Standing Guard at the Gates of Health

I worry a great deal about my cats. I worry about the food they eat, about them not eating, about not playing enough with them, about them drinking enough water, about them getting out of the house, about them aging… The list is endless.

I take the cats to the veterinary every year for a check-up. Josie and Renn went in the summer. Tungsten and Tucker will go in December. (That should be fun: those two in the back of a car together; even in separate carriers, the orange one will not be pleased about the roly poly’s proximity.) The examination always seems cursory, a prod here, a poke there, up with the gums to see the teeth, staring into the eyes as if trying to hypnotize the animal. But, like most pet-owners, I trust that the doctor knows her business.

I always note through the year anything that causes me special concern. With Tungsten, it is three items. Her mouth seems to be drooping a little on one side. The last time I noticed it was four years ago and it was a sign of a small infection. But that was accompanied by extreme bad breath, which she doesn’t have at this time, so I wonder if the droopy lip is just something I hadn’t noticed before. There seems nothing amiss when I examine her myself. But then, I don’t know what precisely I should be seeking. I do notice more little dark brown spots - which in a human may be a danger sign, of course. But orange cats get these as they age, I’m told (by vets), like liver spots. It’s a danger sign of sorts, but this danger none of us can avoid.

I have also noticed a sort of skin tag on the bag of Tungsten’s neck, under her fur. I don’t think it is anything serious but again, it’s something to inquire about. The third item is very new. Tungsten seems to be eating hard food more often. She was at the bowl several times last night alone, which is unusual for her. Her appetite for soft food has improved only a little recently, and that is probably due to the more favourable flavour of Fancy Feast.

Otherwise, her behaviour is unchanged. She’s my oldest cat and the most active. After a visit to the litter-box following dinner, she will sometimes shoot across the ground floor of the house, launch herself from a cat-tree and come to rest on top of the fireplace mantel. I’m afraid more of broken bones in her little body than I am of anything else, really.

Josie, who passed her last examination with commendations, doesn’t worry me. Her weight is decreasing, though she is a relatively small cat, so she could lose some more. She is eating slightly less, leaving a little bit of her soft food most evenings. But she looks forward to its arrival and eats heartily, so I think she may just be losing a fraction of her appetite along with the fraction of her weight. She has trouble cleaning her bum after visiting the litter-box, but when I clean it, she is not giving me the difficulty that she used to. Josie is friendlier and healthier than ever.

Renn also did well during his exam. I worry a bit about his diet. He doesn’t eat enough soft food. He’s my fussiest. He does drink water sufficiently, I think, and though he’s lost a little weight, he remains active and strong. All in all, he is fine.

Tucker’s weight needs to be reduced. He is no longer the sleek torpedo he once may have been, cutting through the water with speed and agility. He’s become a tubby depth charge that has to be pushed off the ship and sinks with a gurgling sound. Well, he’s not as bad as that. He is too chubby, though. However, his coat is smooth and full, his teeth are good, his eyes are bright and he is energetic. But I felt what appears to be a skin-tag similar to Tungsten’s, and in the same place. That’s odd, and I will ask about it.

But I think the cats in my care are doing well. It’s important to keep an eye on everything about them. They can’t tell me with words what is wrong, if anything is, so I must interpret the clues when I find them. Anything out of the ordinary, especially with behaviour, may be a hint of something significant. Having anything alive under one’s care means constant vigilance. It’s tiring but worth it.

Whiskers!

Most cats have whiskers. I think the hairless breeds may be without them, or have fewer. But my cats have the regulation number, about two dozen on either side of the mouth and nose, with some on the cheeks, above the eyes and even one or two on the wrists.

It’s funny that dogs, as a species, can come in so many shapes and sizes that some of them look like members of different genera. Looking at a Great Dane and a Yorkshire Terrier, one wouldn’t believe, on visual evidence alone, that they are the same sort of animal. I suppose it’s because dogs have been bred for varying, practical purposes through the centuries. Cats, who refuse to work, have been bred for looks and companionship. They all turn out roughly the same, except a few types. Or do they?

Each cat is visually recognizable as distinct from another. One must look closely sometimes. So it is with each cat’s whiskers. They are as individual as the cat itself. The length, the number, the placement, the texture; all seem quite similar. But they are not.

