Back to the Three Cats I Have

I’ve lately devoted much space in my articles to Tucker, my foster-cat. That’s because he’s been going through a health issue, and his status changes from week to week. Fortunately, that status has improved, and continues to do so. He must wear his cone for at least another week, but his problem is getting better. It’s been a good thing that, as health troubles go, it’s been minor.

But what of the other cats in my house? If they could read, I’m sure they’d be demanding equal space. So this time, I will write about them.

Tungsten was quite grumpy one day this past week. She gets like that sometimes. Nothing will be good enough for her. She hissed and growled at Tucker, which she hasn’t done much of in the past - I think the cone unnerves her - then hissed at Renn and even, later on, at me. The only one who escaped her wrath was Josie, and that’s because my chubby pacifist hid under the bed at the first signs of a fight brewing. I don’t care for being hissed at, and I let the orange one know it in no uncertain terms. It’s the only time we have words. My stern rebuke merely made Tungsten sulkier.

But Tungsten is a moody one, and the next day, she couldn’t get enough of me. She lie on my lap while I ate breakfast, and lie on my lap while I wrote later. She insisted on lying on my shoulders whenever I was standing. That, to her, is the best place, reclining on my shoulders, facing my left (when she’s on my lap, she points right), turning her head to rub its fuzzy top against my face, and purring all the while. She was over her grump.

When that tiny cat wants on my shoulders, she’ll stand on her hind legs and gently tap my arm with her paw, both paws if the situation is urgent. Sometimes, if I am trying to do something that requires - or at least is best done with - free shoulders, such as shaving, I will move her out of range. But nothing is out of range to a determined cat. I will see Tungsten’s eyes move from one of my shoulders to the other, deciding which will give the best chance of a firm landing. She’s silent enough to catch me by surprise now and then. Few things are more startling than turning in time to see a cat in mid-flight, half a second away from landing on you. I can gauge the need to cut her claws when she lands a little off and must pull her way up to my shoulders with her talons...

Renn’s a cat with long, soft hair, and I took a comb to it this weekend, thinking that I’d better keep up with his grooming. Long hair can get matted easily. But to my surprise, there wasn’t a knot in it. He did love the combing though, rolling about, unable to decide which side should receive the most attention.

He likes to catch me when I’m sitting and come up to me with his back arched and push against my legs. I’ll rub his head and, especially, the sides of his body and tell him what a great cat he is. He’ll start his rough purring, which is never continuous but is blurted out like puffs of strained air, and move away, only to wriggle back again for more attention. He likes sitting next to me, too, on the couch. Sometimes, it’ll be for a long chest-rub, though other moments, he’ll curl up against a cushion and just keep me company.

Renn follows me about the house, as does Tucker. Josie is the loner of the group, and Tungsten has been with me long enough to be confident of her place. Renn hasn’t always had things easy, and is a gregarious cat; he likes to know I’m near. When I go downstairs for more than a few minutes, I hear a heavy thump and a series of patters on the ceiling; I know that in half a minute, my big boy will appear downstairs to see where I am.

I mentioned that Josie is a loner. There are nights when she doesn’t come to bed, preferring a solitary perch high on a cat-tree. When I am sitting on the couch with Tungsten on my lap, Renn to my right and Tucker on the couch’s arm to my left, Josie will be on a comfortable cushion of a chair at the dining table. But my Chubs still likes to know she’s appreciated. This weekend, while I was writing at the table, she got up to get some face-rubs. Afterward, she lie down on my papers, looking so relaxed that I felt I couldn’t move her. So I put a cushion on the table near me and coaxed her on to that. She snoozed beside me for an hour or more.

She is not due for her annual check-up until summer, but I will keep an eye - or, rather, an ear - on her breathing until then. I hear the air coming and going through her little nose, sounding a like a distant car-horn descending the scales. This happens principally when she relaxes. I know she needs to lose weight, but I hope there is nothing wrong with her breathing. When she sleeps, she can snore, the noise resembling a wheezy old furnace. Otherwise, she is healthy and has become quite active with some of the toys the cats received at Christmas.

