Anti-climax

Some time during the night, the abscess on Minuet’s face opened and some blood and puss came out, though not enough to reduce the swelling. I suspect it did some good anyway. I kept her isolated in the library over night, principally so no other cat would pilfer her food. She ate a decent amount. This afternoon, Min visited the doctor.

It was a bit of an anti-climax, as no definite cause of her inflammation could be found. Her lip was too swollen for a good observation to be made. I was given some anti-biotic to put into her, by mouth, twice a day for a week. Fortunately, it is liquid, so it will be easy for me, though possibly painful for her. Once the anti-biotic reduces the swelling, if it does, I must take Min back to the doctor for an assessment.

The fact that the swelling opened a bit suggests to me an outside injury, which would be preferable to a dental cause. A problem with Madame’s teeth would need surgery to fix, and of course at her age anaesthetic is almost an impossibility. Indeed, just to lance the swelling, as was discussed at the hospital today, would have required sedation, and so was ruled out.

While I was at work, Min wet outside her litter-box twice today, for the first time since her initial weeks with me. But I attribute that to the pain and stress of her predicament. I expect that problem to subside with the swelling. At the hospital, my sunflower behaved very well. She purred as I stroked her and spoke to her (despite her deafness), ceasing only when the doctor was present. She nonetheless allowed the staff to clean her and examine her and, when she came home, climbed the cat-tree in the library to sit in the warmth of the sun’s light. Though the discomfort of her situation may cause litter-box irregularities, Minuet seems determined not to let her current affliction get the best of her. She remains a lady.

Best Wishes Are Needed

Minuet will be going to the doctor tomorrow. The left side of her face is swollen, so much so that it is nearly shutting her eye.

When I came home about ten to three this afternoon, her face looked normal. I am certain of that because the change was startlingly noticeable when I came into the library to sit with her at about five o’clock. Previous to that, I had given her and the other beasts dinner, and there was nothing unusual about her appearance. She ate her meal well, but when she ate a little more later, I observed that she had made an unaccustomed mess.

I hope there is nothing that is seriously wrong with her teeth, as a nineteen year old wouldn’t be able to stand the anaesthetic necessary for surgery. It may be an abscess that requires only anti-biotic. Min does not seem to be in pain but, of course, cats can hide their discomfort very effectively. This situation worries me, and I hope all will be pronounced well by the veterinary. Unfortunately, I was not able to make an appointment with her regular doctor, and the unfamiliar vet is another concern.

I would be grateful for any kind thoughts for my very-oldster. She has become rather special to me in the few months she has been here.

 

Lady Sunflower

Though she doesn’t often climb up the cat-tree to the window in the library anymore, Minuet still likes to lie in the sun. Thanks to the time of year, it shines through the library window most days. I imagine her following the light where it lands on the couch, though I think it usually passes her by after she falls asleep. Nonetheless, she’s my Lady Sunflower.

Peabberwocky

’Twas evening, and the silly cats

Did look up at the sound of food:

All rose up from their beds and mats,

And ate, both fine and crude.

 

The human too must eat his fill;

Long time he prepared his dinner -

With veggies froze’ and meat he’ll eat till

He’s filled and won’t grow thinner.

 

A bag of peas and carrots, too,

Were taken from the freezer cold,

One little pea, both round and smooth

Beneath the burner rolled!

 

“One, two, three, four! Much to do and do,”

The human said, “I’ll get it

“Later.” Though he really knew

He would of course forget it.

Oh, hot the burner did grow now

And seared the pea, alas, alack!

The pulse exploded with a ‘pow!’

Like a war attack.

 

The human knew not peas would burst

And scatter fragments in the air.

He thought a tin or round rock first

Had tumbled from its lair.

 

Beware the pea, my boy, where found!

The terror of the garden patch!

Beware the tiny bomb; that sound

Will cause your head to scratch!

 

’Twas evening, and the silly cats

Did look up at the sound of food:

All rose up from their beds and mats,

And ate, both fine and crude…

Me and My Girls

I don’t know whether it is because of the environment - their home - or the fact that they are usually outnumbered by the males, or whether it is simply my luck in drawing certain kinds of cats, but all the female cats who have lived with me for any length of time have been dominant to a greater or lesser degree.

First, of course, there was Tungsten. She was the household’s top-cat. There was a moment when she was challenged by one of my foster-cats, Wixie (that in itself signifying another dominant girlcat), but, fortunately, the contender was adopted with her more passive friend, Mystery. Wixie was a big, barrel-shaped cat and, if it had come to it, would have beaten Tungsten in a fight. But the Tiny Terror stood up to the newcomer nonetheless, and was still top-cat when she departed.

I recall a time when Renn was new to the family. My big boy then, as now, needed to smell everything with that big nose of his. He had become less shy by this point and wanted to sniff Tungsten, who was on my lap. Tungsten took exception to this and struck him a blow on the top of his head that made my teeth rattle. After that, Renn was most respectful, and they became good friends.

