When we play with the string-toy, Imogen likes to grapple with it between the flattened spindles that form the back of the dining table’s chairs. Sometimes, she can reach it between the wood, sometimes it comes right at her. Either way, she finds it a lot of fun.
Dear Diary.
I am stil nirvus arownd the human hoo livs here an looks aftir us cats, but Im getting beter. I let him get closser now befor I run an hide. Sum times wen Im down the stares, he yuzes a long stik to cleen up all the sand frum the sand boxes were we poo an pee. He duznt like the sand all ovr so he cleens it up.
But then he duz sum thing rilly weerd. He takes a short stik an pix up all the pee lumps and poo an puts them in a bag. He piks up owr poo and pee an saves it. Wut the hel iz that for??
I nevr saw a human do this befor. Mebbe its a inside-thing. Owtside humans hav all the wirld for poo an pee so thay dont need ta save it.
Theres a room down the stares were us cats arnt alowd. There ar big noiz boxes there, an a big noiz box that makes heet. Iz that were he stors the poo? Why? To be awnest, Diary, if that room iz ful o owr poo an pee, I dont want ta go in there...
Im hungree. Therez alwez hard food reddy here, so no wayting. I think I wil fil up an make mor poo and pee for the human to save. Hez bin nice to me. I'll do that for him.
Each year, on the 25th day of February, I write about those of my cats who have died. I like to describe a certain quality of each one, letting the readers know something of the cat who was my friend. This time, I want to explain what each taught me.
The first of those friends to go on ahead was Bear-Bear. He died on this day in 2014. Though I had had cats since 2007, his deterioration, due to cancer, was new to me. So too was how much he continued to want to be with me, even while he was sick. The BB and I liked each other very much, and, whether being with me brought him comfort in his adversity, or whether it was just part of his affection for me, I learned that even with their dying breaths, animals will love their people.
Tungsten, my first cat, died on March 25th, 2015. The tiny terror taught me a great deal, but was too much the subject of my inexperience. It was through her that I learned about what not to do, more than what to do. What to feed, how to integrate cats, how to leave them for the day, when to clean litter-boxes… The Orange One was my introduction to the feline world, and when she left me, I had still so much to learn that I regretted the loss of her tutelage as much as anything else of which I was suddenly bereft.
On June 2nd, 2019, Parker (‘Puck’) passed away. He was a fun fellow, the only one of my cats to go outside (on a harness and leash, of course). He taught me that a cat could have a bad temper, and display it when and how a human might. For the most part, his temperament was equable. But when forced to do something he didn’t want to do - such as go back inside after a pleasant excursion in nature - he would grumble and claw the ground. Even when he died, he expressed his disagreement with events; he wanted to stay, and let me know in no uncertain terms. His spirit was undiminished, but his body was crumbling. My lesson in strong will.
Raleigh had been living outside for a time, an insider-cat abandoned or lost. I had to trap him, but had guessed that he was socialised. Indeed, the first time that I sat with him, while he was still confined to my bathroom, he climbed onto my lap. I realised then that he was grateful. Peachy, as I called him sometimes, was thankful to me for giving him a warm refuge and good food. I had not before seen that emotion shown so clearly in a cat. He died on May 15th, 2020.
Cammie also died on May 15th, 2020. She came from an abusive household, and it took the two of us quite a while to trust each other. But we became very good friends. What I learned from her was tenacity and perseverance. She had a stroke in May of 2019 and, though all the other effects were temporary, the blindness she suffered was permanent. Yet she adapted. She learned to walk through the apartment where we then lived, to find open windows by smell, to find the litter-box by memory (even if it meant continually bumping her head on furniture), and she learned to use a set of stairs to climb to and from the bed. She reclaimed her life through her fortitude. Alas, her life thereafter was short, and she died following another stroke.
Josie was an ordinary cat, it seemed. There was nothing very remarkable about her. She was steady and calm, unexcitable. I often compared her to the housekeeper who ran the household, letting the homeowner get on with his work. She taught me that a cat can give an air to a home, in her case, steadiness and dependability. Our home seemed all in order when I saw my Chubs about the place. The Great White left me on 17th February, 2021.
