While I Was Away

None of this happened while I was away but, rather, while I was selfishly pre-occupied with my own tiny, insulated world of surgeries. How I could have been thinking of something other than cats, my beasts surely have no idea.

Renn was ill last week. At the beginning of the week, he started throwing up, unable to keep anything down and with very little appetite. This has been a recurrence with my big boy for a while. I suspect there is something wrong with him but have not been able to find it through blood or urine tests, and it is not consistent. But for its latest manifestation, he could have chosen a less inconvenient time.

Fortunately, I have a good supply of Cerenia pills left over from Tucker’s last sickness. They did help him keep things down, and so I gave Renn a dose on both Wednesday and Thursday. I had visions of trying to force-feed him immediately after my operation, which probably would have been bad for both of us, but by Thursday evening he was better, and has eaten well since then, keeping everything down. His appetite has returned and, despite my earlier opinion, I think the Mirtazapine has offered some prompting to his hunger. He has two kinds of hard-food that he eats, and he also enjoys some Recovery soft-food now and then. I like that, as the more choices that are available, the less likely he is to reject all.

Now, however, he has a bad cold, with sneezing and snot, but it’s not keeping him from eating, and that of course is my main concern. I can’t see that it is connected with his prior upset.

Also food-related is Minuet’s latest development. When she came to stay with me, she arrived eating Fancy Feast and a ‘dietetic’ hard-food. (Originally, it was called ‘diabetic’, but a suitably important government department complained that it doesn’t actually help diabetes, so the name was changed.) She soon started throwing up her food, so I took her off Fancy Feast and put her on to a seniors’ variety. The vomiting, never constant but just every few days, continued, so I decided it might be the hard-food. This I recently removed from her menu, and the upchucking stopped.

In the last few days, Min inadvertently ate some of the ‘dietetic’ food and I heard her puking in the night, two nights running. (Interestingly, and annoyingly, I could never find her debris in the mornings, so it may have been a dry-heave type of rejection.) This seems to confirm my concerns over the hard-food with which she arrived at the Cosy Apartment, though why she would have these symptoms after being on the food for a year, I don’t know. (It’s possible that she was going through the motions of being sick all that time but, without physical evidence, her former owner never thought it was occurring.)

Now, however, Madame has started to go off her seniors’ variety of soft-food. I think this is nothing more than boredom it. Fortunately, she enjoys Recovery, so I am mixing it with the seniors’ food, and this appears to satisfy her. She also likes the Orijen hard-food, which is the general hard-food left out for the other beasts. If she does not puke over the next week or two, I will think that my hypothesis regarding the ‘diatetic’ food was more or else correct.

Recovery, aside from being very expensive, might be rather too rich for a very-oldster like Minuet; Orijen, too, might not be the best for someone her age. But her age is nineteen years; she surely doesn’t have much more time left on Earth (though I will be very pleased if she does) and if her current fare is enjoyable to her, why should she not indulge herself? It can be tough coaxing a senior cat to eat enough to keep her going; if Minuet looks forward to her meals, if they give her pleasure, rather than being a boring part of a bland day, why should she not eat well?

I have found the convoluted agonies of attempting to feed a cat correctly – or at least satisfactorily – to be the most difficult part of caring for these beasts. The complicated plotting of a cat’s menu over the years must resemble a chart of the secret diplomatic negotiations of the most devious Renaissance princes, or the collected scripts of a decade of television soap operas. But if Minuet or Renn or any other animal in my household walks away from an empty bowl purring then all the fantastical plotting will be worth it.

(A couple of readers expressed surprise that Minuet was not wearing her shirt in yesterday’s picture of her. She wears it during the cooler parts of the day – the night and the twilight times on either end of night – while I remove it during the warmer hours, such as when I am at work. That’s when I see her grooming herself, an action I believe is as morally beneficial for a cat as physically. Her nakedness is then compensated by a higher temperature in her room.)

