A Little Breather

Tempo’s a funny little creature. When she purrs loud and hard, which is often, she opens her mouth a bit. It’s like the extra-strength purr needs more air. I tried to record a picture of it but of course every time I attempted it, she ceased her purring and stared at me as if I were prying…

I don’t think it is a problem. Temps is active and energetic, and her play doesn’t suffer for lack of air. I will tell the veterinary about this when next I see her, but I don’t think it requires attention. It’s just another small characteristic that sets Tempo apart.

I Should Buy a Lottery Ticket

Neville gave me a gift early this morning. He threw up. That wasn’t the gift.

I have a number of cardboard half-cartons, the kind that Fancy Feast and other tinned cat-food come in. They were handy for keeping around the house for when Renn vomited. My big boy always gave me plenty of time to find one (they were scattered about the apartment) and put it under his head to catch any debris. Neville, who throws up much less often than his brother did, nonetheless chucks some up now and then, and is too quick on the draw for me to get to him in time, especially if I am in bed when it occurs. Even so, I still have these semi-boxes lying around, as the younger cats enjoy playing in or about them.

This morning, I heard someone throwing up. I guessed it was not Indigo, and all the others but the Nevsky were in the bedroom. When I eventually rose, I went searching for the results of Nev’s efforts. I found them in one of the shallow boxes. Everything that had come up was neatly deposited in its confines.

This has never happened before, and likely won’t again: a million to one chance.

I should buy a lottery ticket.

A Change in the Air

There always seems to be a day of the year, usually in late August or early September, which heralds the coming autumn. It is never in autumn; it is always before that. While still summer, there is something about the day that feels autumnal.

That day was today. It may have been the wind. The wind was not strong – especially for this part of the world – nor was it even cool. It may have been the sky, but the sky was sharply blue. It may have been the sun, but the sun was strong, and the temperatures high, though not hot. It therefore couldn’t have been any of those factors. Yet it still felt like autumn was coming. Until today, each day looked back to summer. Now, each day will look ahead to autumn.

It seems to make little difference to the beasts here. But with each passing day, they will snuggle in a little more, seek out the snug spots, and snooze a little more deeply, and the Cosy Apartment will become a little cosier.

Staring

Thankfully, I have not had too many cats who have stared at ghosts, aliens, private investigators in the bushes or other invisible beings. I recall that Tungsten did now and then, but thankfully most of those in the Cosy Apartment have kept their gaze fixed in this dimension.

This may have changed with the advent of Tempo, who spent ten minutes staring upward an evening or two ago. And she didn’t even hurt her neck.

New Bravery

It’s interesting, fun and gratifying to watch a cat become braver.

Only a couple of weeks ago, Brazil, if he found himself on my bed when I walked in the room, would jump off of it. Now, he has come to realise that he is allowed to be there, unless he is clearly ready to threaten Imogen, who might also be on the bed. I practiced ignoring him, walking around the bed without reference to him, when I saw him there, and now he knows that he need not immediately flee. He is comfortable enough at this point to snooze there – though taking Imo’s preferred spot at the top of the bed next to the pillow may be sheer provocation.

As well, I had a visitor yesterday – a human visitor – and not only did Shimmer not hide in a closet or under the bed – he lie on a cat-tree in the bedroom – but he actually came out to look at her in the sitting room.

Some day, Brazil may even interact with other people. Crazier things have happened.

All's Well

Yesterday, I received word from the veterinary regarding Indigo’s fructosamine test. Everything that it shows is satisfactory, and the doctor prescribed leaving Indie’s insulin dosage at the level it is right now, two units twice a day.

Her behaviour in relation to diabetes is good. She is not wetting more than twice a day, and I see her drinking water once a day, if that – though I know she drinks more due to the level of water in her bowl, which I’m sure no one else touches. In any case, her fluid in-take and out-flow are good, and those of a healthy cat.

This is a relief to me, not so much because I could not have increased Indigo’s insulin dosage by a unit without worry, but because it demonstrates that the insulin is keeping her body in a good condition. That, aided by decent nutrition, clean water and as stress-free an environment as living with cats she doesn’t like allows, means that my solid little introvert is doing well.

Welcome Home, Human

Sometimes, when I come home each day, I just take a breath before opening the door…

Double Vet Visit

Both Tempo and Indigo went to the veterinary hospital yesterday. Temps went for her booster shots, while Indie gave some blood for a fructosamine test. This shows the blood-glucose levels in the blood for the previous two weeks, thus obviating the need for a curve to be performed. Though I managed to poke Indigo’s ear once, I don’t think trying to do it seven or eight times over the course of a day would have met with success. This way, the effects of her current dosage of insulin will be clear, and future dosages may be determined.