Tucker was my roly poly, my little goof in a sausage-shaped package. He instructed me in treating diabetes. He showed me how to manage it and how it can easily get out of one’s control, sometimes through one’s inaction or ignorance, sometimes on its own. The Tuxter was my testing ground, yet he never lost his sense of fun, and never stopped being my friend. He was the Catfather, and it was to him that I would go to learn about diabetes. He died on December 4th, 2021.
It was on August 20th, 2022, that Minuet died. She was nineteen when she came to live with me. A supposed-diabetic (she was not), who kept wetting outside of her box (we solved that) and deaf (yes, she was), she had lived sixteen years with her person. She was with me for seven months. Yet as bewildering and frightening as her changed circumstances must have been to her, she adapted. Madame, as she was titled, showed me affection and regard, and, in times of adversity, she looked to me for support. I know, thanks to Min, that a cat is never too old to adapt and enjoy life.
And Renn, my big boy. From the start, he was timid, a pacifist. Large and strong, he preferred to hide than confront. Appearances were deceiving with the Rennster. He came to me because he bit someone who was trimming his bum hair, yet he was never so untoward with me. A gentleman who looked to the peace and quiet in life, rather than the ruckus, he had a scientist’s soul, and hidden depths. Things were not what they seemed, he told me often enough. He died on July 2nd, 2024.
These are the cats I have known, and have learned from; cats who were my friends, and my teachers. I will remember them, and I will remember the lessons they taught me.
“This looks great! What a shape, what a size! Excellent consistency!”
Only a pet-parent can become so enthused at the solid deposit his cat leaves in the litter-box. I had been worried about Indigo not crapping often enough, despite receiving Restoralax for a week. She’s been going, but really left something behind Saturday night.
“Those are the kind of results I want to see, my girl! Keep up the good work!”
It’s like she’s in the running for a Nobel Prize…
Tortoiseshell cats often have interesting patterns. I noticed early on in our acquaintance that Valkyrie’s face divided its colours between orange on one side and black on the other. But then I realised that this was only until the little nose was reached. Below that, indicated by the philtrum, the colours reverse. Then, under the mouth, on the lower jaw, they switch back. Valkyrie’s patterns are as fun as her character.
Everyone is feeling better at the Cosy Cabin. Indigo is back to eating (though I supplement her conventional food with Recovery, so I can mix in her Restoralax), snoozing on her armchair (she had abandoned it for the floor) and asking to lie on my lap. She is also now objecting a little to her fluids…
Neville’s condition has also improved. Cerenia has rarely let me down, and in this case, it helped restore the Nevsky over-night. His poop is still somewhat soft but firm and formed. When it was otherwise, I would have to take him to the Treatment Room (the bathroom) for cleaning after his litter-box visits, heralding the procedure with a “Come on, my boy; let’s go.”
I observed him yesterday afternoon, in the corridor litter-box. He threw out some little poops when he was trying to cover them. They were of just the right consistency. No cleaning required today, I thought. Then, as he was exiting the box, he stepped on a poop and squished it. Sigh.
“Come on, my boy; let’s go…”
I’ve written recently that Imogen has become more affectionate since our move to the Cosy Cabin. That has continued. She will sometimes want me to pick her up and hold her. While in my arms , she will bump her head against my face, and knead the air. Her sound at such a time is a short trill; when she wants down, it becomes an abrupt chirp.
But what surprised me most was what she did a few evenings ago when I was sitting at the table reading, after having some toast and tea before bed. Imo jumped up on the table, where she is not allowed to be, and, before I could say anything to her, climbed onto my shoulders, lying across them behind my head. She had not done that before, and no cat has since Tungsten. Once there, Miss Silky started kneading me.
How Imogen has grown in the last few months is rather astonishing. How she plays, how she sleeps, how she moves; all have changed for the better. But nothing has been more pleasing to see and feel than how she now shows me she likes me.
