Where the Boys Are

Briefly yesterday, and for a longer period today, Zofia was out and about in the apartment. Things went well.

Horace and Hector took an active interest in Miss Zed. They were curious but respectful, even recoiling a little when the tiny beast hissed and growled at their proximity. Hec followed her as much as by sight as by presence, but Ivory liked to be close to her; in some of the photographs, it looks as if he’s stalking her with evil intent. He was merely trying to get close enough for a good sniff. I made sure no one inadvertently cornered her.

Renn ignored the newcomer, while Neville hissed and growled, though this unexpected response may have been influenced by my taking some of his blood, which he hates, and which can put him in a bad temper.

I am pleased with Zofia’s progress. She is eating well; at her previous foster-home, she would consume her meals if only attended by a human, who had to urge her on now and then. By placing her food bowls closer to where she lies, I am trying to reduce that dependence; so far, so good. Her stools have become liquidy once again, but I have no doubt that this is due to the change of fare, rather than the fare itself. I’ve seen this occur in several new cats as they adapt to a different menu.

Zofia is a long way from having unrestricted and unsupervised freedom in the apartment. But her start is promising.

Zofia's First Full Day

Undine asked about Zofia's origins. They are simple, sadly: Miss Zed was found wandering the streets, and someone who felt she needed help asked a rescue-group member to accept her. That member took Zofia in - searched for a possible owner who might have lost her - and saw to her initial needs, but really had too many rescues already. As no one was looking for her, or responded to inquiries, Zofia became a rescued cat, and came to me.

Her reaction to the food she was given was good – she ate one largish portion but no more – though I want it to be better. I bought some high-end soft-kitten food for her, and she consumed a good amount of that. The requirement is, of course, that she continue to do so.

I am not above syringe-feeding her some more. It’s easy, relative to some cats I’ve had to feed, but of course she doesn’t care for it. I have Recovery at the ready, and will supplement that with syringes of Kitten Milk Replacement. This is not actually necessary, I think, since it is meant to be a substitute for a mother-cat’s milk, and if the kitten is weaned then it has no point. However, it contains nutrients which are, even so, beneficial, and if I don’t feel that Miss Zed is eating sufficiently, then she will receive those benefits. She is also crunching some hard-food; though not kitten food, its kernels are flatter than many, and thus easier for her to break up.

Behaviourally, she is a typical kitten. I spent a couple of hours with her this morning and she wouldn’t sit still. She wanted to try my tea, and my peanut butter cookies; she wanted on my shoulders, up the cat-tree, across the bookcases – then down onto my shoulders again. She played with my trouser cuffs, and climbed my calves (note to self: cut Zofia’s claws). She is intrusive: at one point she stuck her nose in my nostril; I think she was probably aiming for my eye.

I brought in some toys for her, and she knocked them about for a half-hour. I have to get some more, because the young mancats in the household, especially Horace, love playing with them, and they have largely disappeared.

So far, Zofia is doing well, I would judge, but not as well as I want. She needs to eat much more, both for nutrition and for bulk; one can see how slender her body is in the last photograph. She is also not drinking enough water. But these are very early days yet. Her waste management is satisfactory, her activity level normal and her food-consumption on its way up.

Perhaps, she might like to see a movie tonight…

You've Lost That Under-populated Feeling

Four was seeming a rather small number; why not five? Meet Zofia.

This little girlcat (and I do mean little; the picture immediately below shows her next to a normal sized adult cat) is about three months old. She has been in the rescue-group for a few weeks, but the foster-home into which she was initially welcomed (and where the photo below was taken) is becoming a bit crowded, so I was asked if Zofia could come and live with me for a while. A few hours later, she arrived.

Zofia is skinny though not dangerously so; she has slowly been building her weight. She will be receiving Recovery soft-food, chock-full of nutrients, as well as Kitten Milk Replacement – she’s that young. She will also move onto more regular kitten food.

We wondered if little Miss Z would be shy, shocked at her sudden change of environment. The answer is ‘not yet’. Indeed, she began purring soon after she was released from the carrier. Was it a nervous purr, as sometimes happens? (I’ve heard a theory that this is reflexive, harkening back to the earliest days when a purr was used to summon mama.) A moment later, Zofia was bumping me with her head and even settled onto my lap to clean herself.