Tungsten’s, for instance, are small and fine, as befits the small and fine cat to whom they belong. Short and curved, even curly, they sometimes appear translucent, and disappear into the vibrant colour of her fur. But they are sensitive, nonetheless, and can, for all their thinness, be felt. I know this, as there are few things as ticklish as Tungsten’s whiskers when she’s smelling my face preparatory to lying down for the night on the bed.

Josie’s whiskers are straight and strong-looking. They resemble the slenderest of metal rods when seen from most angles, though there are curves to some of them, especially near their ends. The whiskers that grow from above her eyes are almost negligible compared to those on either side of her face, and seem to disappear, or grow insignificant at times.

Tucker has a wonderful set of whiskers, Fu Manchu-style, for the most part. Yet it is in my roly poly one that the whiskers above the eyes show most prominently. Two in particular sprout straight up and resemble antennae, a la Ray Walston, from “My Favourite Martian”. Perhaps this sausage of a cat is reporting home on all he sees…

I’ve saved the most glorious for last. Renn has a great explosion of whiskers, in every direction, curving and straight, long and strong. They are pointed like steel rapiers, graceful like the blades of sabres. Cats use their whiskers for sensing their way, for coordination; with such appendages, I’m surprised that my big boy can’t fly. When the wind blows especially strong through the town, I borrow a whisker from Renn to tie down the roof of the house, so it won’t be torn off. If the others are jealous of his whiskers, they don’t show it. But then, Renn is a modest fellow.

Whiskers are usually thought of as insubstantial, as characterized in phrases such as ‘missed it by a whisker’. The reference obviously couldn’t be to a cat’s whisker, since no matter what the size or strength, it is something important and significant to its wearer.

Sleepy Heads

Cats love to sleep. Perhaps they need it. Perhaps they are lazy. But they certainly seem to enjoy it. I wish I could sleep as often and as easily as they. They can sleep almost anywhere and in almost any position, like human babies. If I tried sleeping the way I see my cats sleep, I’d wake with permanent disability.

I like watching the cats sleep. It’s peaceful, again, rather like watching a baby. Neither have anything weighing on their consciences to keep them awake, as do many people, so they rest content - except when one has a bad dream, as my Tungsten does from time to time. But usually they're serene, with perhaps a little twitch of a paw here, a little whimper there.

The cats I have each possess certain ways of sleeping, habits as to how they rest. Tungsten curls up. There’s hardly anything to her anyway, so she can bend her little body right around in a circle. When she’s lying on my lap, she will often curl around my hand. She may like the warmth of it, though since cats’ body temperatures are higher than humans’, I wonder if I feel cool to her. Sometimes, she will lie straight, looking as though she’s sleeping where she dropped. And at night, in bed, she’s up by my head, almost in my face. She likes to rest her rear legs in the palm of my hand. Lately, he’s taken to holding my hand in place with one of her forepaws, and even twisting about so that her rear legs and her head are in my hand. She must like her head resting in the curve of my palm, since she will do that once in a while when she’s on my lap. Periodically, Tungsten will cover her eyes with a front leg; she likes to be able to adjust her amount of light.

Josie can’t curl much. She’s too round as it is. But she likes to form a semi-circle. Her favourite places to nap now are on an armchair downstairs in the library and of course on the top of the sitting room cat-trees, the taller one for preference. Now and then, she can be found on the cat-tree in the bedroom, but that’s where she will go to be alone and rest her eyes in the dark; she rarely is asleep there. Unlike the other three, Josie can look half-asleep sometimes, dozy, as though she is on the verge of the dreamless. At night, when she decides to join the rest of us on the bed, she will lie on my near side, against my ribs. I like to feel her solidity there; it’s comforting.

Renn is a versatile sleeper, even for a cat. He can sleep curled up or straightened out, on his side, on his back or on his stomach. He doesn’t seem to have a favourite position, though for deep sleeps, or at least long ones, the circular formation seems the best. He will throw himself onto his back and slumber with legs apart, the closest a cat can come to being spread-eagled. That position is especially good for when he’s on the couch, though sometimes he will appear reclusive and curl up in a corner of it. But when I’m sitting there, he will frequently lie on his side next to me, and enjoy having my hand on his chest. That’s comfortably warm - for me - on cold winter evenings. He uniquely lets out a long sigh once in a while. I don’t know if he’s content or wistful. At night, he is at the foot of the bed, on the far side, just a short jump from the windows and the cat-trees there. He will wake and leap over to make sure our little kingdom is safe, then come back to bed.