Among the many expressions of affection I receive from my cats, I think one of the nicest comes my Chubs. Once in a while, Josie will be thinking her lonely thoughts and suddenly decide that she will show me what she thinks of me. She will waddle over to where I am, rub up against me once, then leave again. Just so I know.

Improvements

This time, there is good news. A couple of Wednesdays ago, Tucker was again taken to the veterinarian, because the medicine given initially to help fight the infection he has developed was ineffective. This time, he was given a shot of something called Convenia, an anti-bacterial medicine designed to fight skin problems. He was also prescribed another ointment, for direct application to the problem area.

He is improving. The troublous area has healed quite a bit. To tell the truth, I don’t know if it’s healed as much as it should, but it seems to be developing a scab, which, I guess, is part of the healing process. Tucker may always have a little round scar, but as long as it’s under his fur and troubles him no more, he can live with that.

He continues to wear a funnel-shaped cone to keep him from licking the troublesome area, but I remove it when I have him under my direct supervision. At those times, he does not seem compelled to lick the spot. I know he wants to, but every cat wants to clean that area, and it is probably itchy, as well. But if these are the normal reactions of a cat, and not those of one suffering a physical ailment, then that’s satisfactory, and he’ll have to put up with them until he’s completely healed. The difficult judgement for me will be to tell when the spot is healed enough for him to do without the cone, and not re-damage the area by the normal grooming he will want to perform. To be safe, this should mean another trip to the veterinarian, but I hesitate to do that due to the extra cost. That may sound negligent - after all, it’s the roly-poly one’s health that is at stake - but anyone who owns a pet knows how expensive it is to visit a doctor just to have her say, “It’s looking good. Thanks for coming in.”

Tucker has adjusted himself to wearing the cone, though he certainly dislikes it. He endures it through the night and during the day when I’m away. He’s learned to ascend and descend stairs with it on, to eat and drink water, and is no longer as depressed with it as he was that first week. He comes into the bedroom every morning as soon as I turn on a light and squeaks to have the cone removed. He doesn’t sleep on the bed since having to wear the funnel; I’m hoping he will return once it is permanently taken off. I replace the cone when I go to work, but the half hour before that he is free to groom. His gladness at having it removed is obvious.

He is a smart animal, and knows he’s not supposed to lick a certain spot. Sometimes, I will see him move to groom where I think he shouldn’t and after scolding him, will discover that he was only near and not on the formerly infected area. I will tell him that it’s all right, and that he can continue, and he does. With the cone off, he is lively and active, and has even chased Josie and ambushed Renn. Once the collar is gone forever, the old Tucker will be back, I’m sure.

The other cats are, unfortunately, getting less attention during this time than I would like to give. Renn continues to improve in his own way. I’ve had friends over to the house on two different occasions recently. The big boy still runs to hide when someone arrives, but each time now, he comes charging out for attention not twenty minutes later, as had been the case, but only two or three minutes later. He has long since ceased to run when I come through the door. Instead, he meets me there with the others.

Josie has, I think I’ve mentioned previously, become the boss of the food bowls, despite deferring to Tungsten in other matters. My Chubs has become more vocal in recent months, when demanding that I hurry when serving the soft food, and when playing. She has also developed a fondness for a particular dining chair’s cushion. When I am sitting on it, and she wants to take my place, she will appear restless, even try another chair, but find it lacking something. When I move, she is quick to fill the vacancy. It’s becoming her place.

