Introducing Hector

I would like everyone to meet Hector. You can’t see him well in the photograph: he is all black (except for a tuft of white on his chest, as many black cats have), and is still recovering from his neutering surgery, remaining voluntarily in his carrier.

Hec came to me as a result of an appeal from someone who had been trying to get close to him and find him a home for some months. He had been living outside, eating from hand-outs, and his well-wisher worried about the approaching winter.

Hopefully, the new fellow will find himself in a loving, permanent home soon. Until then, he will be a guest at the Cosy Apartment, first in my bathroom and then, slowly introduced to the other rooms and the other cats. Maybe his will be the integration of which I’ve always dreamed…

The Bald Facts

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve spent a great load of money at the veterinary hospital, so it’s time I took one of the beasts. Consulting the rota, I see that it’s time for Tucker to have a problem.

Though he is doing well, the Tuxter has a bald patch on his back. It may be due to licking but I don’t think so, as it is probably the only spot on his body that the roly poly cannot reach. I have not seen him licking that spot, which I think I would have, at least once, if he had been intent on it enough to scrape the hair away. Nor does the region in question appear raw, as if licked by a cat’s tongue. And it isn’t bare: there is hair remaining, as though most has fallen out, but not all.

Tucker has a history of a thin spot of hair in the same location, so much so that I said to him that his bald spot had returned, when I saw it this time. However, this one is longer than any previous, and it came on rather rapidly. It is concentrated along his spine, as well, which I find strange.

All of these add up to a doctor’s appointment, this Friday morning. As his years add up, and with his other issues, Tucker isn’t in a position to take chances with his health; he could use a medical once-over anyway. I’m sure my boy would disagree, and say that it is simply age; many lose their hair as they grow older. He would tell me that he’s just taking after his dad…

The Reflexes of a Cat-owner

One may often hear people speak of the reflexes of a cat. But not many refer to the reflexes of a cat-owner. They can often be as swift, indeed, instantaneous, as those of the feline. They are not always swift enough, but they usually run a close second.

Last night, I was asleep, probably dreaming, as I usually do, when I was woken by the unmistakable sound of a cat about to vomit. Strangely (or not), I recognised the peculiar version of the sound that belongs to Tucker. He and Renn were, as is normal, on the bed, so I seized Tucker and, knowing his regurgitive habits, realised that I had no time to take him to the uncarpetted bathroom. Nor did I have sufficient time to grab one of the ‘half-boxes’ that cat-food tins come in and that are kept, one in each room, for such emergencies. So I held the poor roly poly, suspended in the air, over where I figured would be the varnished wooden steps at the foot of the bed. Hoping he was placed so that he avoided any fold of the comforter, I heard him do what he had to.

When I had leisure to turn on a light, I saw that my aim – and the Tuxter’s – had been true, and that the small amount of hairball-induced puke had landed on the easily-cleaned steps.

But, like a bad horror movie that provides one climax too many, the scene was not finished. Renn, out of sympathetic heaving or mere coincidence, announced that he too was about to upchuck. He allows me a minute amount of time more than does Tucker (not a minute; the amount is too minute for that), so I was able to grab the half-box and slip it under his out-flow spout before he let loose. I then moved him to the bathroom in case he was not completed his ejectory activities.

I don’t always achieve such a victory over the wretched forces of wretching, certainly not a double play, or what a gentleman shooting in the country would call a right-and-left. It was a red-letter night that only a cat-owner could appreciate and celebrate. Years ago, I wouldn’t have been so rapid in my response because, though younger, I was not as practiced. In years to come, my experience will be dulled by age. I fancy then that I am at the peak of my cat-owner reflexion, to be measured by an unsullied bedspread and a box full of stomach contents.

The Weighting Game

It was time once again to weigh the beasts at the Cosy Apartment. I try to weigh them more often than I do, but since I don’t have the scales, it isn’t always convenient. The results when I was able to gauge their poundage this week were interesting and unsatisfactory.

30th January, 2021

Renn:           7.55 kg (16.65 lb)

Tucker:         5.43 kg (12 lb)

Neville:         6.84 kg (15 lb)

 

8th June, 2021

Renn:           7.35 kg (16.2 lb)

Tucker:         5.32 kg (11.73 lb)

Neville:         7.00 kg (15.43 lb)

Portia:          6.35 kg (14 lb)

 

8th September, 2021

Renn:           6.83 kg (15 lb)

Tucker:         5.03 kg (11.1 lb)

Neville:         7.45 kg (16.42 lb)

Portia:          7.26 kg (16 lb)

As may be seen, there are two pairs; one gained, one lost, and I don’t care for either direction. Both my oldest boys lost weight. For Renn, it is unusual. He has hovered about the same heft for a long time; his numbers in January and June were typical of most of his weights. He has lost a pound and a half since the beginning of the year, most of it in the last few months. Tucker, too, is missing something since January, though his loss has been more gradual.

The other pair have increased themselves rather substantially. Neville seems to have gathered in what Tucker has shed while Portia - poor Portia! - has added two pounds to her sides since coming to stay with me. Evidently, the living is good at the Cosy Apartment.

I am not pleased with any of these amounts. Tucker’s change is undoubtedly attributable to his kidney failure, which can cause decreased protein in the body and a loss of appetite. Renn’s diminished numbers are a bit troubling, since they are combined with periods of less eating. Of course, fifteen pounds is a decent weight for any cat, and not normally indicative of anything wrong. But Renn’s weight has been constant for a long time, so the abrupt dip is of concern. I won’t take him to the veterinary yet, but will weigh him again in a month and compare. At just fourteen years of age, he should not be suffering such a drastic change.

