Back From the Hospital

Indigo and Millie went to the veterinary hospital today.

Millie had not been to see a doctor for the whole time that she had been with her previously adoptive person. Fortunately, except for her teeth, she is in very good shape for a ten year old. Her teeth have quite a bit of tartar and plaque, and will definitely need to be cleaned. Whether any need to come out will be determined when the procedure is under way, and more can be observed. Mills handled herself well, was a little anxious but curious, and let the doctor do whatever was necessary.

Indigo was there for a fructosamine test. This demonstrated that though her glucose numbers are a little high, over all, she is receiving the proper amount of insulin. I was surprised at that, and will keep an eye on any indications that things are changing. She has gained a little weight since her last veterinary visit, which is contrary to mismanaged diabetes. Indie is, like Millie, ten years old. The doctor was shown why I have not been able to test Indigo’s glucose numbers at home, Indie being quite fidgety and a little defiant during the examination.

Both girls were pleased to come back to the Cosy Cabin, where they were given a soft-food treat for their troubles. I had anticipated that Millie would be off her food due to the vaccinations she received, and that reaction may yet come. So far, though, she has been unaffected.

...And Her Tail

And on the subject of Sable, readers may have noticed her tail. I think it was broken at some point. It is never raised - which doesn’t mean a physical impairment; after all, Neville’s is working unimpeded but it is never up. Even so, it is almost always in a lowered, crooked posture, and I have never seen it moving. I would not be surprised if she had caught it somewhere, or it had been struck by a strong force at some point.

Damaged ears, damaged tail; the life of an outsider cat leaves its scars.

Her Ears

I think Sable’s hearing may be somewhat impaired. I have noticed that she often doesn’t hear me approach her, even though I will be making an ordinary amount of noise. She will respond to her name, or if I speak something else, but otherwise she will not infrequently allow me to come quite close to her. I try not to do so too much, as I don’t want to startle her. Considering that both her ears are damaged in some way - one, frostbitten, the other ragged, with a notch - it would not be surprising if she can’t hear as well as other cats. And she is now advancing upon old age. On top of that, Sable’s peripheral vision is not acute.

But she can always tell where her friend is.

Amiss

I have been amiss. I haven’t been putting boxes out regularly since we moved into the Cosy Cabin. That will have to be rectified.

Tortieness on Parade

Millie has the typical tortoiseshell attitude. She is, as I have written before, small. She weighs about the same as Tungsten did in her healthy middle age, is thicker and more compact; Tungsten was a little longer and leaner. But Millie’s tiny paws and very quiet talk makes her deceptively meek.

I alternate opening and closing the door to the cat-room. Millie needs to become used to the other felines, and they should have access to that comfortable space. But Mills also needs some time away from the others. When the door is open, the other beasts naturally go in. I leave them to their own devices unless they are bothering Millie. For instance, Brazil will usually lie on an unoccupied cat-tree and snooze; no harm there. But other times, he sits at the bottom of a cat-tree Millie is lying on and stares up at her.

Sometimes it goes beyond mild annoyance. The ‘gang’ - Moxy, Brazil and Valkyrie - will now and then take things too far, come too near, trespass on a cat-tree already filled with tortieness. Then I will hear a short, sharp snarl, followed by the ‘gang’ making a quick exit from the cat-room, one in front of the other - and Millie bringing up the slower rear, tail puffed, possibly a paw raised. Twenty-five pounds accumulated brawn, wire and superiority put to flight by six pounds - if that - of enough-is-enough.

Millie has the typical tortoiseshell attitude.

A Test for Indigo

I want to take Indigo to the veterinary for a new fructosimine test. Lately, she has been carrying a lot of litter about with her - between her paw pads, I suspect - even bringing it to bed at night, which is exasperating. After this had been done for three nights, the reason why the litter was clinging to her more now than before occurred to me.

If her insulin dose is no longer controlling her diabetes, it would increase the amount of glucose being released by her body through her urine, making it stickier. I have noticed recently that Indie’s water-consumption has gone up, another sign of diabetes - or, in this instance - of less control over it. She is a difficult patient from whom to draw blood, so I have been able to test her only once in the last week, but it registered a higher number than has been the case in the past.

All these symptoms indicate that her current dosage of insulin is now too low. Because she is tough to test at home, a fructosimine exam is necessary. I hope to take her in to the hospital soon.

No One's Permission

I find Sable’s progress fascinating. She has started coming up on to the bed (not while I am in it) on her own now. Previously, she did it only when Moxy was also there. It was as if he was her permission; if she saw her friend doing it, she knew it was acceptable for her, too. Now, she doesn’t need that permission.

Rather than jump up, she will risk rushing past me if I am at the computer desk and hurrying up the stairs at the foot of the bed. Yesterday, she was snoozing with her head turned away from me. I could have reached out and touched her, though of course I didn’t; I don’t want her to worry that I will try it every time she closes her eyes.

Part of her will probably always miss the outdoors. As she enters her elder years, however, the wider world will become more dangerous to her. But she grows more at ease with her inside life every day, finding her place, and thinking, ‘This is my house, too,’ and needing no one’s invitation to make herself at home.