And Tungsten remains top-cat, though there is less of her. She went to her annual check-up a week ago. (Speaking of veterinary expenses: a ten-minute examination resulted in a bill of more than $60. It was necessary; an annual exam is as important for pets’ health as for humans, especially when we, er, I mean they, become middle-aged.) The orange one has lost half a kilogram of weight since last year. She’s tiny, so she can’t afford to lose much. The doctor said that she is still adequate for her size, but such a loss may be a symptom of kidney disease. Another symptom is increased need for water. Fortunately - at least in this case - Tungsten drinks from a tap that she needs me to turn on, so I can monitor the frequency and length of her drinks. There has not been a noticeable surge in her thirst. But I will borrow a scale to weigh the orange one every three months until her next exam, just to make sure she isn’t diminishing any further. In the meantime, she continues as she has been, bossy, quiet, cuddly and annoying at all the wrong moments. (Licking my face just as I am drifting off to sleep, for instance.)

Things have been interesting lately, but when a cat’s life gets interesting, its human starts worrying. I hope there’s nothing more interesting at the new house in the future than a fuzzy mouse stuck under a couch, or the anticipation of a tin of soft food opening.

Trouble for Tucker

This past week has been a troubling one for Tucker. The visit to the veterinarian went well, and Tucker returned with fewer teeth and a good chance for healthier gums. Later came a problem.

Tucker has always been sensitive. When he first came to live with me, he became despondent and refused to eat or drink for four or five days, having to be force-fed during that time. He eventually recovered and became a happy cat who seemed to enjoy his new home and roommates.

I had expected trouble because of this sensitivity but it took a form that surprised me. In his anxiety, he started cleaning a portion of his rear end, and cleaned it so often and so vigorously that the fur was worn off of it, and the skin beneath became raw. I didn’t notice it until a few days into the problem. 

In response, he was equipped with a funnel-shaped collar, to prevent any more attentions to the area, and some ointment, called Hibitane. The past few days have been unpleasant for Tucker. At first, I refrained from putting the cone on him overnight, so he could have a decent rest, but he tended to abuse the privilege and continued to lick himself. Now, he wears the cone all day and all night, except for a few minutes under my direct supervision, when I give him some relief from it. He can’t drink properly when the cone is on, nor can he groom himself, so I take it off for a little while in the evenings, as long as he doesn't try to lick where he shouldn't. When he eats, the poor boy looks like a vacuum cleaner.

In the meantime, he is unhappy. The cone often creates a state of semi-paralysis in which he will lie still, facing a wall or a piece of furniture. When he started to move after the first time the cone went on, all I heard was clunk...clunk...clunk...as he crashed into one object after another. His whiskers and peripheral vision have been neutralized.

However, he is making efforts. He has even ventured downstairs, which is hazardous with the cone. He came into the bathroom Saturday night while the tub was filling. That’s usually Tungsten’s time to spend with me, but the new boy wandered in (clunk...scrape...clunk) and the orange one actually tolerated him lying next to her. Then Renn came in to watch the water run...

Tucker goes to the veterinarian again on Wednesday, because the Hibitane prescribed has proved ineffective. I think the anxiety over visiting the doctor the last time is gone, and the drive to lick where he shouldn’t is now physical for Tucker. I hope that that will repeat itself, so that once a new medicine clears up the raw spot, Tucker won’t feel the need to attend to it any more.

In the meantime, the other cats are doing well, though no doubt wondering why their newest roommate has a big funnel on his head.

Into the New Year

The new year has begun. Everyone here at the house finished the old year in good spirits. Christmas is being (present tense, as we’ve not finished the Twelve Days yet) kind to us, bringing gifts, food and tranquility (the latter being as important as anything, in a household with four animals). The cats received many presents (more than I did, in fact!), toys that they enjoy playing with, whether with me or by themselves.

Not everyone has entered the new year in good health, however. Tucker is scheduled for a dental operation on 7th January. He has some teeth which must be removed; the rest need cleaning. The veterinarian explained that his bad teeth may have been hurting him for some time. Cats do not show pain readily – though the slighter forms of discomfort certainly bring out protests fast enough. Tucker has never been reticent about eating, whether soft food or hard; I hope that’s a sign that he has not been bothered too much by his teeth.

