Bringer of Light

I want to write one more word or two about Tungsten’s name… When I gave it to her, there was no reason behind it other than my fondness for it. But, when responding to one of the many who have kindly and patiently remarked upon my memories of my little cat, I realised something.

Tungsten is, of course, a component in the incandescent light bulb. As I understand it, it comprises the filament through which electricity passes; it then heats and glows, providing illumination. I knew this but did not connect it to my late friend. It is a tiny, thin but strong component of the bulb, it glows fiercely, so brightly that it blinds one to look directly upon it.

So it was with Tungsten. She was tiny and thin but strong, and brought light, bright light, but for only a short while.

All the people who told me that her name fit her were, of course, right, and I hadn't even seen it. But then I was very close to her, and one doesn’t always see what’s before one’s eyes, especially when it’s so bright.

A Princess Under the Weather

Cammie is unwell. She has some rather ugly growths on her skin, in the semi-bald patches near her eyes. These growths swell and burst, releasing some blood and puss. She has had recurrences of these symptoms for some time, but they have never been as bad as this. They usually resemble small pimples and, if there is an amount of blood, it is minute.

She has been to the doctor, who considered the possibility of a food allergy but thinks they may be caused by eosinophilic granuloma complex. The trouble with this diagnosis is that that condition - and all others that were postulated - create itchiness. Cammie does not scratch the inflammation more than normal. In fact, I think I’ve seen her scratch her head once or twice in a couple of weeks. Less than a cat with an ordinary itch would scratch. She does not rub the area, either. It is not sensitive to my touch.

The Siamese princess has retained most of her appetite. She is eating a little less, but not so little that I am concerned. She even plays. Last evening, she jumped on to my lap and purred for an extended period. She has a new pastime, as well: getting onto my upper chest when I lie down and squatting right by my throat, where she purrs and purrs while I pet her. (As her claws are often kneading the skin at my carotid artery, I am comforted that the talons were cut recently…) This is one instance in which having an animal at my throat is a desirable thing. In any case, these are not signs of a severe effect from illness.

She is a little under the weather, though I can’t describe the growths’ effects on her as more than that. They are unsightly, to say the least. I have been applying Surolan to the parts of her head in question. At first, she would have nothing to do with the ointment. But I simply pick her up, carry her to the bathroom (to keep us isolated from the others) and rub it on. She has protested very little at this, perhaps relieved that she is not being force-fed hairball medicine. I have not seen any relief due to the Surolan, but it is early days yet.

To be honest, I think the doctor is puzzled by what Cammie is suffering. Aside from the hideous appearance and a mild malaise, my latest perma-cat is not suffering strongly from the condition. If the topical ointment does not help, she will be switched to the oral medicine, which will be tougher to serve but hopefully even tougher on the condition.

The princess is a sensitive cat, and may be feeling stress from Tungsten’s absence. The orange one did not like Cammie, but held some fascination for her. There is definitely a vacuum in the household without the tiny terror’s personality, and I wouldn’t doubt that the beasts feel it. I hope to report some progress in Cammie’s state after the weekend. Until then, I will get her on my chest and purring as much as possible.

Her Name Was Tungsten

It was a silly name, really. But years ago, before I had a pet, I determined that ‘Tungsten’ would be a good name for either a cat or a dog, whether male or female. And so this little orange animal became Tungsten.

It’s been more than a month since she died. I had her ashes back after a week or so, but I was looking for the right picture frame for her memorial. I wanted something simple and straightforward. Tungsten was simple and straightforward, too; there was not much guile to her. She was the household’s top-cat from the moment she arrived. Well, when she arrived, there was just her and myself. With the growth of my feline family, however, Tungsten remained its head. None of the perma-cats disputed her authority. She grew to be friends with Renn, but kept even him in line.

With me, Tungsten was insistent and bossy, soft and vulnerable. There were a few times when she would wake from a nap and cry out; perhaps her dreams were unsettling, and she was afraid. I would come and pet her and talk to her. She would purr and purr, and rub her fuzzy face against my hand. Other times, when I would be having a snack, she would walk over to me with her deliberate pace, as if she were going to receive nothing more than her due. I would have toast and tea before bed, and she would jump up onto my lap - latterly, I would have to lift her. There she would wait for her tribute - a little piece of buttered toast - after which she would get down and return to her cat-bed. It was a token, a symbol of what the tiny terror deserved as top-cat.

Tungsten was smart. She quickly learned routines. When I started giving her different hard-food from the others, in order to put some weight on her, I would provide it in the bathroom. I think I started that so I could isolate her from others who wanted her food. I would feed the orange one whenever she wanted, so she would sit on the threshold of the bathroom when she was feeling peckish.

