The World Out of Joint

Cats love their routines (right up to the moment they change them). Tucker is no exception. The roly poly lies mainly on a chair at the dining table. While he uses the other two chairs, he prefers the middle one, farthest from the wall. This is convenient for watching me eat and begging food from me.

Raleigh, for his part, is becoming ever more confident (though he still scurries from me in sudden fear now and then). He has spent a short part of the night on the bed, with me and three other cats, twice now, and sleeps there at other times of the day. He has also slumbered on a dining table chair more frequently than used to be the case.

One evening last week, when Tucker occupied one of the other chairs, Raleigh jumped up on the middle chair. My sausage-cat doesn’t care for Peachy’s proximity but is slowly adapting himself to the inevitable. He evinced no anxiety over Raleigh sleeping in ‘his’ chair. No anxiety until he observed that I was about to sit at the table with some tea and a snack, that is.

Tucker needed his usual chair to sit in and lean close to me, both to make it clear that he wanted some of my snack (whatever it was; it didn’t matter) and to be close enough for the quick grab if something were offered. But Peachy, with his growing confidence, wasn’t about to move, even when I walked close by. Tucker became upset. Human food was in the offing, and his place in the proper chair had been usurped.

He wandered about the table, he jumped up on the two vacant chairs, he jumped down, he cried in increasing panic; he even leaped onto the table itself. Sitting in the only available chair after I claimed one would have been no good: it would have been as far away from me (and my food) as one could get at the table.

The world is a precarious balance for cats. Everything must be just so. If it’s not the way it should be, tempers rise, stress builds and all life is threatened. In some ways, cats and people are identical… Fortunately, with my human reasoning skills, my genius for compromise and accommodation, my desire to do the best for all concerned, I was able to arrive at a solution. I took my refreshments and sat on the couch in the sitting room.

A Welcome Meal on a Cold Day

I have continued to place food and water for any outsider-cat who happens to come along, even though I haven’t seen one for some time. Finn comes by irregularly, and when I see him at my door, I feed him a good helping of soft-food. He does not visit as often as he used to, and I have observed no other. Sable and Sablette are, alas, just memories.

For a long time, no animal came by Café Cosy. I considered not leaving food out, since it was obvious nothing was being eaten. But I thought of the odd hungry beast who needed food to survive, and how disappointed he would be not to find something at our little diner. So I put food in the bowl and, after a while, when it grew stale, would throw it on the lawn for the magpies and crows, and re-charge the supply.

But this week, I saw proof that someone had visited the cafe. He stopped by the food bowl in its shelter, and helped himself to some nutrition. He even paused to look into the hotel, though he didn’t take advantage of its warmth. I don’t think it was Finn, as he has never cared much for my hard-food, and has always waited for the soft to be served. It was a stranger; perhaps Cecil, whom I saw just once or twice, or a raccoon or skunk, if they are out in cold and snowy weather.

In any case, I am glad I continued to provide some food and water in its heated bowl. Somebody benefitted. So I will leave still more for any starving (or simply peckish) traveller; some water to slake a thirst and, maybe, a warm bed for the night. Perhaps some day, a new friend will stay long enough to introduce himself.

(W)happy Tails

Josie, my oldest, has her ways. I’ve described at some point in this blog’s past how she will sometimes stand next to me and swing her tail so that it wraps around me. I think it’s one of her several means of showing affection, or perhaps simply letting me know that she is there. But that rat-tail of hers serves another purpose.

When My Chubs is expecting something, or wants something, such as dinner, she will stand near something wooden, the micro-wave oven stand, for example, or the partition that separates the dining area from the entrance hall. She will swing her tail and make a continual thumping noise, indicating her slight impatience (greater impatience is demonstrated by a creaky squeal like the failing brakes of a runaway locomotive.)

She must know that her tail is thumping, and she has done it too often for it to be accidental. It is her summons. If she were human, Madam Josefina von Chubs would be ringing a handbell like a maniacal Christmas carol performer at a church fête, and expecting the footman to come running. (I am the only running footman.)

I am learning all the time about cats and their ways, their intelligence, their improvisations, and their individuality. In Josie, I clearly have all three to deal with simultaneously.

What Lies Within

Amid the problems with Tucker’s kidneys and diabetes, and Josie’s deafness, there is plenty for which to be thankful.

Neville is doing well. He is a bit of a tough one to get to know; I don’t think he likes or trusts me. He enjoys being petted and stroked, but doesn’t like it - at the same time. I’m not worried. I think I will win him over in time. Besides, I hope that he will save his devotion for his future permanent people in his future permanent home. But he plays and has found a few spots about the apartment where he likes to laze. He is comfortable enough to stretch out and not worry about me passing by.

What I am pleased about, however, is his physical health, which seems to have improved quite a bit. When he was first rescued, he weighed something akin to 2.9 kilograms (6.4 pounds); when he came to stay with me, he had gained (he was about 4.5 kilograms (10 pounds)) but was still very thin. Feeling his spine was like running one’s hands over the top of a picket fence. His hair was hacked and cut awkwardly, due to mats having been severed.

Now, though I have yet to weigh him, I can tell he has filled out. Nevsky’s backbone feels as it should, and though still a lightweight, his poundage is where it should be on his body. His fur is full and smooth and very soft, the results probably of a primarily wet-food diet.

An interesting feature of his regained hair are these two or three shoots of lighter-coloured hair amid his darker grey. I don’t know if they are the results of his harsh cutting job, or the regrowth of a difference that has always been. His shading is not entirely consistent around the rest of his lithe body.