The way the cats behaved during and after the veterinary visit was interesting. Indigo was unnerved and wanted merely to get back into her carrier and be taken away. After she returned home, she hid under the bed several times for a couple of minutes each time. This was unusual, since she has only recently started going into the bedroom at all (though last night she was on the bed again, briefly). After that, she was fine.

Tempo, on the other hand, was purring and curious throughout her appointment. Her tail was straight up all the time, and she explored everything. When she came home, she was untroubled. I think she is now bolstered in her confidence by a stable home environment.

That should be an end to veterinary visits for a while. I’m grateful for that, and I know the beasts certainly are.

Wrestling Match

Last evening, I caught a wrestling match in progress. I think Brazil started this one.

The Newest Oldest

Neville hasn’t been featured in my blog for a while. He is now my oldest cat, at fifteen and a half. I thought for a day or so that I would have good news to report on his behalf. I took a blood-glucose reading from him and it read 17.6, which would represent a decent dip from his regularly high number. Unfortunately, last night’s reading was almost 20.

Because insulin doesn’t work its magic on Nev’s diabetes any more, his numbers are usually around 20 or 21. It is not healthy for him, but I have tried different amounts, different kinds of insulin, and nothing works. I thought that it might be achieving some results, to an extent, once more, but that is not the case. His numbers do fluctuate, I think, but not according to the insulin he receives.

However, my grey lion goes on. I don’t know that he’s a particularly happy fellow; I think supreme joy for Neville would comprise being completely alone - no people, no cats - in a pleasantly warm and soft environment, with food periodically appearing before him. But now and then, he asks for chin-rubs. I try to give them to him whenever he wants, simply because he asks for so little, and so little seems to delight him.

He is too fat, his fur is too coarse, and every second time he poops, I have to clean his bum, because he doesn’t groom himself anymore. But the Nevsky is part of the Cosy Apartment; we put up with each other and that may bring him as much contentment as he will have in this world.

I do enjoy his perpetually half-worried, half-wary expression, though…

My New Bath-buddy

Tempo appears to have taken over some of Renn’s former duties. She is intrigued by the shower in the bathroom, and will wait for me to finish. Thereupon, she yells at me for a couple of minutes, perhaps wondering how any creature could be so foolish as to be splashed willingly by streams of water.

Yet when I have my bath, Temps is curious but not alarmed. Once I settle in the tub, she will settle down, too, and stay until my ablutions have been completed. It’s nice to have company again.

A Number for Indigo

It’s taken a while but I at last was able to take a reading of Indigo’s blood, to determine the effects of her current dosage of insulin.

It was more difficult than giving her insulin, since that is delivered by a very thin needle, and can be injected over a wide area. Blood is taken from her ear or a toe-bean (which would be impossible for many cats, considering the wide-spread feline dislike of having their feet touched.) Even the ear presents problems; Indigo doesn’t mind hers being held (briefly) but being poked by a needle, necessarily bigger than an insulin-pen’s needle, is another matter. As soon as I poke it, Indie often shakes her head, scattering any blood that comes out; sometimes she rubs the ear, smearing the blood; other times, she changes position. The means she has of inadvertently foiling collection of a sample are endless.

But yesterday, after I poked her, she remained stationary long enough both for a small bead of blood to form, and for me to put it on a test-strip. The result showed that, with two units of insulin, her blood-sugar number fell to 12.1.

The ideal range is from four to eight, but 12 is pretty good. When first tested, she was above 19. I will contact the veterinary and inform her of the reading. She may want the dosage increased. Another unit may drop the number into the perfect range. If she considers 12 to be adequate – and it is – then this level will suit Indigo well.

Ideally, a curve would be performed: samples would be taken every two hours – or more frequently – to show the insulin’s gradual effect throughout a day. But that would be impossible with Indigo right now, so I chose to sample her blood at what was probably her nadir – the lowest point the number would reach, typically five to six hours after her injection. I will try to take some blood each weekend.

Now, at least, I know not only that the insulin is having a good effect on Indigo’s blood-sugar, but it is dropping it to an acceptable level. I am pleased.

How It Begins

This is how the destruction of a bedspread begins. I’ve tried to limit the cats’ rough-housing on the bed, and when we play there, I pull up the comforter; it’s pretty ragged as it is. But this may not have been due to fun and games. A cat lost its purchase when she jumped up; another one was scared and jumped down; when scratching, a third’s claw was caught in the fabric. The possibilities are many.

I used to blame such tears on poor old Renn. He couldn’t walk all that well at the end, and sometimes had to adjust his position with his claws. Before that, when he still jumped, he would seize the bedspread for support. But he is no longer here to blame, my big boy - and he always used the stairs anyway, in his last year.