My two fatties are a little less worrisome to me, but nonetheless, something needs to be done about them. Both have hearty appetites, and these will have to be refused more frequently. Just last night, I declined Po’s request for a bed-time snack - it’s funny how her posture is so easy to read, even this early in our acquaintance - and she was more than a little miffed at my decision.

Managing food in a house of several cats is difficult. But I will try to arrange matters to the beasts’ advantage while trying not to cause them discomfort or stress. I may have to ask the same consideration from them.

Five Minutes to Curtain, Mr Foster

Life likes to keep one alert. After writing yesterday about how things were running smoothly with the cats, and that there wasn’t anything to discuss, I came home to find that Renn had deposited an almost liquid crap in a litter-box, and then dragged his long, flooffy tail through it. He hates being cleaned, especially in his nether regions (that is, after all, how he came to live with me) but it was done and he was purring next to me soon after.

I am not worried about Renn. He is suffering a bit of a cold, with plenty of sneezing. I suspect that there is a bit of a stomach upset going along with it. They’ve occurred before in the Cosy Apartment, and will again. If they ever last long, which they haven’t yet (paws crossed), the cat concerned will be whisked off to the veterinary hospital. I am sure my big boy will be leaving relative cleanliness behind soon enough. His appetite remains normal, as do his other habits.

But it was a reminder not to be complaisant, that those who arrange such matters in the universe like to keep our attention focused. I don’t mind the rehearsals, but when one lives on the stage, practice becomes rather redundant.

Nothing Untoward

Someone reminded me that it has been a week now since I’ve written anything about the beasts in the Cosy Apartment. That’s because nothing untoward has occurred to them. Nor have they done anything of the sort to me. In other words, there has been nothing about which to write.

However, the absence of events can itself be news. As with many pet-owners, the smallest of changes in one of the cats will start me worrying about what might be going on. Renn went through a period when even his minimal appetite was lessened, and I thought that his loss of hunger meant something sinister. He has started eating again, as much as he ever eats, and I am feeding him at less regular hours, or, rather, making food available to him at irregular hours. As well, I am catering to the innate laziness that exists in all my cats. One of his favourite resorts is my bed, so I will place a dish of soft-food on the bedspread. He will sleep or rest for an hour or more, then rouse himself, walk the half-foot to the food and eat it. My big boy will still participate half the time during the normal service of meals, but if, as he ages, his appetite finds the clock inconvenient, I will accommodate its opinion.

Tucker, too, gave me some cause for concern. He had been regurgitating his food early in the mornings, soon after I gave him his kidney-powder (mixed in a syringe of Recovery.) I worried that because it was a new bottle of powder that it might be tainted. But the roly poly has always been a spare eater at breakfast, probably because he has a history of throwing up then, and didn’t want to do that. I switched the times when I gave him his powder, and he no longer pukes it back up. He will still return his breakfast now and then, but the kidney-powder is not the cause of such resurgence.

As for the other two, I actually saw Portia and Neville chasing each other one evening. Usually, Round Po pursues the Nevsky. (Indeed, she will chase anyone she thinks will make a good victim; she seems to see that quality in poor Renn.) But at one point, Nev stopped; Portia too halted and, when Neville made a sudden movement, rushed away. Technically, Nev didn’t chase Portia, but the latter thought he was, or would. Though Neville will think he must sneak by Po, my girl doesn’t follow him all the time, and there is clearly no animosity when she does. She will sometimes reach out and whap him, or someone else who is near (including me), but I suspect she is just showing her superiority in the household by doing so. That, we can live with.

Life goes on, then, and remains interesting in its own way, but the news from the Cosy Apartment is neither startling nor alarming. My cats and I are preparing for the chillier months, and hope that any reports that we need to pass on will be as gentle as the autumn.

A Sausage-shaped Enigma

Tucker continues to be a puzzle when it comes to his diabetes. I have been giving him two units of insulin only once a day, in the evenings, in response to his blood-glucose numbers being moderately high (in the teens) at one point (either mornings or evenings) and low (single digits, not counting the fractions) twelve hours after or before. This past weekend, I performed a ‘curve’ on the roly poly, which told me his numbers throughout the day. The results surprised me.

The time was when Tucker would start the day (and finish it) with numbers in the low twenties. This Saturday, he started at 14.5. I could have given him one unit of insulin with such a number, but I wanted to see where two would take him. I was confident that it would not prove dangerous for him. His numbers started declining right away. In more stable times, his nadir would be reached early, about mid-morning, after which the values would start climbing again. That was what, for a long time, I considered normal for the Tuxter.

Saturday, his numbers fell, and kept falling. By evening, he was was 3.4. I’d never come across a cat whose blood-sugars fell throughout the day in response to one dose in the morning. Thirteen hours later, they were still decreasing, albeit slowly. Typically, they would rise again after reaching their lowest peak roughly six hours after injection. I am sure Tucker’s numbers rose again, but they had not begun by the time I stopped poking him for blood at seven o’clock p.m.

I felt vindicated in giving my boy only one dose daily (I usually do that in the evening, so I am better positioned to monitor any reaction), but two units would appear to be too much now. I am currently giving him one unit a day, and am awaiting word from his doctor about the latest ‘curve’.

Tucker’s behaviour has been healthy and normal throughout the vicissitudes of his diabetic wobbles, so I am not too concerned about this latest development. I am more concerned with my treatment of it. ‘Better too high than too low’ is a bit of a motto when treating diabetic cats’ blood-glucose numbers. Even Tucker’s starting value on Saturday (14.5) has not been considered bad by either myself or the veterinary; not bad for Tucker, at least. Two units is now too much, I believe; if things continue as they have been, one may be too much, as well.

But for the present, I will stabilise the sausage’s insulin at one unit each evening. He appears content and healthy with that dose, and those are good characteristics for a sixteen year old diabetic cat with no teeth and failing kidneys to have.