Four, Sooner Than Expected

Life does not always turn out as one expects. My new fourth cat arrived a couple of days earlier than expected - but it’s not the new fourth cat I expected…

I returned from work yesterday and ran into my building’s manager; he was glad I did as he wanted to speak with me. He showed me a note that had been thrust under his door. It was a simply worded request to look after a cat. Then he took me to an apartment in our building where I met the cat.

The tenant - previous tenant, now - departed earlier, leaving behind her keys, what looked to be most of her belongings, and her pet. I of course knew why I was being shown the cat. The manager is a cat-person. He has several, and feeds outsider-cats, but I know he is unable to have any more. No one else in the building was going to volunteer. Now I have a fourth cat.

We know nothing about her beyond her name - which will be changed - and her gender. She is a medium-sized black (of course) lady, probably about two or three years of age. It’s unlikely that she has been spayed or even seen a veterinary in her life - though she did know what a carrier was, so it may be that she is familiar with hospital visits. It took about twenty minutes to capture the poor beast, whereupon I put a blanket over her and put her in a carrier.

She is occupying my library. She made some noise during the night but was mostly quiet. She hides from me when I come into the room, but there is no panic in her retreats, and I have seen her twice on top of the short bookcase, looking out the window. She even was on the couch at one point. She is scared but not terrified. She has eaten some food - a big concern with a new cat - and used the litter-box, for both varieties of waste -  another big concern. I suspect she has met few strangers in her life, but her reactions to me and the manager suggest that she will come around well enough with time.

The problem with the new cat’s arrival is that Carmella won’t be able to come to my place yet. If this development had occurred a fortnight later, even one week, Carmella could have had her isolation time - which I don’t believe would have been necessarily long - and brought out to live with the others, and the new cat could have taken her place. I could still bring Carmella in, but I won’t do that without giving her a safe-zone, at least for a while, and I no longer have the space for that. My goal is to have Carmella come and stay, but she will have to wait.

In the meantime, I will come up with a name for my new guest.

Soon To Be Four Again

This little girlcat will be coming to stay with me on Friday. This is Carmella, estimated to be about four years old. She is an interesting looking lady, a ‘tortie-point Siamese’, with her head the pattern of a tortoiseshell and her body and blue eyes those of a Siamese. She is from another foster-home in the rescue-group, a home which has too many cats for Carmella to feel comfortable.

Usually I don’t bring in a new cat until the previous one’s adoption has been finalised but, as Hector would - I hope - slip pretty much back into the routine of the Cosy Apartment if he were to return, there is no problem with Carmella occupying the library until she is integrated.

From what I am told, this sweet-faced creature is the quiet, people-oriented sort. She probably won’t be a playmate for Zofia, but that problem is under consideration, too. For now, it looks like I will have four cats again quite soon.

Missing Her Chum

Zofia is doing all right without Hector, though I know she was missing him Sunday evening. She periodically walked about the apartment, talking in a voice louder than usual; she then looked about. She did this several times. Now, little Miss Zed is spending more time with me. I’m a poor substitute for her playmate but I try to let her know that she is not forgotten.

Between Friends

The wind was chilly, blowing down from the mountains along the northern frontier of Idylland. The temperature was low, and skiffs of snow whipped around the corners of the buildings of the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium.

 

It was a good day to be indoors. Dr Bellen enjoyed seeing the residents safe and warm on such days. Some were curled up in beds; others were peering out the windows from soft perches. One, however, was preparing to leave. As he neared Hector’s room, the doctor heard voices speaking from within the open door. He didn’t want to interrupt the conversation, so he waited in the corridor.

 

“Ai think ai has evrything,” Hector said. “Ai wont bee taking mutch. Theez little springie toys, an’ a box lid… Dr Bellen sed evrything will bee pervuided...”

 

“Queek er er week crik whee?”

 

“Beecuz it will bee mai home, Zofia. Ai will have mai own fambly, who will luv mee furever.”

 

“Pik pik queek er er wik mip.”

 

“Beecuz…wen ai go, another cat can take mai place heer, an’ maybe he’ll find his own home, too.”

 

“Mip creek week mikk mikk?”

 

“Well, yes, ai am a bit scaired. It’s a big a’venchure, yoo kno. Ai won’t kno ennybuddy, so ai will hav to bee brave. But soon ai will fit in, an’ the humans there will luv me. An’ there’s another cat there, an’—”

 

“Whee mip creek week?”

 

“No, ai won’t bee frends with her like ai am with yoo, Zofia. We’re bestest pals, yoo an’ mee. Heer, sit down.”

 

Dr Bellen heard the sound of two cats settling on a bed.

 

“See, Zofia, ai’m a black cat, an’ black cats dont get chanses like this mutch. Peeple don’t want us mutch… Wat? Ai don’t kno wai; it’s jist the way it is. So wen a chanse like this comes along, ai need to take it.”

 

“Crik whee mip mip.”

 

“Pierettes? Yeah, they mite turn out to bee pierettes...”

 

“!!” exclaimed Zophia.

 

“Or mebbe saccharin smugglerz...”

 

“!!!!” cried Zophia.