Luther, a foster-cat who had the worrying characteristic of attacking every other cat on sight, grappled very fiercely with Tungsten one evening. Luther, a lean orange boy, didn’t seem to have hostility in him, just aggression. But that fine distinction didn’t prevent some terrible battles, in one of which, the Tiny Terror lived up to her name and, despite her diminutive size, gave as good as she got. (Luther was eventually adopted, paired with a kitten, Fortune. He never had any harshness for Fortune, who grew up bigger and tougher than Luther. They remained friends and playmates until Luther’s untimely death, recently.)

The other cats, newcomers and long-established residents, seemed to comprehend that Tungsten was the queen. She grew more tolerant as she aged, though this was probably also due to her increasing illness. There hasn’t been a top-cat in the household since.

Josie was a pacifist in many ways, but she was also a strong force in the family. When I adopted her as a chum for Tungsten, the two girls fought, physically. They eventually settled down and tolerated each other. Josie acknowledged Tungsten’s superior place in the hierarchy, and, in return, Josie was allowed to do much that other cats could not.

Though usually peaceful, the Great White not only had her differences with Tungsten, initially, but took the orange one’s part in the conflict with Wixie. I recall seeing Josie and Wixie rolling in earnest battle one day, fur flying everywhere. In those days, my Chubs was just that, a hefty girl, not as big as Wixie, but big enough. That was Josie’s last fight; thereafter, she would content herself with mean-sounding growls when pushed too far.

In her old age, Josie became my ‘housekeeper’, my support in the household, and the boys gave her the respect she demanded and deserved.

Cammie’s story, for those who recollect it, speaks for itself. Abused in her former home, she was tough and distrustful. I was rather apprehensive of her myself. She didn’t like the other cats - though for a long time she seemed to want to be friends with Tungsten - or at least was fascinated by her - and let everyone know it.

Her warnings were quite varied, from a sharp bark - “Ranh!” - to a drawn-out growl to a yowl. She and I became friends and she would lie on my neck at night, purring. But she would decide when and where I could give my attention and when she was done with me, I would be dismissed: “Ranh!”

And when she had a stroke and lost her sight, she didn’t waste time feeling sorry for herself; she started adapting right away. Her blindness merely accentuated her expectations to be waited upon: her hard-food and water was close to her heated bed and her soft-food was brought to her - and taken away when she issued the usual dismissal - “Ranh!” She was a true princess.

And now, there is Minuet. She is ancient and deaf; she was brought to a strange environment from where she had lived for sixteen years. She had to deal with an unknown human and unfamiliar cats, any one of whom might have been a danger to her. Madame didn’t shrink from the challenge, however, and made her displeasure known whenever it was incurred. And it was incurred a lot by the other felines - and sometimes by me - in her early days in the Cosy Apartment.

Now, she is more accustomed to her surroundings, and to her roommates. They annoy her less. Yet when she yowls in protest, the others take notice. Hector, the youngster, still does a volte-face, retreating with as much dignity as he can muster. With me Minuet is a little less demanding, but still calls for attention when she wants it, and makes her desire for a dish of soft-food known.

My boy cats can be assertive, both with me and with each other, but none is that by nature. They certainly ask for what they want, and can be quite persistent. This is, of course, different than dominant. While the government of the Cosy Apartment has no one top-cat, there appear to be a number of high-ranking officials, and all of them are female. Luck? Circumstance? Situation? I may never know. But I will always know who is in charge.

Not Even His White Tuft

I peruse the internet’s sites that feature ads for cats and dogs lost and found in my town. Sometimes I find a cat who has been found or seen who also matches a picture or a description of one who has been lost; I alert the searching owner to this. I am rarely alone in doing this, as other animal-lovers are doing the same thing. I have been able to return two missing cats to their owners after I saw them coming, separately, to my outside food-bowl, and then matched them to images in ads on the internet.

But many cats are not found. I especially dislike seeing notices for missing all-black cats. These are very difficult to differentiate from one another. A domestic short-haired black cat looks very much like another of its sort. There is often a white tuft on his chest or throat; too many have it for it to be a distinguishing mark. My foster-cat, Hector, is an example. It is impossible, seeing a black cat outside, to determine if he is one who is missing, unless he wears a distinctive collar, or has some other, often unnatural mark, such as a scar or tipped ear.

All-grey cats provide a similar predicament, as do brown-and-black tabbies, though the latter frequently have a pattern that is unique. Even so, capturing a cat just to hold it for the owners to come and examine is impractical, as is collecting every outside cat one sees and taking it to a veterinary hospital to scan for a micro-chip.

Thus, even when one is vigilant, even if one is conscientious, retrieving a lost cat is not as simple as it may seem, regardless of how many felines one observes who might be the animal in question. And one can’t simply shelter every cat one finds outside, whether he’s known to be lost or a stray. It’s a frustrating and sad business, watching cats who may be lost or may not be – especially when one knows one is looking at a lost cat for whom so little can be done.