Her Newly Dark Kingdom

After the terrible events of yesterday, Cammie’s condition is improving.

Once we had returned from the animal hospital, I felt that both she and I needed some rest, so I placed her on the bed, where she would relax a little, if she could. I lie down with her, and she purred. That purr was comfort to her and encouragement to me.

Hours later, she was better. She no longer walked in circles, and her rear quarters had strengthened to the point of being able to jump onto the bed from the floor. Cammie began exploring her newly dark world. It was familiar to her; she just couldn’t see it. But half a day after the stroke, she was walking about, avoiding obstacles by using her whiskers and nose. She was already adapting. She ate, and, more importantly, she used the litter-box, intentionally and correctly. Her bowels were under her control.

I realise there may be set-backs, problems so devastating that every optimistic thing I think now may have to be re-thought. I fear that the stroke may have damaged her brain, and that lucidity will not be permanent. But I am confident about the future. It’s true that she is blind, and will very likely remain so. She stays on the bed a great deal; it is central, relatively high, comfortable and well-lit; she can feel the sun and hear the outside from there. But she moves about when she feels she must, or wishes. I think mobility will increase as she grows used to her new situation.

Certainly Cammie’s world has shrunk. Some may think it constitutes a world not worth living in, for a cat. I disagree, but yet may revise my opinion. I will watch her and see how she acts, what she prefers, how she has changed. This morning, she crawled onto my chest and purred while I rubbed her chin. My princess has not changed so much that she cannot still enjoy her life, and if she enjoys it, I see no reason why she need leave it.

Suddenly

Cammie has had a stroke. I woke at three o’clock this morning to the familiar sounds of Parker throwing up. After I had talked to him and cleaned up the mess, I saw Cammie off to the side. She was walking in circles, dragging her rear left leg. A stroke was the first thing of which I thought.

I called the emergency service of my veterinary hospital, and had Cammie there within an hour. The doctor called the occurrence a ‘stroke-like’ episode, probably because she cannot define it strictly. It could be a clot, a burst blood vessel, or something else. Cammie did not seem, either to me or to the veterinary, to be in pain. She was clearly distraught, however, and confused. There were hemorrhages in both eyes, and she did not flinch when a simulated threat was made to her sight. My princess is blind.

She may also have lost control of her bowels. Once I had brought her home, she wet all over the bathroom floor, then defecated on the store-room floor, where the litter-boxes are, and tracked it out. After exhausting herself with endless circles, Cammie wedged herself headfirst between a bookcase and chest of drawers.

The blindness will be permanent, the doctor believes. Cammie can live with that, though it will restrict her world mightily. The problem with her bowels may be part of the panic that she must be feeling right now. If it is not, it may have a more serious effect on her quality of life than sightlessness.

Just yesterday, she and I had a good cuddling session. I lie down next to her on the bed, and she started purring when I petted her. Then she bumped me with her head, and lie on my chest. How quickly a world can change.

Little Antaeus

Parker continues to do relatively well. There is a new development, which may be related to his cancer. A patch of hairlessness has appeared on his right shoulder. He has been licking at it, so I am not sure if that action caused the hairlessness or if it is in reaction to it. In any case, licking it is making it worse. I suspect that it is connected somehow to his ailment, in the same way that his nose has lost its hair. It may not be a coincidence that, despite his good hygiene elsewhere (eg. washing most of his face, cleaning his paws), Parker doesn’t clean his nose of food after he eats. Perhaps he has no feeling there anymore.

But, in terms of what could occur, hairless spots and obsessive licking are not the worst, and my orange boy is still eating very well. I remember writing to a friend in January that my foster-cat was not consuming much at all. How that has changed. I am certain that his appetite has contributed to his extended life-span.

Also contributory, I think, are his excursions outside. For the most part, they are enjoyable. He loves the feel of the air on his furs, and the smells that come to him on the breezes. He likes meeting people; when he sees one approaching, he will walk toward him, ready to make a new friend. There are exceptions to our good walks. Yesterday, I made the mistake of feeding him luncheon before the walk, rather than after. I am certain that this caused his desire to do nothing but lie down on the sidewalk, and become fractious at the notion of doing any walking. I won’t make that scheduling mistake again.