 

“Or mebbe people who reed Jackie Collins novels!”

 

“Quelle horreur!” shrieked Zophia.

 

“Hahahahaha.” Hector laughed.

 

“Kip kip kip kip kip kip kip kip kip kip kip.” Zofia laughed, too.

 

“But seeriusly, folks… If it duzn’t work out, Dr Bellen sez ai will come back to the Cosy Apartment sabbatarian, an’ ai will bee safe and welcome heer. ‘Wunce a sacarilium cat, always a sagittarius cat’. That’s wot the doctor sez.”

 

“Er wee pik.”

 

“Thank yoo, Zofia. Yor a good frend.”

 

Dr Bellen cleared his throat and entered the room.

 

“Are you ready, Hector?”

 

“Reddy, Doctor. Er, the trane won’t aksidently take see to Samarra, will it?” Hector looked sidelong at the human.

 

Dr Bellen smiled and answered, “No, Hector. You’ll be going in the opposite direction. Your trip to Samarra won’t be for many, many years yet.”

 

“Jist chekking…” Hector hopped off the bed, then turned and pushed his head against Zofia’s. “Dr Bellen will let yoo kno how ai am, Zo…”

 

Dr Bellen picked up Hector’s small collection of belongings - the box lid was a bit difficult for a feline to manage, anyway -  and walked with the black cat out of the room. In the corridor, Hector was concentrating on his great opportunity, and thinking about the future. He didn’t hear what Dr Bellen heard. A little, squeaky voice uttering one last wish for a friend.

 

“Queek er er week crik, Hector…”

Bon Voyage, Hector

Hector left for his trial-adoption this morning. I am apprehensive about this one; not due to the home, which appears a very good one for the little Turk. I am not even worried that the resident cat and Hector won’t get along. He needs more than tolerance, however; he needs a playmate. Much will depend on the cat’s reaction to the newcomer. It will be the difference between Hec’s mere contentment in his new home, and happiness.

Bon voyage, my friend.

When Numbers Go Down, Spirits Go Up

The last time I told you about Neville, he was recovering from the ill effects of the anti-biotic prescribed to combat a possible infection that was playing havoc with his blood-sugar numbers. I am pleased to write that following the publishing of that entry, the Nevsky suffered no more regurgitation. He has been eating well since then.

I performed a ‘curve’ on Neville today, to see how his blood-sugar numbers respond to his usual dose of insulin, after the anti-biotic. I was surprised to see that he actually had a curve. His start was, as expected, high: 24.0. Subsequent to his two and a half units of insulin, his numbers dropped to a nadir of 17.1.

While this is hardly a low number for a diabetic, it is nonetheless a response, unlike many of the days on which I had monitored him recently. He also hit his lowest point rather early in the day, at 10.22 in the morning, a bare four hours after his injection. Even so, it is in the right direction.

However, I must caution myself. There were days during which Neville’s electronic sensor was attached to him that recorded similarly encouraging curves. These were rare days, and came irregularly; there was neither rhyme nor reason to his reactions to the insulin. In other words, he had a couple of good days, when the insulin did what it should have, among eight bad days. This may be another.

I intend to run another curve on my grey boy next weekend. If it turns out the same as today, then I will suspect that an improvement with some staying power has been effected; after all, that two good days out a week both happened to fall on Saturdays will be unlikely. If, in turn, next weekend’s curve provides encouragement, then I will have another electronic sensor attached for a more detailed study of the improvement.

Neville’s diabetes has not been coöperative, so I am guarded in my optimism. But today was a good day for his numbers, and, as Mr Parker pointed out, good days are splendid days.

The Straighter and Narrower

I want to thank all those who wished Neville well in his current illness. I think your kind messages did him good. I may be getting ahead of myself - or ahead of Neville - but I think the worst is over for him. He had thrown up some hard-food some time during the day Tuesday; I found the debris when I returned from work. But he seemed in good spirits, and looking forward to dinner.

He ate a small but satisfactory amount of soft-food for that meal, and more at snack-time, in the early evening. As always under similar circumstances, I am torn between not feeding too much, and wanting the patient to eat as much as he feels, while he feels like it. The important thing is that Nev didn’t bring anything up for the rest of the day or during the night. He ate an adequate breakfast this morning, though he doesn’t eat as much then as at other times.

While he may continue to regurgitate food for a while, I am not too worried about it. I think the ill effects of the anti-biotic are faded; combined with the benefits of the Cerenia injection, the Nevsky is keeping his food down, at least enough to forego having to syringe-feed him. I will withhold hard-food from him for a few days, as that seems to be the subject of the main problem the antibiotics created.

As concerning as this episode is, it is merely a side-issue: the goal of the anti-biotic was to destroy any infection that might have been causing insulin to lose its efficacy against Nev’s high blood-sugar numbers. I will conduct a ‘curve’ on the weekend. Though I remain optimistic, I don’t think his high numbers are stimulated by an infection. Even so, if this weekend’s curve looks good, I will conduct a second the following weekend, then have an electronic sensor attached again for a long-term picture.

But first things first: to find no gastric detritus when I come home today.