My Sugar-cats

With the passing of Indigo, a long charter in my feline history closes. Now is the first time in eleven years that I have no diabetic cat living with me. I bought some more insulin for Indie not long before she died; I will give that away.

Now, I can sleep in on weekends, if I want. Since I had to inject my sugar-cats with insulin at the same time each day, and since I woke very early to go to work on weekdays, I had to wake near the same hour on weekends. I can sleep later now. I don’t know if I will; the habit of a decade is difficult to break, and waking an hour and a half or two later than usual may seem like much of the day will be wasted. I often took a nap on days off to make up for short sleeps. That was part of my time with Millie; she looked forward to jumping on the bed and lying next to me during my nap. That reason for a nap has also vanished.

There will be less cost now, since I will not be buying medicine and pens with which to inject it, and no more fructosimine tests. As is the way with such things, though, I probably won’t notice any savings, as they will likely be used for other feline items, such as food. Perhaps things won’t change much, after all.

Tucker, Parker, Neville, and Indigo were my lessons in diabetic care. They put up with my ministrations and my mistakes to varying degrees of co-operation. In the end, cancer took them all but Neville. It may be that diabetes had a hand in their final illnesses: a body that doesn’t work properly can’t defend it self properly.

I hope they forgave my clumsiness at times - especially Tucker, my first patient - the constant trips to the veterinary hospital, the poking, the testing. There is no way to tell a cat that they will probably feel better for it all. Maybe they didn’t, anyway.

I took on Parker and Neville because of my experience with Tucker. Indigo’s diabetes was coincidental with her coming to live with me. Because of their diabetes, their chances of adoption were not good. In the years I have been with the rescue-group, I recall only one diabetic cat being adopted. None of mine were, except Tucker, and I’m the one who kept him. The others were mine all but officially.

They are all gone now. Another may come; I’ve found that I’ve had little choice in which cat life decides to give me. That’s all right: that cat has little choice as to which human life gives him. We’ll cope together, just as I and the others have. Me and my sugar-cats.

The End of Holidays

Today my holidays are over. I leave Idylland and return to Workadayland.

These were a busy three weeks, with the Tempos and Rhapsody filling my time. There was the start of Millie’s trial-adoption, too. I haven’t heard anything from her new person for several days. I don’t want to keep asking her how things are going - nobody likes someone looking over her shoulder - but if there were any difficulties, I think I would hear of them. I am confident about that situation.

And there was Indigo’s death. Her ashes will come back to me in a few days.

There were other tasks to keep me going, such as the annual cleaning of the cat-trees (other than the superficial vacuuming during cleaning-weeks) and working on the rescue-group’s calendar.

Nonetheless, it was an enjoyable holiday. I began them a week later than usual, so that I could help work a fund-raising event that likely would have required a day off of work otherwise. Next year, I will revert to my usual time: the first three weeks of June.

So, only 48 more weeks to go…

The Changed Movie-night

Movie-night was different than it has been for the past year, when Millie was my companion. She is gone to her new home now, and no one has taken her place. The other cats came to spend time in the cat-room, where I have usually watched films (because of Millie) but most weren’t interested in the movie. I think the fact that the cat-room is available to them at any time of the day currently has precedence. Perhaps one will choose to sit with me in the future.

Rhapsody did venture in but she seemed startled by the images moving about on the television. She stared at it for about a minute before hurrying off. Perhaps she’s not a fan of European cinema.

I am Recognised

I think I have noticed a subtle shift in the Tempos’ reactions to me. It may be my imagination. Even so, I feel that, while previously, they interacted with me as kittens would with an anonymous human, someone who brought them food, who stroked their fur, who was an interesting playground, they now treat me as someone with an identity. Though their encounters with other humans have been relatively brief, I believe they understand that I am a unique being. This may be reading too much into them and, indeed, I have nothing but a feeling for this impression. However, now, unlike before, they seek me out just to spend a few minutes with; true, their attention span is about as long as it always has been, but I believe they see me as part of their family now.

This may, in fact, have to do with their developing eyesight, and that they see me clearly at all. They are tending to look at me more, and for longer periods, as if memorising, or at least recognizing, my features. This may be the majority of the new feeling I am gathering.

In any case, it is an interesting step in the kittens’ growth.

It doesn’t make them less of a disturbance in the space-time continuum.

Vivace's Adventure of a Lifetime

Today, Vivace goes to her new home. It will be a great change for her. She’s been at the Cosy Cabin for her entire life - all eleven weeks of it - and has been surrounded by her brothers and mother. But kittens adapt quickly. She will have another young cat and a dog to play with, and two doting humans.

