor about this, and she told me that he could have as much as a whole tablet (five milligrams) a day, but I don’t think he is at that stage yet. There was no real sign of increased distress in the sturdy-boy, but he is adept at hiding it, so I thought I would begin a minor dosage of relief in any case. The quarter-pill allows me to expand the amount if necessary, with his cancer unused to the increased amounts.

Life is never dull with my beasts, unfortunately.