The One-year Hector

I don’t usually commemorate anniversaries. Birthdays, adoptions and deaths are remembered, but I don’t worry too much about the actual dates, which is strange for someone who loves history as I do. I will, however, point out that one year ago this month, Hector came to live with me.

I mention this because I am annoyed that he has received so few adoption inquiries. Now, other cats in our rescue-group have suffered similar neglect by the public; I know of one – happily adopted not long ago – who waited five years in a foster-home before he was chosen, and he is not alone. But I know Hector, I see him every day, and the annoyance I feel is that other people can’t know what a neat little fellow he is.

That is only natural, of course. Who could know him as well as I? But that merely makes me wish others could see what they are missing. He is a happy cat, in excellent health, and active. He has his mischievous side, certainly, but that shows how much a part he feels with his world.

I wrote once that he was my easiest integration. That has been surpassed by Horace’s now – and Hector may disagree, since he currently dislikes Horace. But Hec’s transition was smooth, and Auric’s brief residence in the Cosy Apartment showed that with the right chemistry, Hector could be the most wonderful friend for another cat.

The Little Turk, my dark knight, will of course remain with me until he has his own permanent home. If that never comes, then I would not be upset – for myself; for Hector, I would be more than a bit miffed, and for everyone else, well, they’ll never know what they missed.

How They Entertain Themselves While I'm Away

On Friday, I sat down after dinner to relax with a cup of tea and some music. That’s when I noticed something strange in the corner bookcase.

One of the volumes stored there had been pulled out. It was from my collection of 1920s and ‘30s travel-books.

I don’t mind my cats reading about Czechoslovakia a hundred years ago, or about any country at any time. Any subject is, in fact, open to them. My books are their books.

I just wish they would put them back when they were finished reading them.

While Life is Kind

I haven’t written about Renn on the blog in a while. The fact is that there is little to write about regarding my big boy, which, at his age, is probably good. He is fifteen now.

Thinking about Renn - indeed, about all my cats - clarifies my philosophies sometimes. Renn is doing well, for the most part. He has off-days. I can tell those days because he doesn’t want any breakfast, which for him consists, as do most of his meals, of two varieties of hard-food. His off-days usually - though not always - have him throwing up later. This upchucking is sometimes caused by hairballs, sometimes not. I have tried hairball remedy, but it doesn’t appear to work in his case. I have also used Cerenia to calm his stomach, but, unless it is injected, it has little effect. The pill-form doesn’t work for Renn: he will frequently just throw that up, too. The same may be said for slippery elm.

Renn is doing all right. At fifteen years of age, he is old, but not very old. He is thinner than he used to be, lighter. He has lost muscle-mass. He doesn’t eat nearly enough for my liking, but ever since he came to live with me, he has been a sparse eater. He consumes almost no soft-food, but drinks a satisfactory amount of water. (I have two bowls in the bedroom to which he resorts; they are conveniently placed for him and I make sure they are always full.) His litter-box habits are regular. He doesn’t play any more, but moves about, not always remaining in one room or in one spot. If he can’t jump as far as he used to, and has to scrabble for a hold now and then, he still gets to where he needs to, with the aid of stairs.

In short, Renn is healthy enough for his age and condition. I believe it is our duty as the guardians of our animal friends to make sure their lives are as pleasant as possible for as long as possible, and not merely the latter half of that formula. I might be able to find a cure for Renn’s periodic nausea if I were to take him repeatedly to the veterinary hospital. But from previous consultations, I know that the doctors aren’t sure of the causes of Renn’s problems, and, while my big boy doesn’t suffer the anxiety that such visits bring many cats, such appointments are hard on him, nonetheless. There would be various medicines, liquid and solid, for him to consume, different foods for him to reject, and all so that he could live two or three more years in marginally more comfort than he feels now.

So I will let Renn continue as he is. He has his off-days, one a week, perhaps two. But as long as his good days out-number his bad; as long as he purrs as much as he does now; as long as he wants to lie beside me every time I relax on the bed; as long as he pushes his head against me for rubs; as long as he tells me when he wants food, I will know he is content, maybe even happy. If these things change, so will my plans for him.

But right now, life is kind to my big boy.