And Then What Happened?

Having explained the first part of the Surgical History Tour, I should finish the story with what happened next.

I survived the fasting which, looking back, appears to have been my biggest worry. Actually, the biggest worry was drinking water after the midnight before the operation. Drinking water is such an automatic thing when I am thirsty that it was difficult to refrain from doing it. I would remember not to drink, only to forget and have to remember again seconds later.

It was the cats’ fault! I am used to taking them for their dental procedures and other operations, which prohibit food – but not water - up to eight or nine hours before. Why can’t humans drink? It’s discrimination, I tell you!

Anyway, I arrived at the hospital at 8.30 a.m., was set up in a partitioned ‘room’ (there were only two other patients aside from me awaiting surgery at the time) and allowed to rest. I find hospitals very relaxing, perhaps because everything is done for me, and I don’t have to do anything. They hooked me up to intravenous fluids, to compensate for lack of water during the night (Tucker, the recipient of many doses of sub-cutaneous fluids, must’ve been snickering at that one), and put leggings on my calves that massaged my muscles and blood vessels; this was to keep me from getting blood clots through lack of movement.

I was retrieved for surgery at about 11.45. My identity was confirmed numerous times (initially, I had to bring photo i.d., in case I slipped in a substitute…) and I was repeatedly asked which side I was to be operated on; a nurse marked my left shoulder with a pen – which he then dropped… The anaesthetist explained that I would be knocked out by something given in my i.v., and then given the real anaesthetic to breathe. I would be intubated (unfortunately, we all know what that means these days), the centre-piece of which would be removed after I woke and it was confirmed that I could breathe on my own. I was apprehensive about this but the doctor said I would not remember any of it. He was right. I recalled nothing between seeing him adjust a switch on my i.v. and seeing a nurse come into my ‘room’ afterward. It was as if I blinked from one scene to the next. I had no reaction to the anaesthetic. Well, except for being unconscious for several hours.

I left the hospital at five o’clock, I think. A friend had attended to the cats in my absence and found them most cooperative. I nonetheless gave them more food before bed-time and, of course, scooped more crap from boxes. I slept well. I thought I would be hungry, but my appetite was not great, even after almost a day without food, which is a sure sign of my body being off kilter. I did eat, and realised that I needed the food, but I still wasn’t enthusiastic about it.

This morning, I was sore, and likely will be for some time. My appetite was back to normal, and I had a good, unrushed breakfast. My biggest challenge now will be not lifting anything over ten pounds, such as any of my cats. One doesn’t consider how unthinkingly one lifts heavy objects; if it feels heavy, we adjust our grip or simply carry it to where it needs to be faster than if it were light. This is where being wealthy and having servants would come in handy. All the hospital gave me were pain-killers.

It was quite an adventure, and I must admit that it was not bad at all. I was very lucky, of course, in having to undergo something that was not life-threatening, either in cause or remedy. My surgeon did write in his report that it was a “challenge”, and because of that I could expect bruising and swelling. I am not sure what this involved; possibly kicking and punching. I will learn more when I speak to him in the ‘follow-up’.

Now come the two weeks’ disability leave, the best part of the entire process. This will be like a prologue to my holidays, but without bicycling. But at least I’ll have more time to spend with these this lot.

Kind Thoughts and Hospital Gowns

I would like to thank all those who have wished me well in my surgery tomorrow, and who have written that they will be thinking of me. It is, as operations go, a minor procedure; my doctor told me that it will take far longer to set up the theatre for the work than it will to perform the surgery itself. Nonetheless, I am grateful for the kind thoughts.

I won’t be staying overnight and will be back home among the cats probably by mid-afternoon. This reduces one of the greatest dangers that comes from a medical procedure in a hospital, which is having to appear in an embarrassing, ill-suited gown, like some of the other patients…

Dr Bellen Explains His Surgery

Spring had come to Idylland, and the sky over the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium was a warm blue; smoky clouds were beginning to gather, turning grey as they approached. A storm was approaching but, for now, the day was sunny. Dr Bellen was relaxing on a bench on one of the lawns that led from the sanitarium’s buildings to the woods near by. It was a rare moment of relaxation for him, and he sat back with an open book.

