Hearing Her Age

One of the results of losing two of my beasts at once is that I observe all the more closely my remaining cats for signs of trouble. I have done this all the time, of course, as almost every cat-owner does: I note the size and consistency of waste left in the litter-boxes, the amount the cats eat, and how often they want to; I pay attention to the desire to play or the level of activity, and I watch their moods.

But two dying on the same day has made me particularly vigilant, perhaps too much so. I see that Neville has a belly that is growing round, and I think of Raleigh’s FIP. (Neville’s belly has been growing for some time, and his appetite is a healthy one, if you know what I mean…) I see that Tucker is off his food in the morning, and I think his diabetes is overwhelming him. (Tucker rarely feels like eating in the morning; his habits are peculiar…) Wariness is good, paranoia is not.

Something that will lead to difficulties eventually is age. I see it in all my cats from time to time, but most so in Josie. To be honest, she strikes me as being in very good shape for a sixteen year old. She is reasonably active (the reason in this case being Cammie’s old Z/D hard-food, which my Chubs loves, and receives as a treat), she is alert, when she thinks there is need to be, and she is eating and drinking satisfactorily. She even jumps from the bed to the cat-tree by the window now and then.

But she is slowing down. One of her favourite spots is the saddle in the saddle-topped cat-tree in the bedroom, the cat-tree that came with Cammie when she was first rescued. To get down from there, Josie usually drops to the ledge that runs under the window. Her drop is much more careful these days, more cautious. She makes full use of both sets of stairs up to the bed, the smaller set at the foot and the larger set at the side, originally provided for the princess.

The quality I have noticed diminishing most with the Great White’s years is her hearing. I have mentioned this once before in the blog, but it seems to be decreasing further. As functions go, it is probably one of the least needed by a safe, indoor cat, so I am not overly worried about its effects. Unlike blindness, though, I cannot avert startling a deaf cat by announcing my approach. If Josie’s head is turned away from me as I walk toward her, I try to make a wide arc around her, to allow her to notice me in good time; nonetheless, I always seem to materialise suddenly, and she jumps slightly. And, like a person who is hard of hearing, she must have certain words repeated to her, such as “dinner” or “snack.” Yet she hears the crinkle of a lone treat-kernel from across the room…

As I wrote, Josie is doing well (knock on wood) and I see no reason for her not to continue so. I will keep my eye on her and all she does, but she appears to be enjoying a gentle and graceful retirement. Well, as graceful as it can be when it is punctuated by rusty croaks and creaking cries for treats…