Good luck, Viv: a long life and happiness to you.

In Memoriam: Indigo

Indigo was not an easy cat to know. That was obvious from the start, when I determined her to be male, and named her Iago. She came to me in early April, 2024, as a foster-cat through the rescue-group to which I belong. She had been frequenting a small park in the midst of apartment buildings, and had probably been abandoned. She was spayed but was homeless. Usually, people don’t spend money on fixing a cat, only to desert her. Then, during the veterinary check that told us she was, in fact, female, we were also told that she was diabetic. Faced with the costs and inconveniences of dealing with feline diabetes, her people may have just pushed her out the door, or left her behind when they moved.

Getting her to the veterinary took time. Indigo, as she was eventually re-named, did not like to be handled, initially. I am not surprised, as she turned out to be a strong-willed ladycat, and had been brought to a strange, new world. She was upset. After I learned that she was diabetic, and would require insulin, getting her used to my touch became more urgent.

The best solution to testing her blood-sugar was to attach a sensor to her skin, so that, at least for the fortnight the sensor was active, I could record her numbers, and an advantageous dosage of insulin could be administered. Indigo was corralled - she was becoming a little more co-operative in handling by now - and she went again to the hospital to have the sensor placed. The sequel was not what I had expected.

About an hour after having the sensor fixed on her back, Indigo started licking at it furiously. Then she started to cry and yowl. Eventually, this became growling and hissing. Something had gone amiss and she was in discomfort due to the addition. This went on for a while until she calmed down. I would have to take her to the vet the next day. During the night, she forestalled my plan. She had somehow removed the sensor, despite its sturdy glue. She was calmer after that, but testing for her diabetic numbers would have to come by another method.

As she spent more time in her new home, Indigo became more comfortable with me. She explored the apartment in which we lived at the time, and came to know the other cats. She didn’t care for them, and spent the majority of her time in the library.

This had to change, of course, when we moved in October of 2024. In the new house, Indie stayed for the most part in the bedroom. At first, she preferred the armchair there, but then took up residence on the bed.

She would explore other parts of the house, sometimes coming into the sitting room, even going so far as to climb the cat-trees. But I always thought she felt unwanted there, and I would watch as she eventually wandered back to the bedroom, seemingly sad.

It was partly her own fault. Indigo never came to like the other beasts. In particular, Imogen was, literally, her bête noir. They would fight physically; fur would be thrown but I could never find that blood was drawn. The one cat she didn’t mind was, predictably, Moxy. She tolerated the Mixer in most cases.

I tried the blood-glucose sensor on her one more time, early in 2026. I was prepared for another extreme reaction like the first, but it didn’t occur. The sensor was, however, not much more successful this time than the previous. It stopped working after a day and a half. The day after that, it was missing. She had managed to pull it off yet again, despite the pain she must have felt ripping it off. This time, its loss left strange bruising on her skin, in the centre of the unnecessarily large bare patch the veterinary technicians had shaved.

Indigo never reconciled herself to having her blood drawn for glucose testing. We relied on the fructosimine test, which was accurate enough, and gave a guide for her dosage. Her doctor generally liked what the test had to say.

In addition to diabetes, however, Indigo had to endure bouts of pancreatitis, which made her throw up and turned her appetite off. She also developed nodules along her mammary glands. These were likely cancer. In any case, there was little to be done about them. After these were discovered, she became a ‘sanctuary cat’; a permanent foster-cat, in my care but with health costs still paid for by the rescue-group. No one was going to adopt her.

But, as if realising that she was now with me for the rest of her life, Indie became closer to me. She would lie next to me each night on the bed. So close was her face to mine that her whiskers kept tickling my nose. It became a habit of hers to put her paw on my nose or mouth or eye, to touch my cheek. She would purr heavily while she was next to me like this. I tried to convey how much she was welcome to be next to me, and I hope she found some pleasure in this.

When well, she would look forward to her soft-food meals, sometimes coming out to the kitchen to eat them, but usually being served on the bed. She didn’t like playing very much except when she first came to live with me. Soon, she started treating toys as hostile agents, and growled and fought them, rather than played with them. She didn’t have much fun in her life.

Her dislike of cats certainly didn’t extend to people. The few visitors to the Cosy Cabin would often stop to pet Indigo, and she would rise to greet them, and purr. She would have made a successful only-cat, with a person of her own. That joy was never granted to her.