My foster-cat, Tucker, sleeps in the weirdest positions. He will snooze sitting up in the armchair, with one or both of his forelegs on the cushioned arm, as if he fell asleep watching television. He will lean his head against the edge of a side-table. He will fall asleep on a cat-tree, with his face pushed against the lip of the platform. He likes to rest, if not sleep, on the arm of the couch while I sit next to him, his increasingly barrel-like girth along its length, his relatively short legs astride. His favourite location for slumber are on the cat-trees, especially the lower one in the sitting room. But of all the cats who live with me, he sleeps the least. He will rest, relax, lie down, but he follows me about more than he sleeps. At night, still unloved by the other cats, he chooses the other corner at the foot of the bed. I always try to encourage him to lie somewhere on the bed, and he's chosen that as his spot, and I pet him, to make sure he knows he is welcome.

The cats know when it’s bed-time. They can see me preparing, and first Renn, then Tucker, come to the bedroom. I collect Tungsten from where she’s sleeping, usually by then on a cushion on a dining room chair. I’d let her be, but I have trouble sleeping unless she’s on the bed. She complains, then looks out the window, gets something to eat, and comes to bed. Josie may or may not join us later. When I wake, the cats do, ready for another day - of sleeping.

Tucker R. Poly

It’s coming up on a year that Tucker has been with me. He is a foster-cat; I’m taking care of him on behalf of the Lethbridge PAW Society. He arrived just a few hours after my previous foster-cat, Devon, was picked up by his new people and taken to his permanent home. Devon, by the way, is doing fine. He has been accepted (at last) by the two cats already in the household and has since been joined by a fourth cat, who has become his best friend.

Tucker was declared unwanted by his family after he wet out of the litter-box several times. The household was going through a bit of an upheaval - a happy one, mind, you: a new baby had arrived - and Tucker’s nerves were on edge. So he was ‘returned’ to the PAW Society and I volunteered to give him a place to live until he was adopted by some lucky person or persons. So far, he has not been chosen. That surprises me; he is an adorable, sausage-shaped cat with a wonderful personality. But his prolonged stay doesn’t bother me, as I find him a delightful companion, however temporary.

Tucker remains a timid animal. He is forever coming over to me and rubbing against my leg, showing me that he likes me. That’s appreciated (after all, how often do people, even close friends, do that?) but just as often, he comes toward me, then changes his mind, due to movement on my part or a sound or something only he can perceive. It’s as if he thinks, “I like you; I’ll show you. Not right now? All right, I’ll come back. I don’t mean to inconvenience you…”

His timidity reached a peak a few weeks ago when he became frightened of my bedspread. Yes, that’s right. One day, he jumped up on the bed, stared at the cover under his feet, sniffed it, tapped it, then retreated to the folded duvet at the foot of the bed. After that, he refused even to sit on the duvet. I regretted that, as he stopped sleeping there at night, as well. Then, more recently, he recovered himself, braving the duvet at first, then even venturing on the dreaded bedspread. He has returned to sleeping on the bed at nights, in his spot on the near lower corner. He never seems to move from there during the night, and comes up to the top of the bed to greet me when I wake.

He had initially established a position of strength over Renn, who is two years younger. That has reversed itself now. The cats’ relative positions, not their ages. Now, Renn periodically smacks Tucker about. It’s never physically harmful, and much of the time, they will pass each other without a sign. But then Renn will need to demonstrate who’s in charge. I wonder if Tucker experiences some Schadenfreude when Tungsten puts Renn in his place.

Tucker’s noises are a wonder. He sounds like a monkey, a porpoise, a human baby - anything but a cat. Well, except when he purrs, which he does a great deal. I believe that he’s an animal who is easily pleased. A little attention carries him a long way. His appetite is strong: he will eat, or try to eat almost anything, though fish comes far down on his list, and I think it upsets his stomach, anyway. The only time he becomes assertive is when there may be food in the offing.

