Life is On-going Adaptation

Renn will sometimes throw up in the early mornings, usually between three and three-thirty. Sometimes, that’s the result of his kidney issues. Cats with kidney disease are prone to puking in the mornings. Also, my big boy will toss up a hairball from time to time. He gives me a good warning of the impending upchuck. I can usually get to him before he accomplishes his feat and put a bucket or shallow box under him, so as to contain the mess.

But someone else has learned the signs, too. When we hear Renn starting to gag, I get out of bed, switch on the light, and fetch the bucket. At the same time, Imogen gets up, climbs off the bed and sits on the little bedside staircase or the small dresser near it. There she waits until Renn has finished with his extractions, after which she returns to the bed and settles down once more. I don’t know if this is a matter of Miss Silky’s rest being disturbed, or of her not wanting it disturbed any more than it must.

Whatever the reason, she has adapted to the circumstances of Renn’s old age. While she may be annoyed, she has learned to make the best of it. And I think that may the secret to old age in general.

Thinner for Spring

Now that Neville has had his fur shaved for the new season, I think he looks younger. He is still too heavy, but he does look lighter than with his bulk of fur.

In terms of how he is feeling, I am certain he feels better. His dense hair, and the fact that his diabetes is pretty much unaffected by the insulin, causes mats and stiffness, which can’t be comfortable to lie on. I worry of course that he will be too chilly, but the days are warm now, and he has the heated seat of this armchair to lie on, of which he is taking advantage. If he were too cold, I suspect he would move farther from the door to the ditch, which is open to the screen a little, for fresh air. It seems as if what little extra warmth he needs is found amply on the heating pad.

I am once again grateful to the groomer who did such a good and conscientious job on the Nevsky, worrying that he look good, as well as receive a practical trim. I believe Nev thinks himself quite handsome, now that he has shed his fur coat for the thin spring jacket.

Neville's Hair-loss

Now that spring seems at last to be here, Neville received his vernal haircut. It was performed this morning by a talented groomer, a friend of the rescue-group to which I belong. Once more, the Nevsky had a huge amount of fur taken off, and once more, he looks younger, thinner and more comfortable for it. He was a bit stressed out by the trimming, but the results are good, even if he does look rather indignant over it.

Playing, Fighting, Screaming... The Usual

Bit by bit, Iago is coming around. Initially, he was resistant to playing, treating the toys as threats. Late last week, I noticed that some of the toys left with him in the library while I was at work were not in the positions they were when I had departed. Whether they moved by accident as he was passing them, or he played with them, I could not say.

But last night, I brought a string-toy into the library and he played with it. I think he was playing. He was quite antagonistic toward it, growling and hissing. That doesn’t worry me. He was not afraid of the toy, and was using it for its purpose, which is two steps forward. I will try playing with him some more this evening.

Last night, however, there was a fuss in the library. Screaming and yelling woke me and when I rushed into the library, Iago was upset and hissing. I don’t think it was Brazil; he was in the cylinder-house cat-tree, which is not where he runs if he is afraid or in trouble. I think he too was sleeping until the noise woke him. Imogen, however, was not in her usual spot. And this morning, I found small tufts of light (non-Imogen) hued fur on the library floor. I think Miss Silky sneaked into that room, and ventured too close to the Venetian for either of them to like it. I can see her attempting to sniff him and things proceeding downhill from there. Unlike Brazil, who would run away, Imo would stand her ground and battle, if that situation arose. I think it arose.

However, I will continue to leave the library door open at night. Only by seeing and, if required, coming close to the other beasts, will Iago grow accustomed to them. I may see a few more tufts of hair along the way, though…

Meanwhile, In Europe...

Well, this is becoming weird. My book is now available through Amazon (in its various incarnations), but also through bookshops in the United States, Korea, Italy, the Netherlands and England. While this increases the visibility of the book – though not, I note, its sales – I must wonder how it arrived at these far-flung literary corners.

 

Since it is a self-published book, it is ‘print on demand’. This category has improved greatly since I first saw an example of it, and the fact that I work in graphic arts allowed me to set the book up just the way I wanted it. I am quite pleased with the physical results. The ‘print of demand’ feature means, I assume, that if one of these bookshops receives an order for the book, it then orders it from Amazon, and sells it, at a higher cost than Amazon did, to the customer requesting it.

 

But why are the bookshops offering it at all? I can guess only that someone on their staff saw it somewhere, thought it looked good – none of the entries include the description of the book’s contents that I wrote for Amazon’s display – and included it in their inventory. It seems rather a long shot that someone will see it and order it. It doesn’t appear worth the effort on the part of the bookshops.

 

Furthermore, there are two prices, one for ‘new’ copies and one for ‘used’. Used? How on Earth (literally) are these bookshops going to guarantee used copies when they are ordering ‘print on demand’? Is someone in the shop going to read the stories before mailing the book off to the customer?

 

Still, these are not complaints but observations and questions. If GreatBookPrices, and what appears to be its British affiliate, GreatBookPricesUK, want to market my book, I am pleased. Puzzled, but pleased.

Silence in the Night

Last night, for the first time, the library door was open all night. Iago was free to come and go from the room - though I don’t think he did - and the other beasts were equally at liberty. The latter was the significant point, since the two oldsters like to use the library’s litter-box in preference to the pair in the storeroom, and the youngsters are curious about the newcomer. While the litter-box was quite full this morning, there was no noise or disturbance during the dark hours.

The principal problem I foresaw - aside from the possibility of one of the cats coming too close to Iago - was that Iago tends to use the litter-box only when the door is closed, and he is assured of being alone. I think this is due to him feeling less vulnerable while doing his business if the door is closed. I don’t know if he used the box in the night, but he did not seem bothered by events.

This is a big step forward. Iago’s trust of his fellow felines is not high, but if he can go unannoyed by them at night, he may be more tolerant of them at other times.

Two Parts Progress, One Part Regress

I had just written to a friend that little was going on in the Cosy Apartment, so there was little to report on my blog. Thanks to Brazil, I can now write something on my blog…

Iago’s integration is proceeding slowly but in the right direction. He has seen all the cats, hissed at all of them, but is growing accustomed to them, like them or not. They watch him from doorways (as Imogen is doing in the picture below (that’s the tip of the Venetian villain’s head in the far background)), they use his litter-box, they try to creep closer. These are all good ways of inching acquaintance forward. Then there is Brazil.

He hasn’t lunged at Imo in quite a while. He decided to do that last night. That wasn’t a big problem. I told him in no uncertain terms to get out of the bedroom (where Miss Silky was). He ran out at full speed, into the library and up onto the carpeted bookcase under the window, where he often went when he knew he was in trouble – and where Iago was lying just then.

There was a shriek and a bellow and I ran in just in time to see Iago chasing Shimmer off the bookcase. Brazil ran out of the library and up the tall cat-tree in the sitting room, his eyes huge and his tail puffed up like a fox’s. Iago was antagonised. He has been extra sensitive to the other beasts invading the library since.

Fortunately, he did not carry that mood to me, and spent a satisfactory amount of time on my lap later that night. Nonetheless, it may be a long(er) while until my newcomer welcomes his roommates into his room. Thanks, Brazil.