A Joyful Noise

This is the sound Neville makes whenever he sees his food-bowl approaching. I think he likes the idea of food, more than the substance of it.

Right now, though, my old lion isn’t eating much. He is throwing up more than he has in a long time, and his crap is more often than not liquidy. I theorised that the latter was due to getting into some new hard-food that I am trying to make available to the others, but now I wonder about that. While he is still able to get in and out of litter-boxes, and even jump up onto the couch in the sitting room - he doesn’t always use the stairs - his rear end sometimes sags and his legs splay, as if he doesn’t have the strength there that he once did. Weakness in the back is a symptom of unmanaged diabetes, which Nev unfortunately has, so these may be problems related to that.

I am not sure if the veterinary can do anything about this, and I don’t know if it is anything but age, so I will observe the Nevsky more before taking him to the hospital, as he finds that a very stressful event. For the time being, I will supplement his Recovery with other foods which he enjoys, but has more difficulty eating, and watch my old man closely.

Door-stop: the Sequel

One of the cats was wrestling with something jammed between the cushions of the couch in the library. I eventually dug it out and found a toy from a couple of weeks ago.

Who was the cat in question? Need anyone ask?

Enemy Identified

It seems that Valkyrie is allergic to chicken. I have at last brought her to the point where she is not eating any of it - or of turkey, just to be safe - and her poop has firmed up once more. It is a difficult spot for her, though, because she is not consistent in what she will eat now, though she most often likes Fussie Cat fish meals, and will consume other brands (eg. Ziwi mackerel) now and then. She not infrequently refuses to eat at dinner-time or snack-time, though she will eat later. It may be a matter of offering her food at irregular intervals, whenever she is hungry. For hard-food, she will accept a duck-and-green-pea variety, though her favourite remains Neville’s veterinary fare - which contains chicken. When she has gotten into something with chicken, the reversion to soft crap is swift. (And I cannot leave the duck-and-pea out at all times because Nev’s reaction is even more liquidy.)

Nonetheless, this is a step forward. We are aware of the problem (at least to my satisfaction at this time) and Valk will eat other, non-poultry food. If she is ever adopted, this knowledge will keep her healthy and hygienic.

That Looks Like Fun!

While Millie is recovering very well from her dental surgery - her main complaint is that she can’t eat hard-food yet (oh, and I have three more days of pain medicine to give her, which she also dislikes) - the other beasts continue with their adventures.

During play-time, Imogen will often run and hide behind the bathroom door. I will then swing the string-toy or streamer under the door for her to grapple with. Moxy watched this happen numerous times, and it must have looked like fun. When Imo was elsewhere, he hurried behind the door and waited for the toys to come to him. He enjoyed himself.

This is an example of why I always advise people to adopt two cats. They learn from each other. Sometimes what they learn isn’t even destructive.

Into Recovery

Millie came through her dental procedure well. She had three teeth removed, which I think isn’t bad for a cat who has had no attention given to her mouth over the last ten years. She was wobbly on her feet when she returned, but was hungry. She ate small portions through the evening, and it all stayed down. I think she is constipated, which sometimes happens after surgery with anaesthesia. If she hasn’t pooped by the time I see her again, I will add small amounts of Restoralax to her food.

Mills was happy to be home.

Millie at the Dentist

Millie is at the hospital right now, having a dental procedure. When she was returned to the rescue-group, it was learned that she had not been to the doctor for any reason in almost ten years, so she went for a check-up. She is in good shape, except for her mouth which, though not looking too bad, needed help, particularly the gums and teeth. We don’t know if she will require any extractions, but I don’t think there will be many if she does.

The worst part of the preparation was, of course, refusing her food last night and in the morning. Millie likes her soft-food now - after a decade of not being given any - and keeps some of it in her bowl to finish over night. There was none for her last night, nor this morning. She hurried to greet me (ie. her breakfast) when I opened the cat-room door this morning, but I could give her nothing. She searched the spot where the food is normally placed, but found only water. She couldn’t understand it.

Mills will be back with me later today, and will be able to rest in comfort, and at last have some food to fill that little, but empty, tummy.

Today's Mystery

Sometimes, I don’t know what happens. Something happens, and I may have an idea, but I’ll never know for certain. While this may seem to be an accurate description of my life in general, it is, in fact, referring to my life with cats.

At some point last evening, I was in the kitchen and heard some strange scrabbling, thumping noise from the bedroom. I walked into the corridor in time to be met by ‘the gang’ (Valkyrie, Moxy and Brazil) charging out of the bedroom in line. After dodging their blurs, I continued into the bedroom, where I found Indigo curious but not alarmed. Nothing seemed out of place. I can’t imagine there had been a fight, as there was no fur about, nothing had been disarranged and the principal complainant at the gang’s presence, Indie, was unbothered.