He will go for his operation early in the morning and return to the house in the late afternoon. I’m not sure what to expect. The first time Tungsten had to have a tooth removed, she came back rather stunned, and sat on her food mat for the rest of the day. She had trouble chewing hard food and I felt bad at how frustrated she would become trying. But at last she found an alternative place in her mouth to crunch the kernels, and she recovered well. The second time she went, she behaved as if she had gone for nothing more than an exam, despite having had another tooth removed. She chewed her hard food that same night, with apparently no difficulty.

Tucker was very despondent when he first came to stay with me, and I always worry that that reaction may repeat itself after a tramautic time. However, he, and the other cats, survived the move to the new house with no bother at all, and when he comes back from the surgery, he will be returning to a familiar setting, which I believe he likes, and to familiar roommates. I hope that those factors make all the difference. Even so, he will be sore, possibly ill from the anaesthetic and probably just plain out of sorts. A contrast with Tungsten that will aid his recovery, though, is that Tungsten’s taste for soft food is mild. She eats it, but rarely consumes everything in her dish. Tucker would suck back tins of the stuff at a sitting, if allowed. I don’t fear that he will starve. Tucker would gladly forego hard food for more of the soft.

Tucker’s arrival in my household was one of the changes that occurred last year. In fact, Ren’s arrival counts, too. I find it hard to credit that he’s been with me only since May. Perhaps Tucker’s advent at the end of September made the big boy seem like an old part of my life. Speaking of Ren, he continues his fascination with water, whether it’s still or running. I wish he could tell me what interests him about it so much.

Other new aspects of the cats’ lives include Josie’s growing friendship with me. She has always been a friendly cat. It’s why I chose her to be a companion for Tungsten. My Chubs couldn’t help it if the orange one didn’t like it that way. But over the past few months, even before we moved to the house, Josie has been asking me for attention more often, seeking me out and trying to be near me. Just this week, she twice jumped up on the table where I was writing and lie down across my papers. She had not done that before. Naturally, I obliged with petting for as long as she liked.

I’ve also noted that though Tungsten is the undisputed top-cat here, even she will yield the food bowl to Josie when the latter comes for a nibble. There’s no fighting; Tungsten understands the situation. But I’ve seen my Chubs swat Tucker – with not too much force – away from the food. It was similar with the foster-cats, Wixie and Mystery. The latter was the dominant cat in that pair, yet recognised that Wixie would not be denied when it came to food.

Tungsten has found a new spot to lie in, a hide-away in a bathroom cabinet to which only her small size admits her. As well, she has found an old spot for comfort. I at last put cushions back on the dining chairs. She has always enjoyed curling up on them for a snooze, and didn’t take long to find that they were back.

With regards to the cats, what I am most thankful for in the new year is that they get along so well. There are sometimes growls from Josie (she sounds like a grumpy old lady) when Tucker wants to play and she doesn’t; the new boy will pursue her too closely. And once in a while, Tungsten will hiss, especially at Ren. But that’s because most of the time, she allows Ren to come near her, even to lie next to her. Now and then, though, Tungsten wants to be alone. But the facts that she and Ren snooze beside each other, and that Josie and Tucker will play chase together, are remarkable. It’s a marvel to see the four of them go for days without a harsh action among them.

Josie came to live with me two years ago on Christmas Eve, and at the time I thought Tungsten would never like her or another cat. But if my orange one can change for the better, and can learn to tolerate others, then anyone can.

Merry Christmas To All

Everyone is settled in at the new house in time for Christmas. The tree is up and the stockings are hung. I remember when I just had to hang one next to my own. Then came Josie's, which by rights should be a huge one, considering her size. And now there are two more.

