The Calls of the Wild

Cutting cats’ claws isn’t usually an ordeal, though it often depends on the cat, and sometimes it depends on the audience.

I tried to have some privacy to cut Indigo’s claws. She didn’t like the process and started complaining. Apparently Moxy heard this and came into the room, making his characteristic diminuendoes. This attracted Sable, who trotted up to the Mixer giving voice to her own hooting sounds. Valkyrie hurried in from somewhere; she dislikes Indie and began wailing at her. All of this caused Indigo further stress, and she cried and growled even more. I managed to cut all of her claws, but it was like sunset in the jungle, with every animal having his say before bedtime.

Next time, I’ll just close the door.

A Cruel Cut

It’s claw-trimming time again at the Cosy Cabin. I am fortunate in that I am able to cut the claws of seven of the eight cats living with me (Sable being the exception). There is resistance - squirming, fidgeting, twisting - but nothing serious; certainly no cat enjoys it. But I can accomplish the task.

First up was Millie. I had to pause between cutting the claws of the different paws, as it was too much for her patience. She became rather growly after each paw was finished. In fact, when I completed the first paw, she walked away in a huff, then turned, came back and slapped my hand.

Maybe they’ll appreciate me more when they move out, get jobs and places of their own…

The Food Campaign

Valkyrie’s liquid poop continues. The various kinds of food the veterinary recommended did not help. She only ate one of them - the others were not to her liking - and it had no effect on her. Neither did Metamucil help - it was intended to firm up her stool   though I was able to feed that to her without difficulty, hidden in her food. The doctor was reluctant to prescribe antibiotics, as they would have adverse side-effects; as well, there seems to be nothing other than her feces’ condition that would indicate an infection. A probiotic cannot be given to Valk in an amount large enough to have an effect: she doesn’t mind it, but won’t eat anything with too much of it included.

Since she is otherwise appearing healthy - still very active, bright, alert and playful - it may be that Valkyrie has developed an allergy. First, I tried reducing the amount of fish that she consuming but that too had no effect. Now, I am attempting to eliminate chicken from her diet. If that is the culprit, a week’s starvation of chicken should show a result.

The initial step is finding something without chicken that she likes to eat. Most of the flavours of food that she does enjoy have in them chicken or a component of unidentified origin, such as ‘meat by-product’ or ‘liver’. This means buying the more expensive, more specific brands. So far, the only one out of several that she likes is Fussie Cat tuna-and-mussels. Trying to test her preferences means finding what she will eat before actually keeping her on that diet, so it will be a while yet before this new meal plan creates results - if it does at all. In the meantime, of course, I must still feed this long, slender cat what she will eat.

Too Close for Olfactory Comfort

As readers may recall, Indigo has taken to sleeping on the bed each night, very close to my face. This has not been much of a problem until last night. I think she may have thrown up somewhere, or had some sort of acid reflux episode. Her breath was terrible. It was so bad that I couldn’t stand to have her near. Regretfully, I had to push her away. I hated doing that, for she had no idea why she was being shunned. Having to tell a friend she has stinky breath is bad enough. When she can’t understand what you tell her, it’s impossible.

Inside Discipline

Sable hasn’t come back onto the bed at night. For the most part, she likes to lie on the window sill in the dark, and catch the scents that the air brings her. Perhaps it makes her melancholy for the old days of her freedom. Perhaps she smells something dangerous, and is glad she can relax inside. I don’t know.

I do know that she is responding to me more. She likes to pick at the window from time to time. I am unsure if it is the screen - since I never find any damage when I inspect it - or the frame, but I don’t want to take the chance. Therefore, when I hear her do that, I speak her name warningly. She stops. When she keeps doing it, I have to speak more sternly. Then, she stops and lies down. I can almost hear her sigh, her fun ended by her captor.

Being a housecat can be enjoyable - but it takes some getting used to.

Another Step

Sable took another step forward last night. I woke about 12.30 and, on my way to the facilities, I noticed a fourth cat on the bed. Usually, there is Imogen on the near side by my head and Indigo on the far side, also by my head, and Moxy by my feet. This time, there was another cat curled up next to the Mixer. At first, I thought it was Valkyrie. Indistinct in the darkness, the form nonetheless looked too large for Valk, so I switched on the light. It was Sable.

