He Is Old

He is old. He sleeps most of the time, perhaps dreaming of nimbler days. He moves slowly and he can’t walk properly anymore. He stumbles now and then. He is thin, very thin. When he lies on his side, he looks flat. His once powerful body is no more than two inches wide, without the fur, and his formerly large features have shrunk and grown gaunt. His spine is so prominent and unpadded, it could slice bread. He is constantly assailed by clogged nostrils and often wheezes, just to breath. He must visit the litter-box too frequently, and take medicine to keep from visiting more. He periodically brings up his food because of his ailments, and he has less appetite than in years gone by; he doesn’t eat much even of what he likes. He is old.

But he sits up when meals are served, and enjoys the taste of a favourite dish. He walks, albeit slowly and cautiously, to the water-bowls, and doesn’t miss the litter-box, though now and then he brings bits of debris with him when he leaves. When his human sits near by, he rises from where he is lying and laboriously lumbers over to where he is nearer still. And at night, he assumes his preferred place on the bed, next to his person. The two of them talk about their day, and he purrs.

He is old, but he will grow a little older ere he leaves. He is old, and suffers discomfort but no pain. There is still satisfaction in his life, the delight of a soft blanket, the warmth of a gentle heating pad. There is something to be seen through the window, from the perch of his favourite vantage point; it almost frightens him to try climbing there now, but the view is worth it. And there is his friend, the human, who always has time for him.

He is old, but yet still too young to leave.

Wake Myself With Laughing

Dreams are odd worlds, similar to our own in many cases, yet different.

I dreamed on the weekend of two of my cats, both orange, and both lost. In my dream, Tungsten, my first cat, and Brazil, one of my latest, missing from the Cosy Apartment. The building in which we lived was, in my dream, the same one we inhabit in the waking world, but it was rather different - as is often the case in dreams. I searched for the cats through all the corridors - there seemed to be more storeys to the building than in reality - and someone brought Tungsten to me in a zipped-up nylon bag. She was well and unhurt.

I continued to hunt for Brazil, but the scene shifted to a very crowded hospital, with large numbers of doctors, nurses and patients thronging the corridors, and I recall thinking in the dream that I would never find Shimmer there. I woke with him still lost.

I cannot fathom what this all meant, except perhaps an anxiety over losing the cats. But why Tungsten and Brazil were chosen as subjects, I do not know. The hospital might be a version of a veterinary clinic, which  terrifies Brazil so much. Other than that, I see no analogy.

My dreams always seem to constitute stories that are relatively logical, at least until I ponder them from the vantage point of consciousness. They are usually adventurous, more so than waking life, so I don’t grudge my sleep its fun. I just wish the cats would stay inside while I’m in bed as much as they do when I’m not.

This Is Where I Came In

Well, another movie-night brought a surprise, as Jackie from Memories of Eric and Flynn thought it might. I was watching the film, with Iago above me on the carpet-topped bookcase. After about half an hour, he descended and, with a little coaxing, came over and lie on my lap. I petted him and he purred for about twenty minutes. That was longer than he has done so far.

I think that Iago wants a human to be close to, and is willing to forgive some ordeals to have it. Nonetheless, he hissed at me this morning when I entered the library and caught him out in the open. I believe he is a cat who needs to choose when and where he lets his guard down. This may change as he grows accustomed to me. For the time being, I am pleased that he decided to give movie-night another chance.

As well, I was able to observe that my plan with the big carrier will require refinement. Though Iago had already had something to eat at snack-time when the movie started, I put some treats in the back of the carrier and left it open. I think he smelled them from five feet away. Anyway, he went to find them. Even though they were as far back in the carrier as they could be, Iago’s tail protruded quite a bit out the door. I was counting on him being entirely in the carrier, and simply shutting the door on him. There’s a chance that I could close it gently on his tail, forcing him to turn, and then shutting it completely in that moment. But, as readers may imagine, anything might happen then: he might scratch at my hand closing the door, he might force the door open with his weight before I can secure it, I might accidentally shut it too hard on his tail… All of this while another veterinary appointment is pending.

