The Pleasures of Propinquity

With all the focus on Tucker, this week, I have been neglecting the other beasts on this blog. There isn’t really much going on with them, except coping with the lessened availability of hard-food while the roly poly one is unable to eat it. But life continues well with them - so I assume because they don’t complain all the time. Not quite all the time.

An interesting development, which has actually been going on since our arrival in the apartment, is the grudging permission of Cammie for other cats to come near her. Or nearer, rather. The proximity is relative.

She still hisses and growls at them when she believes they have entered her personal zone. Josie remains her bête noire (despite being mostly white), and Cammie will keep her at the greatest distance. Yet even this has narrowed. The princess growls, eyes little more than slits, ears flat back, if Renn approaches too closely, though often the big boy’s intentions are merely to walk by, especially if Cammie is sitting in a doorway. Watching Renn’s indecision over what to do in such dilemmas provides me with some amusement. Cammie’s reactions are frequently based on what she perceives is another cat’s purpose, or what she fears might happen. She is a bit of a pessimist.

But as may be seen from the photographs, she is acquiescing in her roommates’ propinquity from time to time. This is usually the case when all are occupied looking out windows. Tucker seems to be the one whose presence causes her the minimum distress. While Josie is still thought of as an enemy because of a scuffle from several years ago, and Renn’s size may be intimidating, the roly poly one doesn’t seem to project as menacing a figure to the princess, though I have seen him tease her now and then.

All right, for those who seem to like pictures of the sausage-shaped furry baby living in my house, I have included this one, taken early last evening. Tucker is recovering very well, though he is missing his hard-food. That will be remedied tonight, and then this image will really be one of complete contentment.

A Roly Poly Morning

Tucker spent what I have to assume to be a restful night, following his dental ordeal. He was not on the bed at any time during the dark hours, which is unusual, but he was at the bedroom window when I woke, taking an interest in the outside, and then leaped from the cat-tree to the bed when he saw that I was awake. He had a dose of Metacam for pain, medicine that he will receive tomorrow and the next day, and ate a good soft-food breakfast.

When he came home yesterday, he seemed relieved and happy more than anything else. He purred constantly, flexed his paws repeatedly and rubbed against everything. He felt some discomfort at the stitches, I believe, as he was rubbing with his foreleg the side of his face from which two teeth had been taken. I called the hospital, and they assured me that he could do no damage with the action. After a few hours, he had ceased to do it.

The roly poly one was hungry after his long fast and, though I offered him several flavours and brands of cat-food, he merely licked at them and clearly wanted something else. I chopped up some of the roast chicken I was having for my dinner, and gave him that, pushing into a portion of Fancy Feast. After a couple of small helpings of this dish, he was satisfied with cat-food once more, and ate several small meals through the evening.

Ironically, I’m more worried about the other cats’ diet over the next couple of days, until Tucker is able to have hard-food again. The hard-food bowl is usually available throughout the day. Though Josie and Cammie enjoy their soft-food, only my Chubs eats enough of it to keep her going. Cammie will survive on what soft-food she will eat during the rest of the week, and will increase her consumption of it somewhat, to account for less hard-food. Renn, however, is the fussiest of the fussy, and will eat soft-food only intermittently. He may be served what he has previously loved, but will decide that today, he detests it. He always eats the hard-food, though. That’s what keeps him going. I will of course make the hard-food available when I am present, but only Josie eats from it under that circumstance. The others will eat when they will, not when I will it.

Fortunately, the new apartment is just six minutes away from my work-place, rather than the former 25-minute house, so I will ride home during my lunch-breaks over the next three days and feed the beasts what they will accept. Friday evening, when the hard-food becomes generally available again, cannot come soon enough for me - and Tucker.

And back to Tucker’s veterinary visit: he returned with a colourful bandana around his neck. I don’t know why; I suspect one of the animal health technicians liked him. He was also accompanied by a report, printed out with information, charts and photographs of the day’s events. This is a new policy of the veterinary hospital, and I like it.

So far, Tucker’s recovery is proceeding satisfactorily. If I and the other cats fare as well over the next couple of days, the weekend will be most enjoyable.

Tucker In Recovery

I received a telephone call from the veterinarian about fifteen minutes ago, and was told that Tucker’s surgery went well. A great deal of tartar was removed and two teeth extracted. I thought more would have to be taken out. His blood sugar numbers were low before the operation but still within normalcy; they were raised a little for the procedure. I asked the doctor if the low amount could be due to Tucker receiving insulin (even half his usual morning dose) without having eaten food. This was the probable cause. Even so, he was in no danger from that regard.

The roly poly one is recovering and I will pick him up after four o’clock today. I requested that any anti-biotic and pain-killing medicine be in liquid form, for easy application, and will talk about how those substances will mix with his insulin. But soon Tucker will be safe at home; sore and hungry, but relieved and happy.