Then he glanced up, and saw a crowd of cats bustling toward him from one of the residence buildings. They looked purposeful, which often means trouble, as opposed to when they look casual, which always means trouble.

“This can’t be good…” thought the doctor, closing his book.

The crowd was led, not surprisingly, by Neville and Hector, with Renn, Dr Bellen’s most able assistant, pretending to keep order, but really going along with the group. The human saw that Madame Minuet was also amongst the assemblage. This concerned him, for she was very old, and he feared that she would catch a chill, even in the warm spring air. But she was wearing her spotted robe, so was probably comfortable enough.

“This seems to be a deputation,” the doctor remarked, when the clowder of cats stopped in front of him.

“Yes, well, we’ve heard things that are a concern to us, Doctor,” responded Neville, in his low, muttering voice. Normally, long-haired and shaggy, he had recently had his fur shaved for the coming temperate weather and, though he had been most dissatisfied with the process, he seemed to be secretly pleased with the results.

“Yes, a kinsern,” echoed Hector, a young black cat with wide green eyes.

“It is a bit, uh, concerning, Doctor,” said Renn, off to the side.

“And are you concerned, too, Madame Minuet?” Dr Bellen asked the newest resident of the sanitarium.

“I’VE LIVED MANY YEARS, DOCTOR, AS YOU KNOW, AND I FIND A MOB ALWAYS TO BE WORRISOME! I REMEMBER DURING THE PARIS COMMUNE—”

“You were in Paris during the Commune?” Neville asked dryly.

“What’s a kommyune?” asked Hector.

“It’s what hippies do, I think,” Renn volunteered.

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!” shrieked Minuet.

The crowd moved away from the old cat a couple of steps. In the awed silence that followed, Dr Bellen steered the talk back to the matter at hand.

“If I could steer the talk back to the matter at hand—”

“We herd you wuz goin’ t’the hoss spittle,” blurted Hector.

All the cats regarded the doctor expectantly. Dr Bellen nodded.

“Well, yes, I will be going to the infirmary for a minor operation—“

“Surgery?!” Renn was aghast.

“Oh, this is almost dreadful,” mumbled Neville.

“What’s serjurie?” Hector wanted to know.

“I REMEMBER I HAD TO IDENTIFY THE BODY OF A MEMBER OF THE LEGISLATIVE CORPS BEFORE HIS AUTOPSY! IT WAS DREADFUL! I WAS LATE FOR MY MID-AFTERNOON NAP!” cried Minuet, angrily.

“An autopsy!” repeated Renn, horrified. "That's done after someone dies!"

Hector’s eyes widened as he stared at Dr Bellen.

“You’re dead?!”

“No, no, I am not dead,” the doctor assured his audience. “How can I be dead? I’m obviously alive.”

“Cats have nyne lives but wun hasta end beefor th’ next beginz, so wut ar you in between?”

Dr Bellen frowned at Hector. So did Neville and Renn. Minuet scowled. Cats, being practical creatures, rarely became philosophical, so such examples, especially from Hector, usually took the human by surprise. He decided to skirt the issue. He stroked Hector’s furry head and he kneaded the grass.

“I will be going to the infirmary, just the other side of the formal garden, and having a short and minor operation. I won’t even be staying overnight.”

“Who will take care of us while you’re recovering, Doctor?” Neville inquired, as if buying stolen watches from some guy named Louis on a street corner.

“There will still be the staff here, the kitchen staff, the housekeeping staff, the administrative personnel,” Dr Bellen stated. “Renn will still be here.”

The crowd moved away from Renn a couple of steps. In the awed silence that followed, Dr Bellen commented:

“As well, I have contacted members of other sanitaria, and they will be available to help whenever they are needed.”

