Twelfth Day

Today is the last day of Christmas. Twelfth Day is always a bit melancholy here in the cosy apartment. The decorations must come down, and thoughts turn again to the more secular aspects of January: work, the cold weather – and looking forward to my holidays in June…

Aside from the tree, Yuletide decorations here centre on one of my tall sitting room bookcases. Unlike in my house, and my previous apartment, I have no fireplace now, so the stockings are hung on a bookcase, on the shelves of which are displayed the Christmas cards that people are kind enough to send me.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable holiday and that it brought warmth and contentment. Here, we didn’t do much, but were able to stay cheerful and snug, and our thoughts will now increasingly be of balmy spring weather and open windows. Most of the cats will probably while away the time until then much like this…

An Old Photograph

A friend (“A”) sent me a photograph of Cammie. She found it on her telephone; it had been taken five and a half years ago. Some of you reading this may not be aware of the awful adventure my princess underwent in the late spring of 2014. You can read of it in detail (https://ihavethreecats.blogspot.com/2014/06/cammie-isback-with-me.html) but in short, what happened was that Cammie was adopted by someone from Regina, five and a half hours away from my town. I had my reservations, and not just with the distance that Cammie would have to travel. The adopter wasn’t quite right, but I knew that Cammie would have a hard time being adopted, so we in the rescue-group thought this would be her chance.

It wasn’t. The adopter was reluctant to report on Cammie’s progress - something which isn’t necessary for new adopters but which we wanted because of the cat in this case, and the distance involved. She was difficult to get contact. Fortunately, “A” travels to Regina now and then on personal business. The adopter had borrowed a large carrier from “A” to make Cammie’s journey more comfortable, and it was intended that “A” collect it later. When she did, she learned that Cammie was, to put it bluntly, not being appreciated. Cammie was returned.

The picture is of my Siamese girl in the bathroom of a bed and breakfast, on her way back to stay with me - stay permanently, as it turned out.

I will always be grateful that “A” stopped by Cammie’s new residence while in Regina, and grateful for the miraculous set of circumstances that allowed her to bring Cammie back. The little cat didn’t suffer any lasting effects from her ordeal, and was her old self quite soon afterward.

That was before her battle against severe food allergies, and of course her stroke and blindness of last year. If that abortive adoption had proven permanent, I don’t think Cammie would have survived her allergies. She likely would have been euthanised. If not, she would certainly have been following her stroke. Her short-term adopter did not put in the effort to acclimate Cammie to her new environment; she would not have done any more to save her from the possibly deadly effects of her allergies, and the outcome of her stroke.

But Cammie has adjusted to every calamitous event in her existence. Her world is very circumscribed now, but she has worked out a new life, and is, at least, comfortable. Because bumping into another cat is startling to her in her blindness, and results in hissing and growling, the others stay out of her way; even Neville has learned this, and keeps a wary eye on the princess when she is roaming. She is not the top-cat of the household - she cares little for arranging the others’ places and managing their behaviour - but she is a force in the cosy apartment, as may be judged by this series of photographs, which may be entitled ‘Waiting Their Turn’.

I am happy that my Cammie was brought home and that she is still here, at home.

The Dawn of the New Year

The first morning of 2020 did not look like these photographs, unfortunately. It dawned overcast and chilly. These pictures are from a few days ago, on a weekend morning. (And these are actually the morning's glow in the north and west, respectively, reflecting the sun's rise in the east.)

Even so, the new year has begun. I find that my morning routine has changed from this time in 2019. I formerly woke up on my days off at 5.30, fed the beasts, gave Tucker his insulin injection and, after cleaning the litter-boxes and eating my own breakfast, returned to bed. Now, I stay up.

I find that if I get all the chores that need doing out of the way early, I can relax more later on. I may not have any more time in which to do it, but it feels better. I usually have a nap after my chores have been completed, which restores some of my consciousness, if not my energy.