As her life wound toward what I didn’t know would be its conclusion, Indie became a little less hostile to the other cats, even consenting to lie on the same couch or bed as Imogen. Perhaps she was growing too tired for such anger as she had exhibited before.

Her end came suddenly. She started eating less on the 14th and 15th of July, 2026. A couple of days later, I noticed that she appeared to be breathing with her whole body, great heaves with every inhalation. As another of my foster-cats was destined for her vaccinations that Friday, I took Indigo, too, in to see the doctor. Worries over the way Indie’s lungs sounded led to an x-ray. Her lungs had partially collapsed; she was having difficulty acquiring air, and she was in pain. The nodules on her abdomen had multiplied in number and severity. The doctor thought that what was probably cancer had compressed the lungs. Indigo was not going to get better. I let Indie go, and she died at 4.17 p.m., June 19th, 2026.

My girlcat with the black mask didn’t have the full life she should have. Her animosity toward those of her own species meant that she was limited as to where she went in the Cosy Cabin, and her permanent ill health kept her from having the home that was her right. But I will remember the bright profusion of whiskers…

…and the stinger on her tail…

…and all that went in between that made my friend, Indigo.

Bedtime for Baby

No, I didn’t arrange this. I thought at first Allegro was lying beside the comforter. Apparently, he’d crawled under it, turned around and came out again. That’s right. Allegro put himself to bed last night.

Mother and Children

Firstly, I want to thank Ann and Ingrid for their wonderful badges of remembrance. They each capture an element of my late friend, Indigo, and will always be on my blog as a memorial. And I thank all those who have commented about Indie's passing. These are very kind tributes to my friend. I will publish a memorial post to her soon.

Rhapsody is eating, though it is not with enthusiasm. She acts like she wants food, but is not keen on consuming it. She is on antibiotics, which of course can cause digestive upset itself, in order to counter what may be causing the fluid in her abdomen. Once the medicine’s course is complete, she will be examined again and the next stage of her treatment, if required, will be determined. She has yet to be spayed.

Meanwhile, her kittens thrive. They are active and energetic and fly from one interesting thing to another. Something that stopped their peregrinations, though, was this toy, a kind of multi-layered track-ball, donated by a neighbour. Readers may note that even when not actually engaged in playing, the kittens watch what is going on, and learn.

Soon, though, the five Tempos will be reduced to four: Vivace goes to a new home on Saturday. Andante has someone very interested in him, but he won’t be going anywhere until next month.

Rhapsody at the Hospital

Rhapsody was at the veterinary hospital again this morning. She went on Friday, when Indigo made her last doctor’s visit. In fact, initially, Rho was scheduled for her booster vaccinations that day, and because of how Indie was feeling, I asked the hospital to fit her in.

Rhapsody did not get her shots. Her insides sounded poorly. An ultrasound scan was done, and then an x-ray, and it was found that she had fluid in her abdomen. But, because she had just eaten, the results were confused by the food in her stomach and intestines. She went again for an x-ray today, after she was fasted during the night.

There is still fluid in her abdomen. The doctor is unsure of the cause; it most likely is an infection, though how Rhapsody would have acquired it is unknown. There is a chance that she has FIP, though that is long odds. Despite going without food all night, Rho did not want to eat much when she came home from the hospital. She consumed a small amount of food. She cannot be spayed until the anti-biotics she is taking are finished, she starts eating more, and her stools are firm (though her currently soft stools may be partly caused by her antibiotics.)

For now, she is playing a waiting game, waiting to see if things improve, or worsen.

Millie's New Start

Another departure occurs today, though this one is happier than sad. Millie goes to her new home today.

I will miss the little-footed girl and our times together. But those times were one of the problems with her being here: I could give her only short periods of time each day. She disliked the other cats and didn’t like associating with them; even having them in the cat-room with her was stressful. Therefore, she has spent more time alone than with me. With the other cats, even if I couldn’t be with them, I was always seeing them, speaking to them. Millie couldn’t receive that sort of attention.

Now, she will be in a house with no one else but her human. She will be scared and confused at first, of course, but there will be, I think, a great revelation when she realizes that she is the only cat present. She will smell others - her new person has had cats previously and, indeed, has just finished baby-sitting a cat for a friend - but in this case, smell is less important for a feline than sight: Millie will see that there are no other cats. There will be no room set aside for her, no place where she can’t go. I think she will be sleeping on the bed at night next to her person quite soon.

Millie is a sweet, strong-willed girlcat, going on eleven years of age. But her health is good, she is active, she is alert. I predict many years of happiness await her. Good luck, my little friend.