Once in a while, coming home makes me want to turn right around again. Yesterday was one of those days.
As soon as I came through the door, I saw bits of feces on the floor around the litter-box in the corridor. That was not a good sign. There were ugly marks on and in the litter-box, indicative of diarrhea. Also, not good. These indications were also found on the litter-box in the cat-room, along with accompanying bits and pieces. Someone had wet on the bed. Someone had tipped over the bedroom rubbish bin and strewn the contents about the floor. This all would not have been so bad if Neville’s bum had not retained much of what should have been all in the litter-boxes.
It took a while, but everything was cleaned up and washed and tidied. Then the Nevsky went to the washroom again. I had to clean his bum again. Then he threw up, twice. My old boy was not having a good day. It was two hours before I was able to sit down to dinner.
But, though it started as one of those days, it ended better. Indigo pooped, which made me feel good; it probably did the same for her; she is eating decently, and on the last day of two of her medicines now. Nev received a dose of Cerenia, which seemed to improve his lot, too: he had little appetite last evening, but ate well this morning and had not made a mess anywhere. I suspect the vomiting and the diarrhea were related: not what had been plaguing him until his new diet, but some bug in the tummy, I think.
So, while it may not be that all is well that ended well, it came close enough. And I’ll see what greets me when I returned home this afternoon.
Indigo is now eating on her own, and eating more than Recovery. I mix Restoralax into her soft-food (she has not, so far as I can tell, eaten any hard-food since her ordeal), and feed her more often than the others. She has a couple more days on two oral medicines and four more on the third. Then, from her viewpoint, her life should improve. Something that still concerns me is that she has not used the litter-box much, so I hope to see more visits there. Nonetheless, I am pleased with how things are proceeding, especially considering how daunting I felt they would be on Friday, giving two medicines twice a day, one once a day, plus daily fluids and insulin twice a day (and not forgetting Neville’s insulin twice a day, along with his ear-medicine…)
I am grateful that I have cats who are, all things taken into account, co-operative and relatively easy-going, even when they are, in their eyes, being tortured.
Here is one of them at rest. For which I am also grateful.
Indigo appears on her way to recovery. Late last night, after a couple of force-feedings, which did not find favour with her, she at last ate again on her own, lapping up a small but decent amount of Recovery soft-food. She also moved about much more than she had during the last few days, wandering out of the bedroom a couple of times. She also drank some water. For breakfast and lunch, she ate more Recovery.
While this is very good, she needs to eat more, and to use the litter-box. I know that she hadn’t taken much in over the previous days, but I worry about the constipation that had her backed up. She has released some of what was inside, but I hope for more.
Indie is taking her medicine with as little enjoyment as her syringe-feeding, but I think it is getting into her. Except for the Restoralax, which can be given in her food, or with a pudding treat, and the fluids, which she accepted a second time with calm, the medicine will be finished by the end of this week.
In the meantime, Indigo is catching up on her sleep, of which her troubles deprived her. If things continue as they are now, she will be well again by next weekend.
Indigo is still refusing to eat. She will take in a little of chicken- or fish-flavoured pudding treats (the kind that squeeze out from a flattened tube.) I tried flavouring food, particularly Recovery, with it, but I would have to have more treat than food to coax her to consume it, and that isn’t practical, as it would require a huge amount to be worthwhile. I may have to force-feed her, which will not be enjoyable for either of us. I will attempt that tonight.
In the meantime, the progress that is being made is with Sable. She does not hide every time if, to scoop litter or sweep the floor, I come into a room in which she is lying or sitting. As long as I don’t approach her, she will remain where she is, watching me. This is an improvement over the past. The photograph below depicts Sabe when I came home on Friday: I know she has been on the bed during my absences, and caught her once dropping to the floor after lying within a foot of Moxy.
Yesterday, while I was at the computer in the bedroom, Sable was elsewhere. When she returned, she sat on the threshold, in no hurry to hide under the bed again.