Perhaps this is part of growing older. I had noticed as a boy that old people (ie. in their thirties and forties) rose early; very old people (ie. in their fifties and sixties) rose even early, and ancients (ie. too old to count that high) woke up practically the night before. Now, I am doing it. I am certainly no more alert at dawn than I am later; I always seem to be tired. But I can have my nap without worrying about having to do too much later. As well, if I need to go out, there are fewer people about and many shops are open early anyway. When the spring and summer come, bicycle rides when the day is very young are always enjoyable.

So, while the first day of the year was not exactly sunny and cheery, I was awake, bright and eager and ready for all challenges. Well, bright and eager. All right, I was awake. Sort of.

New Year's Eve at the Cosy Apartment

I spoke with Tucker’s doctor yesterday about my roly poly’s latest ‘curve’, the measurement of his diabetes management. The veterinary was very pleased with the shape of the curve and its range; the lowest reading for Tucker’s blood-sugar was just where it should be (7.8). The only caution that the doctor made was that she wouldn’t want it to go much lower, with his newly diagnosed kidney issues ready to cause trouble. But, so far so good.

Now that the Mirtazapine is finished, Tucker’s appetite is already lessening, but with a combination of cat-food (for the ingredients he needs) and some human-level pork and chicken (for the ingredients he likes), I think he will do all right. The doctor also approves of the continued salmon-oil dosing that I am giving Tucker. My sausage-shaped cat doesn’t care for receiving the oil, as it is probably in too great an amount at once for his liking; it would make me sick, frankly. I probably am putting too much in the syringe (between two and three millilitres a day) but it is having an advantageous effect on his coat, which is very soft compared to its previous condition, and signs of dandruff have diminished. As well, his bald spot has disappeared, though there is still a patch of less dense fur on his back. The doctor told me that the oil is also providing calories for Tucker.

As 2019 ends, it is ending positively. I don’t mind seeing it depart, but its last weeks seem to be making up a little for its earlier failings. I would like to wish everyone a happy new year, and a safe New Year’s Eve. I will be staying in with the cats, as always; my town doesn’t have many night-spots to hit and, anyway, I’m at the age when the best I can do is hit the late afternoon spots…

...And to All, a Good Night!

Christmas is almost upon us once more. There is no snow here, except hard, crusty lumps in fenced corners, and the temperature is low but hardly unbearable. Nonetheless, all the beasts are snug inside and appear to be enjoying their cosy spots.

Tucker is eating decently, if not voraciously; the Mirtazapine’s effects seem to have caught up to him, and I am feeding him whenever he expresses a wish for it. I expect to be home for five consecutive days (one of them even paid…) starting on Christmas Day, so I will be able to provide him with sustenance at any odd hour. Maybe I can arrest his weight loss. He is even consuming some of the Aventi phosphorus-binder. Large doses of salmon-oil, meanwhile, have improved his coat. I am grateful for any positive developments.

Cammie is a little more frail than she was, and this week is not eating as much as she has, though I don’t think this will be a permanent change. She sleeps most of the time, but what is an old, blind cat to do when winter keeps windows shut and scents and sounds of the outside hidden? The princess loves her heated cat-bed, next to the radiator and her private cup of water.

Josie is eating very well – for the moment. I gave her as a change some Merrick ‘chicken divan’, and she has been emptying tins of it every second or third day. Will this last? Of course not! She’s a cat, after all. But while it does, she will get as much as she can keep down. And in between, she still likes a little variety.

Raleigh continues well, and now allows me to rub his chest, especially after a full meal. Perhaps it’s good for the digestion. He scurries away from me sometimes, yet seeks me out at others. Despite his FIV and stomatitis, he appears comfortable and content; he plays and sleeps and eats without visible complaint, so I am grateful for this, too.

Renn is my healthy one (knock on wood), eating little yet retaining his vigour and strength. I don’t know how he does it.