But by and large, Parker’s walks are a source of strength to him. Like Antaeus the giant, from Greek mythology, who derived power from his mother, the Earth, whenever in combat he fell, so too is my little Antaeus sustained by our version of nature. Time in the open air, whether warmed by the sun or dampened by the mist, invigorates Parker, and is one of his secrets of immortality – or at least a touch of it.

6th of June: D (Dental) Day

Next month is a significant one for my cats’ health care. Three of them will be going to the doctor for their dental procedures - two of them on the same day. Cammie and Josie will go together on 6th June, while Renn will follow a week later on the thirteenth.

I am glad I could get the girls in as soon as possible (three weeks from now is as soon as possible). I think Josie is suffering the most of the trio and, while Cammie likely needs the least amount of work, I want the doctor to check her anal glands while the princess is at the hospital. I saw her dragging her bum across the carpet one day last week. I have already started giving her Restoralax to encourage and soften her stools. Unsurprisingly, that is a more difficult operation than giving it to Tucker, who is also receiving it. Cammie has pooped since then, so she is not constipated, and yesterday’s specimen was exactly the consistency I like to see. Still, if Cammie is going to the hospital, I may as well have one end looked at as the other.

Having the girls go in on the same day will also save on a separate taxi-ride to deliver and pick up one of them. This is a not unimportant financial consideration. As it is, the three procedures will guarantee that the Mediterranean cruise I had planned for my summer holidays will have to be postponed. Or was a boat-trip up the Rhine and down the Danube? A rail ride across Canada? Well, in any case, I will staying close to home.

Dividing by Half to Reach Zero

I thought it was time to report on Parker’s condition, as it’s been more than two weeks since he last appreared in this blog. Each time that I write about him, I note a deterioration in his condition, and yet he remains with me, and has not given me an indication that he wants to leave. He reminds me of the process of trying to reach zero by continually dividing a number in half: one keeps coming closer, but never gets there.

There have been some changes to Parker’s behaviour in the interval. He still enjoys his walks outside. We went for a couple last weekend; the weather was perfect, and we spent rather longer than usual in the outdoors (such as it is in a small city neighbourhood). Much of the time, Puck simply lie on the concrete, smelling and seeing the scenery. (I can’t let him on the grass because he constantly wishes to eat it; he throws up enough without assistance, thank you.) But now, he wants to go out all the time. He lies by the door, and scratches at it. I suspect that outside is the only environment in which he feels very good. I wish I could take him out more often, but numerous cats, and other non-feline responsibilities, limit our time there.

The orange boy has a desire to lie in new places about the apartment. Initially, it was on the large cat-carrier temporarily (one of those long-term temporarilies) in the corridor. I keep a half-box on it, one of several I have about the residence for quick use when I think someone is about to throw up. Parker decided that it a good place to lie.

Then, I found him on top of the litter-box in the library. This was certainly new, but did not last long. He later lie beside the box for a while.

More recently, he has taken to snoozing on top of the bookcases. This is not a novelty, rather a resurgence of interest. To reach the bookcase that he now prefers, however, means walking across one that is a little wobbly, and it sounds, strangely, just like a cat heaving before a good puking session.

But Parker is searching for new spots at which to rest. This may be an element of a need for comfort that he is not finding elsewhere, but when he lies down, no matter where it is, he does not appear to me to be in discomfort. There is rarely constant movement, no real restlessness, and his tail is usually still, not slapping in annoyance or dissatisfaction.

Another change is to his nose, which is darker than it once was, and seems to be losing fur. This may have something to do with his hygiene. That remains good, both in terms of his cleaning himself and in visiting the litter-box. But a spot he does not wash is his nose, which often has a residue of soft food stuck to it. I clean that off myself.

His vomiting has changed. It is no longer explosive, nor is it mostly liquid. It is of a smaller quantity, but a thicker quality. I would like to think that the calmer upchucking is an improvement but, given my sturdy-boy’s condition, that is improbable.