It's difficult to believe that all the fostering I've done has been in just the last year. Lincoln came to stay, briefly, last Christmas. He was followed by Wixie and Mystery, then by Devon, and finally by Ren, who came to stay permanently (though I didn't know it at the time). The Yuletide has been, for the past few years, a stressful time for Tungsten. Josie arrived on Christmas Eve of 2008, and Lincoln showed up at Christmas-time of the following year. This year is quieter, thanks to the smooth transition the cats have made to the new house, and to the acceptance by the orange one and my Chubs of first Ren and now Tucker.

Things continue well for us. Tucker has a dental appointment scheduled for the new year, and I worry about how that will affect him. The operation, to remove a couple of teeth and to clean the rest, will of course be professionally done, but the new boy has a history of despondency after a big event. However, he eased into his new home after the move quite well, so perhaps this won't be traumatic for him. After all, he'll be coming back to a familiar home.

Depending on what I have to say - or what the cats do - I may or may not publish anything on here during the Twelve Days of Christmas, but I wanted to put something up before the big day itself. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and a happy start to the new year.

Home Is Where the Cats Are

I have moved my residence. My cats have come with me. I anticipated problems, principally with the two males, Ren and Tucker, based on their earlier behaviour when presented with changes of home. I was surprised and pleased when none of the cats had an adverse reaction.

My four feline roommates actually had a better time of packing and moving than I did. Packing was an ordeal; a person never realises just how many individual items he has until he has to put each one into a box, resulting in dozens and dozens of boxes. The cats were seemingly unperturbed by all this fuss. They used the boxes, which were everywhere in the apartment, as new pieces of furniture, and as a playground. I would see Josie hiding behind a box, readying to launch herself at Tucker as he walked around a corner. Ren lie on top of a box and lazily tried to touch Tungsten as she passed beneath.

And now we are all in our new home, and each of the cats is finding his or her favourite places. Tungsten, never one for the exotic, likes to snooze on the bed or finds a spot downstairs in the basement when she wants to be alone. Josie had been partially ejected from her favourite spot on top of the cat-tree in the apartment, as Ren liked that place, too. Now, two cat-trees provide vantage points out the front window, and Josie isn't fussy as to which she lounges upon. Ren enjoys viewing the vicinity from the cat-tree or reclining on one of the boxes I've yet to unpack. Tucker can often be found on one of the cat-trees' lower platforms.

Certainly, the house provides advantages that the cats have taken up with enthusiasm. There is much more room in which to run, and I've seen Tucker and Josie chasing each other, especially up and down the stairs leading to and from the basement. Sometimes, I'm not sure who is pursuing whom, or even if a chase is involved. I'll hear running, and it may simply be running for its own sake. But all the cats except Tungsten - whose dignity limits such flamboyant exercise (and whose weight doesn't need it, anyway) seem to enjoy the extra space that they now have.

Some changes to behaviour are strange. Josie has taken to rolling in the bath-tub, when it's dry. Perhaps she likes the residual smell of bleach, used to clean the tub. Maybe it's the feel of the metal tub, in contrast to the fibreglass of the apartment. At least once a day, I see her waddle into the bathroom, jump over the rim of the tub and enjoy a good series of revolutions.

Tucker now sleeps full-time on the bed. Tungsten doesn't care for the crowd that's there now. Unconcerned with the other cats walking past her during the day, or with another curled up almost touching her on the couch, my orange top-cat is most fastidious as to her company at night. I'm glad she allows me room in the bed somewhere.

Once in a while, the size of the house - though not large, its developed basement makes its living area about twice the size of the old apartment - creates a consternation in the cats. Josie, in particular, sometimes feels a bit lonely. I will hear a distant cry, as of a lost animal; I call out that I'm upstairs, in the sitting room, or in the kitchen, and my Chubs will come trotting up from the basement and come over to me for a rub and a pat on the head. She was just making sure she wasn't alone.