Now, this may be an premature reaction. I’ve known numerous cats who have been excited at a change of venue only to became sullen, homesick. But as well, I’ve never seen that stage last long, and they soon return to their first response. Zofia was exploring her new room not long after entering it, scrabbling to get behind a bookcase, then popping out from between it and another a minute later.

She is on anti-biotics for a week. I doubt that she will prove difficult in regard to the liquid oral medicine: a kitten squirms and writhes but though there’s a will to avoid medicine, there’s seldom a way. Not like a sixteen-pound grown-up male cat who doesn’t want anything that tastes bad.

Another plus to Miss Z is that she has already been through the quarantine period. Theoretically, she can meet the boys at any time. This will be done in short stages, of course, but there’s no reason why she can’t at least see them, and they her, this weekend.

For tonight, though, she will be tired out soon. The weather is rather lovely for the middle of October, with mild temperatures and sunny skies. But this evening a wind is bringing clouds, and it will be chilly. The window in the library will close and the heated towel is already on. Zofia spends her first night as our guest tonight. Tomorrow begins her new adventure.

Sable and the Hard School of Economics

No doubt each person reading this has experienced the great and sudden increase in prices that has swept over much of the world recently. I have seen the retail cost of items increase by ten to fifteen per cent, and in some cases forty to fifty per cent. Whatever the cause of this inflation, and whether it is necessary, is all rather immaterial to those of us who have no influence on it, for good or ill. The fact is that we must pay the new prices or go without.

The cost of cat-food has risen along with everything else. As long as I am able to prevent it, my own beasts will not suffer a reduction in their rations - though I may have to forego opening up the house in Montreux this year... There will have to be other adjustments, however.

I don’t have many outsider-cats coming to visit the food and water at Café Cosy. In fact, I have only one frequent visitor, the all-black cat with the frost-bitten ear, Sable.

Sable is feral. After years of patronising the outside bowls, she is still very wary of me. But she enjoys the fare offered, and knows that she has a source of sustenance in addition to, or, if all else fails, in place of, others. However, I have found that I have had to curtail her portions.

In the past, I have fed Sable as much soft-food as she wanted. That frequently meant two tins of Fancy Feast, sometimes more. I was reluctant to cut back on her amount, for fear that she might not have anywhere else to eat. But now I feel that I must limit her to one tin of Fancy Feast per visit

I know she wants more. She waits for more. I feel terrible at having to turn off the outside light, to signal that the kitchen is closed. The café of course remains open, twenty-four hours a day: fresh water may be had at any time and the hard-food bowl is always stocked. Sable, and anyone else who stops by, will not go hungry. But the soft-food will have to be restricted, which may be felt especially in the coming cold.

Such is the cost of inflation and rising prices: those who need most, also suffer most. It’s unfair, and I hope Sable will find her reduced rations enough, until the better days when I can once again feed her as much as she desires.

A Day to Remind Me

Today is Thanksgiving Day. Though I try to be grateful every day for my life and the good things in it, it doesn’t hurt to have a day set aside to remind me that I should be grateful. After all, my memory isn’t what it used to be.

I have much to be thankful for this year. Earlier, I had to have surgery. The doctors and nurses and other staff at the medical offices and the hospital were all professional and thoughtful. Furthermore, three visits to the emergency ward, the operation itself, the anaesthesiologist, the hospital bed, the use of the operating theatre, the equipment utilized, the medicine and drugs dispensed,  the previous consultations with my own doctor and with the surgeon, all cost me nothing, for which, among many other reasons, I am grateful to my country.

I am thankful to be employed and, if my job doesn’t pay me what I would like, it probably pays me what I am worth. Certainly, it pays more than some make, and enough for my needs.

I am thankful that homeless cats can find refuge with me. The few I bring in will never amount to a fraction of a fraction of those in need, but at least I can shelter some. I am thankful to have known Minuet, my Lady Sunflower, who showed me a will as defiant to adversity as it was accepting of possibilities. She was with me too short a time, but for that time, I am grateful.

I am thankful that I have the means and opportunity to care for my feline family, and that each day gives me more knowledge and experience to add to that care. I am thankful that any bad choices I have made in their care are not only forgiven, but seem to be fewer than the good choices. There are two cats missing from my family who were present last year at this time: Portia went to a most perfect home, while Tucker departed for a better Home than we humans could ever provide. Minuet, of course, arrived and left again in the interval, and Horace has taken up residence. I am thankful to have been and to be a part of their lives.

There is much more for which I am thankful, but the description of these would all include the same phrase. I am thankful.