Thank you to everyone who expressed an interest and best wishes for this sausage of a cat. I will keep readers apprised of his improving condition.

Tucker at D-Day Minus One

Tomorrow, Tucker goes to the hospital for dental surgery. The operation itself is routine, so far as any cutting at a living body and the reparation thereof can be routine. But Tucker is diabetic, and recently recovered from a cold, so I am more worried about him than I was about Josie when my Chubs underwent the same procedure. The doctor performing the surgery is experienced, and knows about Tucker’s condition, so he will receive the best care in that regard. But I am anxious about the roly poly’s event even so.

I start to starve him tonight at ten o’clock, something he won’t understand; nor will the other cats not know why they can’t find the hard-food bowl available, as always. In fact, it won’t be placed for them to access for several days, as Tucker will not be permitted to eat hard-food for that amount of time after the surgery. I’m not sure who dislikes disruption in the norm more, the cats or I.

As for myself, tomorrow I go to the human’s physician. This is just to meet him: my previous doctor retired and, as it is difficult to find physicians accepting new patients in my town (in Canada in general, I think), I am taking time off from work to acquaint myself with this one. I found my past doctor more than satisfactory, so I am wary of this one, though he may prove perfectly adequate. The beasts’ veterinarian knows me better; perhaps she should be my doctor, as well.

Mea Culpa

I inflicted a minor injury on Cammie this week. I cut one of her claws too short.

I brought her into the bathroom - upon which action she knew something she wouldn’t like was about to take place - and started trimming her claws. She didn’t approve of this in the slightest, but allowed me to proceed - slowly. I would have to stop every couple of claws and reassure her. But at one of the claws, she jerked her foot at the moment I clipped and I cut too much off.

Cammie let out a cry and I knew I’d done something wrong. The claw bled freely for a few minutes, then the flow diminished and stopped. I comforted the princess as much as possible and, great-hearted creature that she is, she forgave me my misstep and spent about twenty minutes purring on my chest.

The next morning, the claw was bleeding again. I determined to take Cammie to the veterinarian hospital if her toe was in the same condition a couple of hours later. I returned home at mid-morning to find that the blood had ceased to flow. I suspect that she had opened up the wound during the very early morning, perhaps while cleaning it. I consulted with others who know much more about cats than I and decided that though Cammie was probably feeling pain, it was not serious enough an injury to take her to a doctor.

I know that trimming claws too short occurs now and then, but I was anxious about infection or possible permanent mutilation of the claw. My mind is more at ease about these possibilities now, though I still try to convey to Cammie how regretful I am for my action.

The princess will probably be even more wary of having her claws cut in the future. But, to her credit, she allowed me to examine the damaged digit without too much fuss; its claw was not abbreviated as much as I had feared. I suspect I will be able to continue to trim her nails in due course. She is a blustery, crotchety lady at times, but when it comes down to it, she is forgiving and trusting. And she may know that that particular claw won’t need cutting for a long while anyway.

Quartet at Eventide

There are a number of reasons why I like my new apartment. One of them, perhaps not surprisingly, involves the cats.

In my house, my computer was in the back parlour. This was a nice little room which also contained the television set for watching Saturday night movies. Renn would usually join me there for that event - as he does in the apartment - and one or two of the others might wander in. But it was not a favourite room with the beasts, except as a means of holding up windows through which to peer.

The bedroom in the apartment is a different matter all together. The cats like the room, for not only does it have windows and comfortable cat-trees - the tree that originally came with Cammie is especially favoured by the animals - but it also has a soft bed that they all enjoy. This room is also where I keep my computer. I don’t work on it a great deal, but when I do, the cats tend to congregate in the bedroom. Sooner or later two or three, sometimes all four, amble in.

Here, the princess and my Chubs may even be found on the bed together, albeit separated by a couple of feet, and though they climb up warily, the boys will also lie almost near other cats. Some will be on cat-trees, some on the bed; now and then, the ledge along the wall serves as a chaise-longue, particularly when there is something interesting to view outside.

The scene inside, however, may be just as interesting, and come the eventide, one may find a furry quartet relaxing in the quiet and comfort of a snug chamber. This is one of the reasons I like my new apartment.

Image of Beauty

Cammie is a beautiful little cat, but she is not photogenic. None of the pictures I take of her does her justice. It doesn’t help that she is usually wearing a melancholy expression. Whether the outer look reflects the inner mood, I don’t know. But the princess’s images never really look like the creature with whom I live.

Last evening, however, she was lying on the bed and the westering sun’s light filtered through thin clouds from the edge of a passing rainstorm. The illumination lit up her slightly-crossed green eyes with their radiating flecks of gold, and brightened her face. She still bears her sad expression but these are two of the better pictures I’ve taken of her.

This is my Siamese princess.