This is the first time she has been on the bed while I was in it. Alas, my disturbance of her slumber caused her to drop to the floor. But she has not yet retraced steps she has once taken. I hope and expect her new night-time position will be, if not regular, then at least common. We’ll see.

The Culprit

I have a set of 1928 Encyclopaedia Britannica. They are in very good condition, for century-old books. I like to read through them when I have a few minutes, rather than reading a more involved narrative for such a short time. I have learned a great deal from them. I have often left the volumes lying about, on the dining table for instance. They have not suffered injury.

Yesterday, however, I came home to find this.

The volume had been on the table and closed, but someone flipped open the back cover and tore the last page completely out of the book. I don’t know who it was, but I have my suspicions.

I have strong suspicions.

I have very strong suspicions.

Close Friends

Brazil and Moxy were in the cat-room. They both like the two cat-trees there, but Millie was in one. This was their solution.

Back From the Hospital

Indigo and Millie went to the veterinary hospital today.

Millie had not been to see a doctor for the whole time that she had been with her previously adoptive person. Fortunately, except for her teeth, she is in very good shape for a ten year old. Her teeth have quite a bit of tartar and plaque, and will definitely need to be cleaned. Whether any need to come out will be determined when the procedure is under way, and more can be observed. Mills handled herself well, was a little anxious but curious, and let the doctor do whatever was necessary.

Indigo was there for a fructosamine test. This demonstrated that though her glucose numbers are a little high, over all, she is receiving the proper amount of insulin. I was surprised at that, and will keep an eye on any indications that things are changing. She has gained a little weight since her last veterinary visit, which is contrary to mismanaged diabetes. Indie is, like Millie, ten years old. The doctor was shown why I have not been able to test Indigo’s glucose numbers at home, Indie being quite fidgety and a little defiant during the examination.

Both girls were pleased to come back to the Cosy Cabin, where they were given a soft-food treat for their troubles. I had anticipated that Millie would be off her food due to the vaccinations she received, and that reaction may yet come. So far, though, she has been unaffected.

...And Her Tail

And on the subject of Sable, readers may have noticed her tail. I think it was broken at some point. It is never raised - which doesn’t mean a physical impairment; after all, Neville’s is working unimpeded but it is never up. Even so, it is almost always in a lowered, crooked posture, and I have never seen it moving. I would not be surprised if she had caught it somewhere, or it had been struck by a strong force at some point.

Damaged ears, damaged tail; the life of an outsider cat leaves its scars.

Her Ears

I think Sable’s hearing may be somewhat impaired. I have noticed that she often doesn’t hear me approach her, even though I will be making an ordinary amount of noise. She will respond to her name, or if I speak something else, but otherwise she will not infrequently allow me to come quite close to her. I try not to do so too much, as I don’t want to startle her. Considering that both her ears are damaged in some way - one, frostbitten, the other ragged, with a notch - it would not be surprising if she can’t hear as well as other cats. And she is now advancing upon old age. On top of that, Sable’s peripheral vision is not acute.

But she can always tell where her friend is.

Amiss

I have been amiss. I haven’t been putting boxes out regularly since we moved into the Cosy Cabin. That will have to be rectified.

Tortieness on Parade

Millie has the typical tortoiseshell attitude. She is, as I have written before, small. She weighs about the same as Tungsten did in her healthy middle age, is thicker and more compact; Tungsten was a little longer and leaner. But Millie’s tiny paws and very quiet talk makes her deceptively meek.

I alternate opening and closing the door to the cat-room. Millie needs to become used to the other felines, and they should have access to that comfortable space. But Mills also needs some time away from the others. When the door is open, the other beasts naturally go in. I leave them to their own devices unless they are bothering Millie. For instance, Brazil will usually lie on an unoccupied cat-tree and snooze; no harm there. But other times, he sits at the bottom of a cat-tree Millie is lying on and stares up at her.

