Cammie has sight.
Her vision certainly hasn’t returned one hundred per cent; it probably isn’t even fifty per cent. But the princess can see. Whether it is just light and dark, or forms, or more defined images, no one can know. But she can see.
I guessed this might have been the case since I used a laser-pointer to test her vision in the days following her stroke. She clearly noted the red dot’s movement, at least to some extent. On the other hand, she sometimes bumped into other cats, while deftly avoiding furniture; her feline siblings often change positions, while chairs and bookcases do not. This suggested that she could see, perhaps sharp, bright objects, but was partially blind toward darker, bigger items.
But her doctor, who was the same one who saw her that Sunday morning at four o’clock, thinks Cammie is doing “great” and, in her own words, is “blown away” at how good the princess is looking and sounding.
In many ways, the veterinaries are inexperienced in treating stroke survivors because so many people choose to euthanize their cats after strokes that there is no one to study. I wonder, considering Cammie, how many cats would have recovered, perhaps even wholly, if given the chance. However, seeing your beloved pet suffer from a stroke is a distressing and unnerving experience, and I myself was thinking, immediately after the occurrence, that Cammie might have to be let go.
Will her sight improve? Will it deteriorate? No one can say. But I will keep in contact with Cammie’s doctors over this matter, and monitor the princess’s condition. Even if she were blind, her life could be happy and rewarding. With something to see, it becomes even more so.
And Josie? She came through her dental surgery very well.
She had nine teeth extracted. There was considerable tartar build-up and some gingivitis. It was undoubtedly an ordeal for her, but she emerged from it with high spirits. She was pleased to see me afterward. During the car ride home, I kept looking back to see if she was all right; she was each time watching me.
At home afterward, she purred as she never had before, and kneaded the air as she lie down to receive my pets. Josie has been through surgeries previously, but she has not been so pleased subsequently as this time.
At fifteen years of age, this will probably be her last operation. I very much hope that there will not be a need for any more. To be honest, I don’t think there will be. My instructions to the doctors are always the same for dental procedures: remove any teeth that look even a little troublesome. They are not going to get better and, if left till later, might be in a mouth too old to suffer anaesthetic. My Chubs has only three teeth remaining, and those are unlikely to cause her problems.
I collected Parker’s remains while at the animal hospital, so that he too has come home with me. After a very difficult beginning to the week, it is ending positively. We of the cosy apartment are grateful.