Horace and the Veterinary Visit

The veterinary visit went well for Horace. He didn’t mind being at the hospital until the examination. He is not one for being held and turned and twisted. But the results were good.

He has a mild case of conjunctivitis, for which he has received eye-drops. I put the first of them in this morning. I recall doing something similar for Tucker. It was just a matter of tipping the roly poly’s head up and squeezing a drop into each eye. It was easy. Horace is not Tucker.

Little Iv’ry has some tartar on his teeth, but that’s natural for a two year old who has likely never been to a vet prior to being rescued. His mouth will be monitored, though it’s not a serious concern right now. His ears will be cleaned again and he will be treated with more medicine to make sure his ear-mites are gone. Otherwise, he is in good shape. His heart and lungs sound well, and he weighs 6.4 kilograms (14.11 pounds), which is satisfactory for his size.

Horace was unfazed by his appointment. He didn’t like it, and was glad to be brought home, but had a little something to eat as a reward for his troubles, and then spent some time on my lap. He seems to take things calmly, without much visible stress, though he did shed a great deal in the examination room. He appears to be a cat who doesn’t dwell too much on anything unpleasant, and simply moves on to better things.

This was one of his better things, later last evening.

The Customs of the Land

Everyone survived. Today was Horace’s first day of unrestricted – and unsupervised - freedom in the apartment. I let Iv’ry stay out this morning, instead of locking him in the library. There were no signs of bloodshed, or even of conflict, when I returned home. I am sure that he and Hector had words, perhaps accompanied by whapping, but it was clearly nothing serious.

I can’t write that Hec and Horace are becoming friends. Hector still runs at Horace, stalks and jumps at him. But it’s nothing violent. Hector just wants to annoy the newcomer, to show him who’s boss. Nonetheless, the two youngsters are living together well enough for me not to worry.

Horace is learning the routines here in the Cosy Apartment. He is getting to know about meal-times, though he whines about not having enough soft-food. He is enjoying the screen door to the ditch, where he can lie on the carpetted shelf and watch the birds. He periodically climbs onto my lap for a snooze, and loves his chest-rubs.

As well, he is sleeping next to me on the bed at night. Then again, he is sleeping in what is usually Hector’s spot. It’s no wonder the Little Turk is upset with the new boy.

Horace will go to the doctor tomorrow. I and the rescue-group are a little concerned with his eyes. They are running with thick, reddish goop. I don’t believe it’s anything serious, and may be chronic, but we will have the veterinary look at them, anyway, along with Horace’s ears, mouth and general physique.

All in all, however, I am pleased with the way things are going here and – knock wood so as not to jinx anything – hope that they will continue as they are, and maybe even improve.

Shaven and Shorn, Again

Neville had an eventful Friday. His fur was shaved again. It grew back so quickly after the initial shave in the spring that I felt another was due, before the cold weather set in. The funny thing is that on Friday, the weather changed a bit, and our temperatures have been much more moderate than they have been. No more 30° Celsius and up (86° Fahrenheit and up). This week looks to be in the low twenties Celsius (low seventies Fahrenheit). I even contemplated cancelling Nevsky’s shave.

But it’s for more than the heat that he gets his hair trimmed. As the groomer – an excellent, swift and careful groomer who helps out just with the rescue’s cats – stated, Nev has very dense fur. That, I realised, was accurate. Renn actually has fur that’s a little longer, and quite a bit of it; but it’s light, and he rarely gets mats. Neville has some appearing every week. The hair-cut will help him and, I think, allow him to feel better.

Neville was so coöperative during the process that the groomer asked facetiously if I had drugged him. He did start to lose his patience after about twenty minutes, especially since he had to be turned a couple of times. But he did very well, and received some treats as a reward. And he showed me that I was forgiven for my treachery; he crawled onto my lap half an hour after it was all done. I wonder, though, if that was also his way of making sure that it was over and that I wasn’t about to do anything further to him.

Once shorn, Neville was probably feeling a draught and, as I suspected he would, he started using the cat-beds more, almost immediately, especially favouring the high-sided one. He also lie in the sun in the later afternoon. By the time winter is upon us, his fur will be back in full bloom again.

The amount that came off of him was tremendous. It just kept falling.

Yes, that all came from you, Neville!