Sometimes it goes beyond mild annoyance. The ‘gang’ - Moxy, Brazil and Valkyrie - will now and then take things too far, come too near, trespass on a cat-tree already filled with tortieness. Then I will hear a short, sharp snarl, followed by the ‘gang’ making a quick exit from the cat-room, one in front of the other - and Millie bringing up the slower rear, tail puffed, possibly a paw raised. Twenty-five pounds accumulated brawn, wire and superiority put to flight by six pounds - if that - of enough-is-enough.

Millie has the typical tortoiseshell attitude.

A Test for Indigo

I want to take Indigo to the veterinary for a new fructosimine test. Lately, she has been carrying a lot of litter about with her - between her paw pads, I suspect - even bringing it to bed at night, which is exasperating. After this had been done for three nights, the reason why the litter was clinging to her more now than before occurred to me.

If her insulin dose is no longer controlling her diabetes, it would increase the amount of glucose being released by her body through her urine, making it stickier. I have noticed recently that Indie’s water-consumption has gone up, another sign of diabetes - or, in this instance - of less control over it. She is a difficult patient from whom to draw blood, so I have been able to test her only once in the last week, but it registered a higher number than has been the case in the past.

All these symptoms indicate that her current dosage of insulin is now too low. Because she is tough to test at home, a fructosimine exam is necessary. I hope to take her in to the hospital soon.

No One's Permission

I find Sable’s progress fascinating. She has started coming up on to the bed (not while I am in it) on her own now. Previously, she did it only when Moxy was also there. It was as if he was her permission; if she saw her friend doing it, she knew it was acceptable for her, too. Now, she doesn’t need that permission.

Rather than jump up, she will risk rushing past me if I am at the computer desk and hurrying up the stairs at the foot of the bed. Yesterday, she was snoozing with her head turned away from me. I could have reached out and touched her, though of course I didn’t; I don’t want her to worry that I will try it every time she closes her eyes.

Part of her will probably always miss the outdoors. As she enters her elder years, however, the wider world will become more dangerous to her. But she grows more at ease with her inside life every day, finding her place, and thinking, ‘This is my house, too,’ and needing no one’s invitation to make herself at home.

Watching Them Watch

I always enjoy seeing the cats take an interest in their surroundings. I think of all those living with me, Moxy and Valkyrie are the most alert most often to what is going on in the neighbourhood. They love watching the birds, the dogs across the street, people going by and, sometimes, just a leaf fluttering about (that’s usually Valk).

There’s nothing like watching a cat being entertained.

The Direction of Age

It seems that I have written a great deal lately about Neville’s aging. I think it comes from keeping an eye on him and his health a little more than I do on the others. Thus, I see the changes that come rather more often to an old animal than would to a middle-aged one, who has settled into a routine arrangement with his body.

Every morning, Neville walks his slow way down the corridor to the cat-room, which I open up as I prepare everyone’s breakfasts. There, Nev eats from Millie’s hard-food bowl. She has a different kind of food than others do; she’s used to it and, while the supply that came with her lasts, she will receive that. The Nevsky seems to like it.

But many days, he stops at the bedroom, the door of which comes first to anyone walking down the corridor. He sometimes comes in and wonders where the food-bowl is. I have to re-direct him to the cat-room.

This is a slight confusion, but one nobody else suffers. Neville’s mind is still strong, I believe, but I think he can become confused if he thinks of other things than the task at hand. He handles every other chore and desire well, but I see a bit of fog creeping in at the corners of his mind. Even so, to paraphrase what I once read, dementia isn’t forgetting where the food is, it’s forgetting what it is. The delight my old lion expresses when he sees his soft-food bowl being carried to him every meal shows that he’s a ways from that stage yet.

Another Unpleasant Time for Valkyrie

Valkyrie went to the veterinary hospital today. She has been pooping liquid crap for a couple of weeks now. I haven’t taken her to the doctor sooner because in every other respect she has been well. She runs and plays, is active and alert, is eating and generally being herself. I tried eliminating different foods from her diet, as the start of food-trials to determine if one kind is causing a problem, but so far, that has not worked. And if it were something in the nutrition that is bothering her insides, then it is a sudden change, as she hasn’t been eating anything new.

She is currently eating a gastro-intestinal food which, surprisingly, she likes. It is being laced with Metamucil - or a local brand of that product, since I couldn’t find a variety of Metamucil that wasn’t flavoured. To my further surprise, Valk is eating that, too.