Like the others, Tucker has his favourite spots: the second platform on the lower cat-tree in the sitting room; the arm of the couch when I’m sitting there; the floor of the dining area, where he can stretch out.

He’s made himself at home with me and his feline roommates. Some day, he will be adopted, and have to accustom himself to new surroundings once more. That will be difficult for him, but he’ll find his place there, too, for he’s adaptable - as well as adoptable. But a little piece of him will stay with me.

Weighty Matters

In this day and age, it’s not surprising that pets have weight problems, just as their owners do. Much of the food produced for cats and dogs is unhealthy in the long run, and domesticated animals don’t get the exercise that they should. For my part, I do try to feed my cats nutritious food. The hard food, which constitutes most of their diet, is California Natural, which is a good brand, but the soft food is Fancy Feast which, though decent, is not exactly a ‘health’ food. But then, when cats won’t eat other items, the merely adequate will have to do.

Exercise is another problem. I try to play with my cats but how strenuous that is depends upon them. Tungsten rarely plays, but her weight is not a problem - unless the problem is that she is too light. Tucker is quite active while playing, though Renn’s favourite activity is to lie in a nylon tunnel and ambush a string-toy as it flies by a hole. Josie, my Chubs, flops on the floor and grabs at the toys when they near her; she doesn’t chase them.

I keep an eye on the cats’ weight. I put them on an accurate set of scales quarterly, and see if anything changes. I decided to do this after Tungsten's last visit to the veterinarian. I was told that my tiny cat had lost a pound. When an animal has only seven of them to begin with, the loss of that amount is worrisome. But the next time she was weighed, the amount was back to the previous, normal weight. I suspect there was an error in the scales, as the orange one’s numbers have remained relatively constant thereafter.

I am currently a bit anxious about Tungsten, though. Her stools have been very liquidy recently, though these have alternated with more solid waste. (It’s rather sad that I can differentiate between the crap the various cats leave in the litter-box; but then, I meet it every day, more than I do my friends…) Otherwise, she is fine, eating as well as always, drinking her usual amount and being as active and/or inert as she always has been. It’s why weighing my animals is important: it may be the first sign of a serious defect in their health. In some cases, loss (or gain) in poundage may be the only warning an owner gets before the situation becomes critical.

Josie is my surprise. She’s lost more than a quarter of a kilogram in the past six months. (That’s about half a pound in real measurements.) I think the stairs in my new house have helped with that: the food dish is on the main level while the litter-boxes are in the basement. As well, she does play chase with Renn and Tucker once in a while. And I think she is eating less hard food; her appetite has always been comprehensive rather than large, so she doesn’t fill up on soft food then repair to the hard food to eat to excess. She is my second lightest cat. I should stop calling her Chubs, really. But her frame is small, if you look at her; larger than Tungsten’s but not as big as the boys’, so what fat there is, is prominently displayed. I’m glad that Josie is losing some of her pounds, but she’ll always be my Chubs.

Renn has gained 0.17 kilograms (a third of a pound) but I’m not worried about him. He’s active and healthy, so far as I can determine. He’s a big cat. He has the biggest body of the four cats in my house, and when I pet him, I can feel his leanness. His weight is due to his natural size, and he could probably add more heft to his bones without causing himself trouble.

My anxiety rests with Tucker. That roly poly sausage has gained almost three quarters of a kilogram (more than one and a half pounds). I’m not sure where he’s getting all this from. He eats no more than Josie (admittedly, those two are my greatest eaters) but is fairly active, and is the most energetic at play-time. I have noticed that after most small bits of attention from me, a scratch behind the ears, a stroke on the side of the face, he will wander over to the food bowl and eat one or two kernels. It’s never much, and I’m not sure if it’s a nervous reaction to attention. Certainly, he asks for chin-scratches and head-rubs all the time, so I don’t do anything he doesn’t want, yet he often follows this with a bite or two.

I may have to replace the food in the bowl at strategic times - perhaps during the night - with a special recipe, a ‘diet’ formula. I don’t want to do this, as all the cats love their food and their history with healthy comestibles hasn’t been flavoured with enjoyment. I will give the roly poly one another three months and decide after Christmas. After all, who wants to go on a diet during the Yuletide?

And yet, really, can anyone tell me where his neck went?