While the identity of the bedspread’s assailant remains a mystery, the first unravelling of the skein remains. This is how it begins. It will end with another bedspread…

Her Expanding World

Indigo continues her progress. She surprised me Tuesday night. After I had gone to bed, I felt another cat climb up at my feet. Imogen growled, and I thought it might be Tempo, but this one was too light, and Imo doesn’t growl at Temps as much as she does at the others. When I looked, I could tell by the patterns on her fur, even in the darkness, that it was Indie. She eventually made her way up to lie next to me, opposite to Imogen, where she purred for about fifteen minutes before leaving. This was the first time she has done that.

I was disappointed that she didn’t repeat the performance last night. I think it would help with her integration with the other cats, as well, as Miss Silky eventually stopped growling and lie, perhaps not entirely easily, but quietly, after a while.

In the meantime, Indigo’s new routine is to join me and the other beasts in the dining area while I prepare their meals. She spends her time impatiently wailing.

And then there is this, from last evening, what Katie Isabella would call monorailing…

Enemy Hers

Indigo plays with a string-toy now and then, but, to be honest, I don’t know if she’s playing. From her actions and sounds, she may be highly annoyed at the toy, at my attempts to have fun with her and with me in general. She may be heard in this video giving the toy what-for, though I don’t know if it’s part of her playing or if she’s in earnest.

Either way, unfortunately for Indie, it’s entertaining for us humans. (I should add that she is perfectly friendly and purrful with me. She reserves her enmity - either real or pretended - for the toy.)

The Real Tempo

Sometimes, the camera captures the true essence of the subject, but one has to be quick. Often even the lens isn’t swift enough. But in this case, the real character has been captured, for an instant…

Sounds for a Cat-man

Today is a day off for me. I think it’s called Heritage Day here in Alberta. It’s an unpaid holiday (which is rather silly, since I could call in sick any day and have that as an unpaid holiday. Anyway…) The point is that I was able to have a nap. My apartment building is, however, undergoing extensive renovations; the unit chosen for today’s renovations sounds as if it is the one immediately above mine. There was pounding and hammering, sawing and drilling, scraping and various unidentified noises that simulate a great ship breaking apart after being struck by multiple torpedoes. I fell asleep during all that and slept for about seventy minutes.

What woke me up was somecat throwing up a hairball in the kitchen.

Bon Voyage, Mr Foster

“Renn?...Renn!”

Dr Bellen walked up behind Renfrew Foster and made sure the old cat saw him standing beside him at the window. Renn had been growing increasing deaf over the last few years, and since he could not clearly hear the human approach, he was sometime startled when the doctor seemed suddenly to appear next to him. Now, Renn peered up at Dr Bellen with tired eyes.

“What are you looking at?” the man asked.

“The view. It’ll be the last time I see it.”

Through the window were the grounds of the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium: its lawns and buildings; tree-shaded benches, pathways; the bandstand where concerts were sometimes held, especially in warm summers, like the current one. A soft breeze stirred the curtains. Renn had gazed out of this window, and many others, for fourteen years, ever since he had come to stay at the sanitarium.

“Fourteen years is a long time for a cat,” he mused. Glancing up at the human, he added, with wonder, “I was just three when I came here.”

“Yes, and a few years after that, you became my assistant.”

“Did I do a good job, Doctor?”

“You’ve done the best job, Renn.”

“Well, I know I’ve slowed down a lot recently. I haven’t been walking very good, and I’ve been stumbling. And my mind wanders a little bit…”

“Don’t worry about that. Imogen has filled in when necessary. You’ve trained her well.”

“She still has a lot to learn,” the old cat said, “but I guess I did, too, when I became your assistant. Do you remember all the reports I submitted?”

“Remember? I still have them on file. Reports on bugs, on wind, on grass, on birds - and of course on water.”

“My speciality!” exclaimed Renn. He purred at the thought of all the water he had studied. He sniffed the air. It smelled just a little salty, it seemed to him. But then, even his big nose wasn’t doing the job it used to, these days. “I used to be interested in everything. Now, I just want to sleep most of the time.”

Dr Bellen stroked the cat’s smooth head, and responded, “But each night, we discuss the sanitarium and what is going on. I still count on your reports, you know.”

The two watched as a taxi rolled through the open gate, half a mile down the drive. Dr Bellen picked up Renn’s little suitcase. He wasn’t taking much with him, but then, no one needed to carry a great deal with them, when they journeyed to Samarra. As they exited Renn’s room, they were met by Imogen, who sniffed noses with her chief.

“The best of journeys, Renn…” she said.

Several other cats paused to say good-bye to the old-timer, but he seemed less then interested, after he parted from Imo. As they walked slowly down the corridor, he confided to Dr Bellen.

“To be honest, Doctor, I don’t know most of these cats anymore. There have been so many. I remember the first ones, of course: Tungsten and Josie and Tucker. Will I see them in Samarra?”

“Of course,” the human assured his friend. “The First Four will be together again.”