Neville, the new fellow, has an annoying habit of pooping in front of the litter-box. But I have changed that receptacle, providing his preferred spot with a larger box. We’ll see if this makes a difference. He is as vigorous as Renn, runs about after a successful litter-box visit and continues to talk while he eats, making himself sound as though he is under water. Nevsky is an entertaining fellow – and is beginning to learn to get out of Cammie’s way when he observes her coming.

So you see that, as we in the cosy apartment head toward our latest Christmas, we are doing well, and thankful for it. We wish everyone reading this – and everyone who isn’t – a happy Christmas, with, at the very least, contentment and security. As always, here is the year’s Christmas card. Click on the pictures to enlarge.

Merry Christmas!

The Semi-happy Warrior

Tucker is on a new regimen. He always seems to be the subject of some sort of experiment. Last Wednesday, I collected from the veterinary some Mirtazapine, to stimulate Tucker’s appetite, and some Aventi, used as a phosphorus-binder in cats with bad kidney issues. Unfortunately, neither is working as I had hoped.

I was told that the Aventi, which is in powder form, has no taste and would not be noticed by a cat if the powder were sprinkled over his food. I was, of course, dubious of this, and, it turns out, with good reason. Whether or not he can taste it, Tucker does not look with favour upon this grayish-brown powder on or in his food. I had hoped that the appetite-stimulant would cause him to eat more, and thus I could hide the Aventi in a large enough amount of soft-food as to be unnoticeable. But, except on the evening of the first day the Mirtazapine was administered, almost too soon for it to have been from its effects, Tucker’s appetite has not increased all that much.

The renal-specific food from the veterinary hospital was, needless to write, a bust. Tucker wanted nothing to do with any of the half-dozen varieties I bought at inflated cost. Raleigh generously took it upon himself to finish off a couple of tins of it, but that, of course, doesn’t help the situation. Using on-line resources, specifically Tanya's Comprehensive Guide to Feline Chronic Kidney Disease, I am researching alternatives. The key is to find food that provides a phosphorus content of less than half a per cent. No commercial food qualifies, however, and no food that does (ie. veterinary food) appeals to Tucker. The matter is complicated by his diabetic need to keep carbohydrate-consumption low. The inescapable truth is that I will likely have to feed him the most innocuous food, despite its higher phosphorus content, just so that he will eat. I will then supplement it with unconventional food that he will like – cooked eggs are an example.

My poor sausage of a cat has had more things wrong with him than all my others combined, I think. I sometimes am reminded of reading about an old house that had been so pulled around by renovations and repairs, additions and demolitions that it was falling apart. Through it all, though, Tucker has maintained his happy attitude. He purrs easily and is never sullen. He puts up with much and tries to smile through it. He is the least combatant-like cat I have met, except perhaps Raleigh, yet Tucker has battled more than most. I am confident that he will win this battle, too.

 

Old Tree, New Cat

I put up my Christmas tree. This is a test phase, to see how Neville behaves with it. I don’t know whether I will decorate it, as many of my ornaments are old, delicate, glass items, though some are metal bells. In the past, I have put the bells on lower branches, and the breakable objects higher up. I will see how things progress.

So far Nevsky is leaving the tree alone. He was curious about it, but didn’t spend much time examining it. This will be his first Yuletide in the cosy apartment, and while he is at times energetic and rambunctious, his destructive powers have been very weak, and he usually just throws a mess around the litter-box.

This is Raleigh’s second Christmas with me. He is doing well. His stomatitis seems to be under control, he is eating well, playful and growing in confidence. He hasn’t made friends with Neville, and is no longer trying, but who knows what will happen in the future?

And Cammie came out to smell the tree. I don’t think there can be much to smell on an artificial tree, but she probably remembers what odours there are from when she could see. The memories and images that came to her imagination probably brought her some happiness.

So we prepare for Christmas at the cosy apartment. Every season, it becomes a little more frugal, a little more wistful, but with a little more for which to be thankful. This year, I am thankful the new cat didn’t knock over the Christmas tree…