Then, today, she did the same thing, though when I spoke to her and told her to come over and see me, rubbing my fingers together at floor level (because this is the irresistible way of inducing a cat to bend to a human’s will…), she crouched for several minutes facing me, as if actually considering coming closer. She decided against it.
Sable is well used to the cats here. I think the only problem is her being chased periodically - probably by Brazil - though even this seems rare. It is certainly not often enough to prevent her from roaming about the house when she has a mind to. Sable’s only real difficulty is with me. And time is on our side in that instance, unlike the case with Indigo.
Indigo came home yesterday with a case of pancreatitis. This will affect her permanently. Among the problems it causes is dehydration, which means that Indie will be on fluids for the foreseeable future. She will also need Restoralax to soften her stools and keep her regular. In the short-term, she will be taking Clavamox twice a day to fight a possible infection, Gabapentin twice a day for pain, and Cerenia once a day to reduce nausea, which is an effect of pancreatitis, even without visible vomiting. She will also continue her insulin treatments, of course.
As you can imagine, her days will not be pleasant for the next week, filled with medicine and various procedures that she won’t like. The Restoralax I have successfully mixed in with a pudding-like treat; whether she will continue to eat that, I don’t know, but it is the only thing she has wanted to consume since returning from the hospital, and it isn’t enough in terms of nutrition. Nor is it enough for her insulin, which needs to go with food. The Cerenia will, hopefully, make her feel better.
The difficulty is putting the medicine into her. I have the three in liquid form, but Indie resists being given even this, especially the Gabapentin, the taste of which every cat loathes. I think I was able to give these medicines to her this morning, but she jinked and jerked so much, I can’t be sure.
I was surprised that she put up no fuss over receiving subcutaneous fluids. This was no small blessing, especially in its unexpectedness. Another improvement is that she seems in less discomfort. Though she is shunning her favourite chair, she is not moving or changing position every few minutes, and is actually resting, if not sleeping.
The pancreatitis and its treatment, even after the immediate medicines are finished, will probably reduce her chances of adoption to nil. Few people seeking to bring cats into their homes will choose a diabetic, never mind one who has another condition which will require, at the least, daily fluids. I was hoping she would find a home without other cats to cause her annoyance, but that will likely not be.
Indigo will of course stay with me for as long as she needs a home. It may not be what she dreams of, but it will keep her safe and warm.
Indigo has been withdrawn over the last few days, not wanting to spend time on my lap, not showing interest even in telling the other beasts where to get off. I made an appointment for next week to have a fructosamine test conducted, to measure her blood sugar over the past fortnight, since she has been most reluctant to allow me to jab her ears for a glucose reading. I thought her insulin allowance might need adjusting. Then, I decided on an examination. Afterward, in consideration of the long weekend coming, and her possibly feeling poorly over the three days, I moved the appointment up to Thursday. Nothing conclusive found.
Last night, though, Indie was clearly in discomfort, moving about throughout the night, never seeming to find a comfortable position. This morning, she didn’t touch her breakfast. Though she had eaten well on Wednesday, and consumed a decent amount Thursday, her food this morning was left untouched. I called the hospital to have her fit in for another appointment, with possibly an x-ray.
The fuller examination today, along with an x-ray, revealed that Indigo is badly constipated. Though a friend suggested this as a cause of her problem, I would not have thought it so. I saw her having no difficulty in the litter-box, though, to be honest, while I can distinguish some of the cats’ crap - Sable’s in particular is unique among the gang - I cannot determine how well or often Indigo performs the deed.
Now, she is at the hospital, staying for the day. She will receive fluids, an enema and painkillers. When she comes homes this afternoon, she will have more painkillers in case she needs them over the weekend. As well, she will come with fluids. It’s been a while since I’ve given those, and never to Indigo, who likely won’t take them easily. But, all this is better than it could have been, and my friend will be home, safe and warm for the long, cold weekend.
Valkyrie has a crooked whisker. What caused it? Why just one? What does it mean? She’s not telling...