We will keep her on this routine for the weekend, and see if there is any improvement. Though I am pleased that she is eating the veterinary food, I have my doubts as to whether this will cure her problem.

As an aside, it was difficult to take a picture of Miss V at the hospital as she was nervously on the move the whole time.

Sources Confirm...

At the grocery store, I ran into an acquaintance who used to live in the Cosy Apartment’s building, and who remembered Sable. She was pleased that I had Sabe with me, and that she was friends with Moxy. The acquaintance told me that she recalled that Sable was a kitten at the time of a specific house-fire in town. That was in 2013, so this puts Sable’s age at twelve or thirteen, depending on how old a kitten she was at the time.

Ferals have an average life-span of six years. Sabe’s life had been extended no doubt by the food she received from the residents of the apartment building she frequented. And if she is twelve or thirteen now, she may yet live an insider-cat’s lifespan, and perhaps, with luck, when she is very old, she may let me pet her.

Too Good to Last

I have determined that, while most veterinary supplied food is detested by all cats, there are some items that everyone likes, everyone to the exclusion of the one for whom it is meant.

Neville is usually served Recovery soft-food, but others, especially Valkyrie, will consume all of it on offer if she has a chance. That I understood. But it seems that Neville’s gastro-intestinal hard-food, which I credit, at least in part, for reducing his vomiting, is a favourite of other cats, as well. I have seen Sable eating it, and now have witnessed Indigo making one of her rare excursions from the bedroom just to indulge her taste for it. I knew something was up when whole bowls-full were disappearing while I was at work: Nev doesn’t eat enough to accomplish that and, if he did, would leave half on the floor, the result of his largely toothless - though ultimately successful - attempts to eat.

I want to leave this food out, so that Neville can nibble during the day. How to keep those who don’t need it from vacuuming up the expensive delicacy in his stead is the unanswerable question.

Not To Be Repeated

Long-time readers of this blog may recall that the rescue-group of which I am a member once took cats available for adoption to a local pet-supply shop for a few hours once a month, to show them off to potential adopters. That stopped with covid-19, and it didn’t start again, due to limited time and manpower within the group.

We thought we would try it again, just once. We don’t have as many out-going cats as we had in the past, but we thought Valkyrie would do well today. Unfortunately, that did not turn out to be the case.

Poor Valk was unnerved by the noise and the preponderance of strange animals, especially dogs. She was very nervous and did not show herself at her best. This was understandable. We did, though, meet a number of nice people, including one young boy who was very interested in cats and already knew quite a bit about them: a possible rescuer in the future.

Despite her reaction at the shop, Valkyrie was not permanently scarred. As soon as she returned to the Cosy Cabin and was released from her carrier, she began purring, and running about the house to make sure everything was where it ought to be. In a few minutes’ time, she was at the front window watching birds.

While a useful adventure for the rescue-group, it was, perhaps, not worth Valkyrie’s discomfort, so she will not be required to repeat the adventure. From now on, she will have to restrict herself to charming people from this blog.

Too Smart the Cat

Valkyrie is a very smart cat. I’ve described before how she and others use the ‘lazy Susan’ cupboards in the corners of my kitchen as secret rooms. They push in one side and it of course opens the other, allowing them to walk - or, in the case of Valkyrie, run - in.

But something the other day struck me about Valk’s interaction with the revolving cupboard. She pushed in one side as usual, but did not push it enough. There wasn’t sufficient room on the other side for her to slip in. Instead of forcing her way in, she pushed the first side again, causing the other to open more fully, allowing her greater access.

I thought about this afterward. There is a subtle difference between her latest action and others. It demonstrated something about Valk’s intelligence. It is one thing to know that an action causes a certain reaction. It is something more to understand the mechanics behind it. She realised that pushing one side of the cupboard would open the other, and that pushing one side more would open the other more. It is not simply the application of a greater - or second - force to achieve a result; it is the comprehension of how something works. Not every cat would do that; this I know from experience.

I think this is often the reason for mischievous cats. They are not more troublesome than others; they simply know how to apply their trouble to a more constructive - or destructive - end. Every day is a minor excursion into the curiosity that fuels them, and the intelligence that propels them. This is Valkyrie.