Thanksgiving Thoughts

As is traditional here in the cosy apartment, I like to write, each Thanksgiving Day, an article regarding my gratitude. I certainly have much for which to be thankful this year.

The cats are doing well. Josie is my oldest. Yet, at fifteen, she shows few overt signs of age, and her last medical examination found nothing more serious than the beginnings of kidney trouble, something not uncommon in aging cats. My Chubs has had all but three of her teeth removed, it is true, but this has not decreased either her appetite or her physical action of eating. She is ever so slowly losing weight, something on which I keep my eye, but she eats well, drinks a good amount of water, and can still jump from the cat-tree by the bedroom window on to the bed, and vice versa.

Tucker too is losing poundage, but at his recent check-up, the veterinary was not worried about it. I am beginning a treatment of salmon oil to help the roly poly’s coat. Otherwise, he is doing well: his diabetes is being managed, his numbers are constant. He is reasonably active and definitely alert. At fourteen, he is set fair to enjoy further years.

Of Renn, I have few concerns. He has one or two habits which I would like to see ended, but they are neither serious nor indicative of anything worse. He has always been my healthiest cat and, with luck, will continue in fine fettle. He too lost some teeth at his last dental procedure, but retains most of his God-given number. He consumes very little food, yet has never appeared anything but fit and lithe. If I discover his secret, I could make a fortune in the weight-control industry.

My little princess, Cammie, suffered a stroke at the end of May. Its results were severe, but not as bad as they could have been. She lost her sight. Since then, she has shown her determination to live a normal life. She finds her way around the apartment, with many dead ends and bumps on the head, but that doesn’t deter her. She enjoys the scents and sounds of the outdoors, just as she used to enjoy the sights. As well, she has, remarkably, become rather a lap-cat. Spending most of her time in the sitting room now, Cammie will listen for me to sit on the couch; she will then make her way to me and, climbing up her own little staircase, crawl onto my lap for up to half an hour at a time. She purrs and rubs her face against me while I pet her. Five years ago, she barely liked being touched. Now, she is a lap-cat. It may be out of necessity, an insecurity requiring assurance. If so, I am grateful to be able to give it.

Raleigh too has changed. He has been with me now for more than a year, and is still skittish and timid – but less so. The alteration is subtle. For much of the past year, he has run from me when I approach him, whether I am coming to pick him up (for whatever reason) or merely passing by in his general direction. He still does this, but to a much lesser extent. Sitting at his favourite place on the carpetted ledge by the door to the concrete ditch, he formerly darted away when I came to put water or food outside for the neighbourhood cats. Now, Peachy keeps his place, and I sometimes must actually nudge him to get him to move. As well, when he is hungry he will talk, incessantly, to me and come up for petting. I can even lift him – which he normally fears greatly – and when I put him down again, instead of running away, he will come back for more attention. I have grown to know his habits, when he wants food, and when offering him nutrition will be pointless. His meal-times are more erratic than the other beasts’, probably due to how his FIV influences him, but he has gained two pounds in the last eleven months, so he is likely not hurting for food. For all of this, I am thankful.

And lastly, my newest resident, my foster-cat, Neville. I am coming to know him, too, though it is early days yet. Even so, I see improvement in his condition. I feel that the Thin Man has added some padding to the skin and bones that were all he seemed to be some weeks ago. (I haven’t weighed him in a month, so his precise poundage is a mystery to me yet.) His integration with the others has been good: he ignores them and they ignore him; this appears to satisfy him. Other than some hissing and huffing, there has been no hostility. Nevsky plays, preferring the shoe-string, and likes to view the outside from the top of the tall cat-tree in the sitting room. Still confined to the library while I sleep, that will likely change next weekend, and his sequestration in the same room during my absence at work may not continue as long as I initially thought it should. Best of all, his diabetes seems to be in remission (knock on wood). His numbers remain very good, and I have not given him insulin in three weeks. If he still flinches sometimes when I touch him, it is because he fears being poked in the ears with a needle (my means of drawing blood for his glucose testing) and that will, I suspect, fade with the need for testing. His coat, once sloppily shorn of mats, is growing back; it is smooth and soft. Soon, he will be advertised on the PAW Society’s website, and be available for adoption.

And I am thankful for my own good luck. I remain employed and, if my income is not what I want, it is enough for what I need. I have friends, both near and distant; one delivered, unexpectedly, a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner to me yesterday, while another, a fellow blogger, was kind enough to inquire after my health when I hadn’t published anything on the blog for a week. Certainly, life could be better. But why bother with more blessings when one has too many to count as it is?