For that matter, my own security is challenged once in a while. In the apartment, I liked to keep track of the cats, to make sure they weren't somewhere they shouldn't be, or somewhere I couldn't find them. I would periodically search them out, for my own peace of mind. Now, I do the same thing, though the need is more practical, I think. The doors in the house lead not to a corridor in a locked building, but to the outside world, and even inside, there are more places for a cat to come to grief, however unlikely that may be. And now, of course, finding the cats when I worry about them is more difficult. I always find them safe - safe, usually sleeping and wondering what the fuss is about.

But I continue to check on them nonetheless.


P.S. As an addendum, I may add that this weekend, I officially adopted Ren. He'd been a member of the family for long before this, though, and paperwork means nothing to him, but it formally means that if he ever goes to a new home, it'll still be with me. Just as practically, it means that Tungsten and Josie are stuck with him. You can guess their thoughts on that - or at least Tungsten's...

Cat Habits

I’ve found that cats are creatures of habit, even more than humans. They probably feel comforted by being able to do the same things in the same ways at the same times in the same places. My cats are like that. Their habits concern eating and sleeping, playing and sleeping, greeting visitors and sleeping. They sleep a great deal. Yet I’ve found that these habits can change, suddenly, succeeded by new ones. Why? I don’t know.

Tungsten, for instance, has a particular way of lying on my lap. When she lies facing me, her head is to my right. When she climbs, jumps or, periodically and painfully, crawls her way onto my shoulders, which is her favourite position on me, she always faces to my left. She drinks from a dripping tap. She can drink from a bowl, of course; I’ve seen her do it. But she prefers the tap, and will sit on the bathroom counter by the basin for hours to do so, if need be. Sometimes, especially if I’m sleeping, she will give a particular meow, asking for the tap to be turned on. I’ve been told to ignore her, and she’ll quit. This means ignoring the meows, which grow weaker and weaker, sadder and sadder, as if she were perishing from dehydration, ignored and abandoned. I usually get up and give her a drink. Even this habit, though, has changed: she has altered the position from which she drinks and turns her head to the right now, rather than to the left, as previous. Why? I don’t know.

Josie has a specific way and place for sleeping at night. The other cats do as well, but hers is to lie between me and the edge of the bed, facing the doorway, with her chubby body perpendicular to mine. Her big bum will be up against my side and her head near the bed’s edge. What prompted this attitude? I don’t know. She also used to lie on the back of my couch, so much so that it is now permanently deformed, bowed under her great weight. She would lie in a horse-shoe shape, and, initially, gravity and her bulk pulled her off from time to time. Then, after doing this for a year or more, she stopped lying there. Now she’s back. Why the changes? I don’t know.

Ren has an interesting habit. He has been fascinated by water for as long as he’s lived with me, and probably much longer. As I’ve mentioned in previous articles, he will sit by the bathroom basin and watch the water run. He has sat on the rim of the tub after a shower (mine, not his) and observed drops run down the vertical surfaces. This habit he has broken, and he rarely does it anymore. His new habit is to stare at the bowl of water kept on the bathroom floor. I’ve known him to stare at it for up to half an hour. Sometimes, he will reach out with his paw and tap the surface of the liquid; sometimes he will change position and stare at it from another; once in a while, he will cock his head, to get a different angle. This patient gaze will, much of the time, end with a drink, though rarely one long enough to justify the wait beforehand; other times, he will simply walk away. It’s the scientist in him; he is always observing. But what is it about a bowl of still water that fascinates him so? I don’t know.

Tucker hasn’t been with me long enough to learn too many of his habits. He’s still creating them. He has started sleeping on the bed now, when he can find space, and though he has been eating out of the ‘communal’ food bowl, he still prefers the one in the library, that had been placed there during his days of isolation when he first arrived. When he is hungry, and there is too little food in the bowl, he will wait at the library door for me to fill it. Why doesn’t he go to the other food bowl? I don’t know.

But all of the cats’ habits are destined to receive a shock. At the end of November, I will be moving to a new home, a house. I of course will be taking my feline roommates with me. What will they make of this change? How will they adjust? Who will adapt the quickest? Who will be most upset? I don’t know.