The variations in a cat’s hair and form are endless. Though the actual patterns appear to be limited (many cats look like many others), there are always small distinctions that help to differentiate each animal. And then there is the personality, that highly idiosyncratic entity with which we must all deal. Its shades too are endless. These shoots of hair, then, are just a clue to what lies within my latest cat.

Our Best Laid Plans

The results from Tucker’s veterinary visit came back yesterday, and they didn’t bring good news. My roly poly has late stage-two kidney failure. He is also offering from an slight inflammation in the pancreas, which may be the cause of his continued vomiting, as well as his loss of appetite. In addition, his blood-glucose numbers have been increasing, suggesting that his diabetes is being adversely influenced by his other bodily troubles.

To counter these developments, the doctor wants Tucker started on a kidney-friendly diet. I will be buying some tins of that today, though, considering the finicky attitude he has toward food, I am not expecting great things from a change of diet. No cat I know seems to like the special renal food. But I will research the products available and see what may be obtained.

The doctor also wants to put Tucker on a short course of Cerenia, to ease his stomach and reduce the vomiting. She thinks he may be suffering some pain and suggested a very careful application of pain-killers might be in order - she is reluctant to prescribe these, considering Tucker’s kidney failure - but I don’t think my little sausage-cat is in too much discomfort. His behaviour is in many respects normal. However, pain-reduction remains an option.

My boy’s diabetes, which was being managed adequately, if not as strongly as I would have liked, has been disarranged by the intrusion of his kidneys. His insulin dosage is therefore going to be increased, though not by much. Rather than two units in the morning and one in the evening, Tucker will receive two units at both instances. This dosage will be tried until the results of his next ‘curve’ are known, in a month’s time.

Tucker has been through a great deal in his life. Given up by his family of five years due to wetting problems (brought on by the stress of a newborn human), he has suffered severe urinary blockage (requiring surgery to cure), diabetes (with its attendant poking and prodding), bad teeth (and the removal of every tooth he had) and now kidney failure. In all of this, Tucker has remained my purring boy. He purrs so readily that when he doesn’t, I know something is amiss. He has been purring normally these past few weeks, so I am hopeful that he is not feeling too greatly the effects of his relatively new condition. In any case, we have plans in place. But, as Burns wrote, “the best laid schemes of mice and men often gang a-gley.” I hope he wasn’t just being optimistic when he excluded ‘cats’.

Tucker Under the Microscope

Tucker went to the doctor on Monday. I am worried about a several things, including his constant weight loss and the bald patch on his back. The doctor was puzzled as to the causes, the bald patch not seemingly due to excessive grooming - I have not noticed Tucker licking that part of his body at all, nor have I thought that he is grooming himself overly much - and the diminishing weight not the fault of any superficial problems. I think the latter may be caused simply by the roly poly not eating enough, so an antidote may be just to make food available to him more often. The loss of hair is not through an allergic reaction, the veterinary believes.

Tucker is developing cataracts, not an unusual corollary of diabetes, but they are not annoying him. His vision is likely not as good as it has been.

Blood and urine samples were taken, and a complete range of tests for a senior cat will be run. I will know the results tomorrow or the next day.

To be honest, I sometimes wonder why I take my cats to the doctor. The veterinaries help in many cases, but in some, they seem just as uncertain about symptoms as I am. Oftimes, I think tests simply rule things out, rather than confirm suspicions. The doctor was pleased that Tucker is receiving salmon oil; I have noticed that my cat’s coat is smoother and he has less dandruff. That, however, is a minor victory compared to what I want accomplished with his other problems.

But I will await the results of the tests, and then discuss the matter more fully with the doctor. Hopefully, there will be some answers to the questions my boy is posing.

The Way She Hears It

My cats are growing old, even the young one. I dislike that, but will probably be unable to reverse the trend. I am thinking in particular about Josie, my eldest. She is 15. To be truthful, my Chubs appears to be in good shape. She is no longer actually chubby, and is a pretty good weight for her size. She eats well, her litter-box visits are untroubled, she climbs the stairs to the bed without signs of strain and she even leaps from the cat-tree by the window over to the bed, and vice versa, when she wishes to take a short-cut. She does make ‘old-cat’ sounds, though I make ‘old-man’ sounds now… But I think she is becoming deaf.

Today, after a long while without them, I decided to give some Temptation Treats to the beasts (except for poor Cammie, who can receive nothing but her Z/D food). I shook the bag and cats came tumbling out from every crevice in the apartment – except for Josie (and poor Cammie, who knows she won’t get any). Josie remained on the bed, slumbering but not asleep. Renn, who had been unconscious in the bedroom, heard the inviting sound and hurried out, but not the Great White.

I then realised that there have been many instances recently when I had announced ‘dinner’ or ‘snack’, and Josie had ignored me, until I came up to her and repeated the words at close-range. She is also startled more often by my approach, or, rather, by my appearance near her, since I wonder now if she can hear my approach.

But deafness is, perhaps, no surprise. I am dubious of the oft-reported age-equivalency of cats and humans. According to Catster, Josie is no longer even a ‘senior’, but a ‘geriatric’, having reached the equivalent of 76 years for a human. I figure that if the average cat lives, all things being equal, to be about 18 or 19 years (splitting the difference makes it 18 and a half), and a human’s expectancy is about 80, then Josie is 65, which, given her health, seems a better estimate to me than 76.

In any case, I think that some difficulty in hearing, or even complete deafness, is a relatively minor complaint for an old cat, considering what she could be suffering. There is much to beware, and my guard is always up for my beasts; however, I am thankful my Chubs is not facing worse. Besides, she may be ignoring what I do and say due to deafness, or simply because she’s a cat. I may never know for sure…