While Parker’s appetite has lessened, it is still impressive for an ailing fellow. Whenever the menu no longer appeals to him, I change it, so that there is always the possibility of something else for him. He now again enjoys a Royal Canin variety, and does not hesitate to eat a Nutro ‘loaf’ for senior cats. He has also, surprisingly, taken to Merrick turkey, which has not been a big hit in the apartment in the past. He finished off a three-ounce tin for breakfast this morning, which approximates his old appetite of eating half a 5.5 ounce tin at one sitting.

I am pleased by this, of course, and not just because it means Parker is receiving much-needed nutrition. I believe that cats enjoy their meals more than the average human does, and that they derive great pleasure from them. After all, in a life in which sleeping, watching and the odd play-time are the biggest parts, eating takes on a wider importance. If my cats don’t enjoy their food, I feel that I am depriving them of something to which they look forward. Parker continues to look forward to his meals. I have the feeling that his appetite will continue strong until immediately before he dies, or perhaps will even be unfazed by his condition. I hope so. A full belly works wonders on moral, human or feline.

My remarkable friend continues to defy mortality, if only for a few more days. Next week may bring disaster, but that’s next week. When I left him this morning, he was resting, content with his breakfast, and an earlier visit to the litter-box. We measure his life in hours, and these recent hours have been, all things considered, pretty good.

Beggars Can Be Choosers

I have recently learned that my newest outsider cat, whom I have named Hugo, may have a home. Speaking to some of my neighbours, one is certain that he lives in a house down the alley by which he usually comes to and goes from our apartment building. I myself watched him finish a meal and amble down the lane, to turn in at the house mentioned. He very likely, therefore - considering his condition and friendliness - has people caring for him, though they may not feed him soft-food.

Then again, they may. Hugo is a very fussy fellow. He has left food more times than he has consumed it all whenever I provide him with something to eat. It’s true that these portions are often leftovers or experiments for which my beasts did not care. Even so, it shows that Hugo is hardly starving, and is in a position to be picky. He reminds me of a family I’d heard of who went to the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and Christmas Days for the free meals given then, even though they were well-off. I may limit Hugo’s servings in the future; not eliminate them, but perhaps keep more for needful cats.

On that subject, I have yet to learn much about Polydora, the white and dark-tabby cat who has come around Café Cosy now and then. Her visits are not frequent, which suggests that she too may have either a home or at least another source of food. I will keep an eye out for her - or ask Renn to do so.

Something Smelly This Way Comes

Saturday night is the only time of the week when I can relax for more than half an hour at a time. After feeding the cats their snack about eight to eight-thirty, I have a bath, then sit down with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie.

Renn is a big part of Saturday evenings. That’s his night with me. He loves bath-time. When I tell him it’s bath-time, he becomes very excited and sits with me while the water plunges into the tub. After it is full, he leaves to see to matters important to himself.

Last Saturday, I stepped into the tub and lie back. It wasn’t long until I smelled something unpleasant, and strong. It was like a gas line had ruptured just outside the bathroom door. I knew what it was, but it was intense, almost overwhelming.

It was so bad, I actually yelled out, “Is someone going to bury that?!”

Alas, no one heeded. My options were limited. I could submerged my head - and nose - until the stench faded, which, being a poor imitation of Buster Crabbe, I did not believe would succeed, or abbreviate my bath and deal with the problem myself. I reluctantly chose the latter.

I looked in the store-room, where the litter-boxes are kept and found the contents undisturbed from when I had scooped everything prior to my bath. I was puzzled, and a little alarmed; I hoped someone had not done his business outside a box. Then I recalled the spare box I had set up in the library. Sure enough, there were Renn’s results. His are often big and smelly. Rarely as bad as this, but then, I am frequently absent when he feels the need to relieve himself. I quickly dealt with the offence.

Unnecessary though it may be to write, my big boy was untroubled by his actions, and settled down next to me to watch - or, in his case, sleep - through the movie. Though not a grade ‘A’ film this time, it at least wasn’t the stinker Renn was that night.