“And Brazil. He likes snuggling with me. He’s a new one, but he’ll give Imogen trouble.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Dr Bellen helped Renn into the back of the taxi. The seats were very soft and comfortable, and Renn settled in nicely. It would not be a long trip to the station, but Renn knew the veteran cat’s trick of always making himself at home. Soon, they were heading down the road outside the gates of the sanitarium. But then, Renn noticed something unusual.

“Doctor, isn’t the station down that way?” he asked, after the taxi had turned not left toward the village but right.

“Indeed, but we’re not going to the station. We’re going to Snug Harbour.”

“Snug Harbour!” Renn had never been to the port-town, but of course had heard of it. “What for?”

“You’ll see.” Dr Bellen smiled.

Through the undulating countryside they travelled, past farms and small communities. The fruit crop was nearing its harvest, and the orchards were heavy with apples and peaches and pears. The scent of the fresh produce, still on its trees, was strong, sweet and pleasant. Yet there was still that salty tang that came to Renn’s nostrils, like a summons.

Soon the roofs of Snug Harbour’s buildings could be seen. Tall houses and blocks of flats, all made of stone, with roofs of red and grey tiles, filled the town, their neighbourhoods carved up by winding streets. Over the bridge that spanned the River Slowater, the taxi drew ever closer to the origin of the salt.

“What is that smell, Doctor?” Renn puzzled.

“It’s the sea, Renn; the salt sea.”

“The sea!”

The automobile bumped over cobbled lanes and onto the expanse of the harbour. Spread beyond it was the sea, green and fresh, more water than Renn could ever have imagined. Along the docks were ranged several ships, some for freight, others for passengers, a few for both.

“I thought it only fitting for a connoisseur of water’s last long voyage to be by ship, on the sea,” Dr Bellen revealed. “That’s yours, the SS Driftwood.”

Renn was speechless. The sea was endless behind the moles of the harbour. People and animals were busy all about him, loading ships, embarking, conversing, working. Dr Bellen paid the cabbie and helped his fellow passenger out. A gangway led up from the docks to each of the ships. 

“It’s all perfect, Doctor!” Renn said, nearly breathless. When they approached the plank up to the Driftwood, Renn insisted that he could walk up himself, though he asked the human to carry his bag for him.

There was still some time before the ship sailed, so Renn and Dr Bellen toured the vessel a little. They met the captain, who invited Renn to dine at his table; luncheon would be served not long after they left Snug Harbour. When the cat suggested rather reluctantly that he would make a poor guest, as his appetite was not dependable, the captain smiled, and told him that on a ship bound for Samarra, everyone’s appetite was at least good, and would become better the closer they came to their destination. This cheered Renn greatly.

The chief engineer came to report to the captain and was introduced to Renn. The rough seeming gentleman in the slightly dirty uniform saluted, and invited the new passenger to view the engine room during his trip. Renn mentioned that he was feeling tired, but the engineer laughed with a roar, and said that he’d soon be feeling much more energetic.

“It’s the sea air, you know, sir, the sea air!”

At last, it was time to sail, and for Dr Bellen to disembark. Renn became quite quiet as he stood at the railing with his friend.

“I will miss you, Doctor, and the sanitarium. I’ve forgotten everything about my life before I came to live there. We had some fun, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did, Renn. Do you remember your roofless cave, where you went for a little peace and quiet?”

“Haha, yes, from the roofers who were working on the sanitarium buildings when I first came. And the monster that climbed on my back and chased me through the corridors? Haha, it was just a bag, after all.”

“Poor Tucker didn’t know that.”

“Hahahahaha, and neither did I at the time!” Renn purred as the doctor rubbed his chest one final time. “I’ll miss chest-rubs, too.”

“You’ll find everything that you love in Samarra, Renn. I promise.”

“But you won’t be there,” the cat reminded the human.

“Not right away, but some day.”

The Driftwood’s big horn sounded, and those going ashore began filing down the gangway.

“Good-bye, Doctor. I will remember you to Tungsten and Josie and Tucker, and all the others.”

A minute later, Dr Bellen was on the stone of the dock, watching, with dozens of others, as the ship slowly eased away from the land, and turned toward the sea. Renn stayed on deck, his eyes, tired and a bit goopy, never leaving his friend. When the ship turned its bow toward the open sea, Renn padded to the stern, and continued to watch Dr Bellen, until the Driftwood was far out on the water, no more than a blur on the horizon, and Snug Harbour, to those on the ship, was just a line between sea and sky.

The crowd on the dock dispersed, and eventually Dr Bellen turned and stepped into one of the taxis waiting for passengers by the customs shed. He gave directions to the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium but, as the car started rumbling away from the harbour, turned once more, and looked out to sea.

“Bon voyage, Renn, my friend. Bon voyage.”