Most nights, she would curl up in my hand while I lie in bed, and complain if I wasn’t lying in the right position to allow that. Some nights, she would stay in her cat-bed, which was heated, to keep that tiny, thin body of hers warm. That cat-bed was her favourite spot. She loved snoozing on my lap, and I spent extra time reading or listening to music because I didn’t want to disturb her when she was there.

So many memories, so many things of which I want people to know… But I know her. She will always be a part of me, a part of my life. Her name was Tungsten. I will remember her.

Renn's Way

Renn is a big, strong, handsome mancat. He is admired by all who see him for his fine form, full fur and majestic whiskers. He is, however, a modest fellow, shy and diffident, the proverbial gentle giant. That is Renn’s way.

There is, in the way he walks and sits, an inherent dignity. Not for him the swaggering manner of many cats, or the indifference to humans practised by some of his feline brethren. To be quiet and stately, to reflect well upon his species and his home. That is Renn’s way.

One may see the nobility of this creature in his profile, a striking image that reminds one of lions in coats-of-arms, or the magnificent statues that guard a king’s palace. Nonetheless, he is rarely one to initiate conflict, preferring conciliation and friendship. That is Renn’s way.

And then there’s this.

And this.

This is Renn’s way, too. The silly animal.

Too Warm for Heat

The heated cat-beds have been de-heated. The spring has warmed the air enough so that, though some days and nights are still cool, the beasts can do without the extra comfort of the heating pads in the beds.

The heated towels in the parlour are a different matter. I left the heating pad under them for a few reasons. One is that that pad doesn’t grow as warm as the others, so it is less uncomfortable in higher temperatures. Secondly, the towels are under a window that will be left open more frequently now, even at night. The third reason is that the Siamese princess and the big boy like the heated towels very much.

The last couple of days have, however, been unseasonably warm. The thermometer has registered 28° Celsius (82.4° Fahrenheit), and though this number will be reduced considerably by the weekend, the signs are clear - and I write of both meteorological and feline signs.

Still meaning to enjoy the comfort of the parlour couch, both Cammie and Renn chose the unwarmed side this day. After seeing cats in fur coats lying in the sunshine on hot summer days, it was somehow good to see that there is a limit to such lunacy. Though the princess snoozed on the towels at night, the spring is growing warmer and the summer will soon be here. It has become too warm for heat.

Josie's Tribe

I have often thought Josie’s tail to be of an interesting pattern. Several people have told me that they’ve not seen the like elsewhere. It is rare, I believe, but not unique. You will notice that it is grey (the only grey portion on her body) with black rings, and a thick black line the length of it, on top.

What I have found fascinating is that there is a cat in Ontario with an identical tail. This is Finnick, a neighbour of Kim, who owns a couple of blogs. These pictures come from “Musings on a Small Life” (which may be accessed from my side-bar.) She kindly allowed me to reproduced these photographs to show how Finnick’s tail resembles Josie's. What is especially interesting, I think, is that this mancat has similar colour to Josie’s, as well. I can’t make it out in the image, but I suspect that the patch on his head is a dark tabby mark, and not straight black. The rest of him is white, like Josie. Incidentally, Finnick, too, has goopy eyes.

My question relates to the possibility that the unusual tail markings may go with the colouring on the rest of the body. Do cats of creamy-white fur (in some light rather like the ivory hue of a polar bear) with tabby patches have a genetic predisposition to that particular tail? Accompanying this question is a second: are they all chubby?

The Last of Kola

I talked at relative length with Kola’s new person last week. This was an interview for the newsletter of the Lethbridge PAW Society, which took in the Floof King when no one else would, gave him foster-care and found him a new and permanent home.

Kola is fitting in admirably. He became acquainted with the family dog on the car-trip to his new residence. Neither was upset or overly disturbed by the encounter. The dog may have reason to regret his welcome, though, since Kola has taken over the canine bed and, according to my information, appears to develop a fancy for anything his new roommate likes. But those are cats and dogs for you.

My former foster-cat is eating well, and has his choice of spots in which to sleep at night; he alternates between three - depending on the evening, I suppose. I am sure he is enjoying being able to roam about while the house is asleep, instead of being confined to one room, as he was in my home. Kola is receiving plenty of attention, and it’s clear that he is already loved in his new family.

This will be my last update on the Floof King. He has his own life now, a happy life, with his own people. I suspect I won’t hear about him myself any more, but that’s the nature of fostering. He spent nine months under my care, and a small part of him will stay with me forever.