This appeared to mollify the crowd, as fuzzy heads nodded and bent closer together for whispered consultations. But Neville said:

“What if something goes wrong, Doctor?”

“Yes, wut if a meatier crashed into th’ hoss spittle?” Hector demanded.

“A meat—? The chances of a meteor crashing into the infirmary are extremely slender,” Dr Bellen replied with a smile.

“What if yer blood terned into powdur, like in that movee?”

“Turned into…? Where on Earth do you get these ideas, Hector?”

“It wasn’t from Erth, it wuz from owta spase.”

Dr Bellen tried to suppress a smile as he chucked Hector under the chin.

“What I will be undergoing is simple and, as surgeries go, easy. The surgeons have performed them hundreds of times. It’s true that I will be off duty for a fortnight—“ Dr Bellen glanced at Hector, who was opening his mouth to say something, and added, “—two weeks, but my study door will be open for any and all discussions and consultations.”

This too pleased the assembly, and Dr Bellen felt that he had satisfied all concerns.

“Now, it’s almost time for luncheon. Why don’t you all go to the dining room? I understand that the most expensive veterinary-recommended food is being served to cats who don’t really need it. That sounds tasty.”

All the cats agreed and turned to walk to the dining room in the main building, purrs floating above them, their tails high. Minuet remained behind, frowning at the doctor.

“I DIDN’T HEAR A WORD ANYONE SAID!” she shrieked.

“Hector started---”

“I DIDN’T SAY I WANTED TO HEAR ANYTHING!”

Madame Minuet walked in a semi-circle and followed the crowd. She couldn’t hear, but she had grown to know the sanitarium’s routine very well and rapidly; besides, she was hungry. Dr Bellen smiled, and, the sun still shining, opened his book again.

He actually was looking forward to his operation. The anaesthetic-induced rest would do him good…

 

And Now for Something a Little Different

I don’t write too much about myself in this blog, for two principal reasons. One is that there is not much to tell. Another is that this blog is about my cats, their lives and actions. That’s why it’s called I Have Three Cats. I have four right now, but that is immaterial. The point is that if people wanted to know about me, they could read the blog My Cats Have One Human, if it existed.

However, now and then, I go through something that affects the cats, and therefore the event falls into the jurisdiction of the current blog. The last time that happened, we moved from our house to the Cosy Apartment. That was at the end of 2015. In the rapid and hectic existence that is my life, something has – yet again! – occurred that, while happening to me, may affect the cats. Twice in seven years; how does one keep up with this kaleidoscope of changes?

No, we’re not moving. We’re quite content in the Cosy Apartment. I am, in fact, having a bit of surgery this week. As surgeries go, it’s rather minor; I won’t even be spending a night in the hospital. But it does involve being stabbed by a gang of masked strangers, so I will be off work for a fortnight (see under ‘silver lining’). I also will not be able to lift anything more than ten pounds for a few weeks, which is why I performed a curve on Neville today, and not next weekend…

I have been preparing as much as I can beforehand, stockpiling supplies of various sorts, buying scoops for cat-food and litter (instead of lifting 28-pound bags) and cleaning the apartment in the days immediately preceding my operation, which is scheduled for Thursday, April 7th. I don’t expect that there will be much interruption in my blog-writing; if there is something that the cats have done that should be described, I don’t think I will be in a position not to describe it. However, I thought a brief explanation of what minor disruptions may occur in the usually routine workings of the Cosy Apartment might have been in order. After all, it may prove puzzling to readers if they learn that I have had to use an industrial pallet-jack to lift the Nevsky.

I am looking forward to the surgery, in order to have it done, and get on with my two weeks off work. As well, I have always found time spent in the hospital to be relaxing, probably because everything there is done for me. I will let you know how things go after the operation. To be honest, I feel that I will be in good care, after having met my doctor…