So while the plan remains in place, it will need adjustment. The important thing is gaining his trust, and that took a great step forward last night.

A New Plan

I have implemented a new strategy in relation to Iago. He is still largely in hiding, though he comes out, usually at night, and lies looking out the window. He dislikes me. My strategy is in two parts.

The first consists of a plan to get him to the veterinary hospital for an examination. I have begun feeding him his soft-food meals in a large carrier that the rescue-group possesses. He has no problem entering it to eat the food. The next stage is to have him enter the carrier while I am present. Eventually, I hope to be in a position to close the door while he is inside. This necessitates, of course, catching him in there when there is a vet appointment in the offing, which means the appointment and a successful collection must occur the same day and, preferably, not long apart in time.

(An advantage of the larger carrier is that it feels less like a trap than a small one. It is easier to put a cat in and to take him out.)

The other part of the strategy is to remove the books from the lowest shelves of the two corner bookcases in the library. This will, unfortunately, remove Iago’s immediate security. It will, however, allow him to see me more often and to have some form of interaction. That I will not attempt to grab him when he still wants to hide there will, hopefully, give him a kind of security. In any case, he needs to be forced into the next stage, at which he will have greater observation of me, and vice versa.

As well, after the second stage is begun, I intend to leave the library door open, when I am present to supervise. I do not believe that Iago is intact; I have not been able to see the relevant part of his body that will tell me one way or the other, but his urine does not have the distinctive odour that unneutered males’ wet-waste has. This does not, of course, mean that there will be no fighting between him and the others, but it should reduce it. And waiting until the books are removed so that he can see who is coming will eliminate him being surprised by the sudden intrusion of, say, Brazil’s nose into his hiding spot.

These plans will take time. The rescue-group has socialised many a shy and frightened cat. Iago is not feral, and is already socialised; he simply has to learn that I am not his enemy. We both have time for that.

And On the Other Side of the World...

 Apparently, my book is going for 15 per cent off in Korea... (Click on the image to enlarge.)

Débâcle, with Accents

Unfortunately, Iago did not go to the veterinary yesterday. He has been amenable to being touched lately and I thought I could pick him up and put him in the carrier, which I had done in the bathroom. I was mistaken. He took fright and fought to free himself; I wasn’t going to be able to put him in any kind of container after that, and he hid behind the library’s bookcases for the rest of the day, hissing and growling.

It will take quite a while until Iago can go into a carrier, I’m afraid. It’s as well that visiting the doctor is not a necessity. I blame myself for his fright. I could have lured him into the carrier with treats, but that would have created an uncertain timeline; perhaps he would have gone in quickly, perhaps only after a long period. He may not have gone in at all while I was present. I will try other strategies.

Such are the ups and downs of rescue.

An Attack on the Oldsters

My oldsters experienced a bit of illness several days apart last week.

Renn was the first to suffer it. He started throwing up at about 3.30 one morning. This is not unusual; cats with kidney problems tend to vomit in the mornings, and 3.30 is his normal time. It wakes me up, and is too close to the time I have to get up and start my day for me always to fall back asleep. The point is that Renn’s upchucking so early in the morn was not extraordinary. But he continued it through the day, being unable to keep anything down, and his feces were runny. I determined to give him Cerenia, if this condition remained in place the next day. I don’t like to give Cerenia too swiftly in response to sickness, but Renn cannot afford to lose much more weight, and needs his food. Fortunately, he not only kept food down the following day, but wanted to eat. After this, he was back to normal.

Then, a few days later, Neville started bringing up his food, beginning immediately after his breakfast. He too could not retain anything in his stomach, and threw up several times that day. His litter-box deposits were runny. Though the Nevsky could stand being sick for longer than my big boy, I readied the Cerenia in his case, as well. But, as with Renn, Nev’s condition improved, and he was feeling as he always does, with a good appetite and more solid waste, the next day.

A touch of ‘cat-flu’, perhaps? A stomach ailment? Something that was too weak to affect the younger members of the household? In any case, it had come and gone reasonably quickly, for which I am thankful. But what it was that came and went, I will never know.