When I sat down at my bedroom’s desk hours later, however, I noticed several scratches on its surface. Probably made by cats’ claws, I can’t imagine what led to their application, only that they may have been made in a feline’s hurried departure from the room. Why there was a hurried departure, I can but conjecture.

Once again, I am left with a small mystery, its tangible results disfiguring my furniture, and its primary ingredients snoozing comfortably on warm and soft cushions and beds.

Solid Versus Liquid

Valkyrie seems to be doing better in regard to her crap. It’s sometimes hard to tell whose crap is whose, though I can differentiate between most of the cats’, most of the time. Aside from that sad fact, I can also write that I haven’t had to clean faeces off walls and floors lately, which was the case for several weeks, the result of soft poop being flicked off legs and feet. What I think is Val’s is still very soft, but it is formed, which is better than it has been.

The only catalyst for this has been in her diet. I have tried my best to eliminate chicken from her menu. Chicken seems to be in most cat-food recipes, such as many of the supposedly non-chicken Fancy Feast varieties. When it is not listed explicitly, there is the mysterious and almost inevitable “meat by-product”, which could be from anything this side of a conifer and upwards from a paramecium. There is also “liver”, which might be beef, pork or poultry.

I have been feeding her a great deal of fish and, though she took to it initially, she has become jaded with it. Her intake of soft-food is down, so she has started to eat hard-food, which she has not done before, at least that I could see. There is chicken in it, too, so I am attempting to direct her toward a new brand that does not include it. It does, however, cause vomiting and diarrhea in Neville, so I can’t leave it out. Sigh.

I think I will let Valkyrie eat whatever hard-food she likes for now, and see what it does to her litter-box deposits. If they remain semi-formed, that may be the best that can be achieved wth so many cats about. The Eternal Kitten has also begun drinking water, which was as rare an activity as her consumption of hard-food, though it makes sense that she needs the fluids now that her body is receiving less in solid food.

While things are not ideal, they do appear to be improving. And Valkyrie continues to be active, playful and annoying. Her current interest is prying open the linen closet door and throwing about the towels until she makes a nice bed for herself. That I don’t expect to change with her nutrition.

An Old Tradition at Bath-time

It’s been a long time since I’ve had company during my bath. Renn was the last cat to spend time next the tub while I was at my ablutions, and before him, of course, my first cat, Tungsten, would accompany me.

But lately, Imogen has taken to lying on the bathmat while I wash. Not only that, but Valkyrie will come in, her curiosity excited by the strange sight of a great container of hot water, and her human lying in it.

The contrast between the cats’ behaviour is obvious. Imo is there to spend time nonchalantly with me; she considers bath-night to be for both species, and washes herself at the same time as I wash myself.

Valk, on the other hand, is fascinated by the water in the tub, the splashing, the drops, the sounds. For her, it is less a social event than a spectacle. She sits on the closed toilet seat, her eyes wide, her ears up and forward.

However they wish to spend their time with me, I am grateful for the company. I missed having a feline presence during bath-time, even if Miss Silky’s casual occupation of the bathmat makes stepping out of the tub a bit problematic for me…

A Test of Life

The cats are becoming more touchy-feely. Readers may recall my mention of how Indigo likes to put her paw on my face, nose or mouth while she is lying next to me on the bed at night. Now, Imogen does it.

Her preferred time is when I relax - rather too much - for a few minutes after dinner. I sit on the couch and Miss Silky often climbs onto my lap. Because I never get enough sleep during the night, I am, by this time, frequently tired enough to nod off. When I close my eyes, Imo puts her paw on my face.

I am beginning to wonder if I appear more dead than merely unconscious when I sleep, and the cats are making sure that I will still be there to feed them later.

The Cat Under the Stairs

When it comes to playing, a cat not only thinks that every item is a potential toy, but every item is a potential playground. I’ve seen Brazil, Valkyrie, even Imogen, burrow under the small set of stairs by the sitting room couch. And of course if they do it, then the Mixer isn’t going to disdain it. As hefty as he is, Moxy can disappear under the steps - even if he chooses at times not to vanish all together…

Confusion In Our Corner of the World

There was consternation in the Cosy Cabin last night. Snack-time for the beasts has been at seven o’clock for about a decade. (It once was a smaller meal than dinner or breakfast; hence the term ‘snack’. It has since become little different than the others.) I decided to alter that.

One of the reasons is to find time for more writing. One wouldn’t think that taking care of eight cats, working full-time, having to scoop litter-boxes at least thrice a day, keeping the floors and walls clean of debris, and working with the rescue-group, would take up much of one’s time. Yet it does. And I have recently found that opportunities to do anything that isn’t actual work are limited. One of the problems is interruptions. After eating my own dinner, washing dishes, answering rescue-group correspondence and the general round of post-prandial cleaning, I have had about half an hour to myself before snack-time. When one wants to concentrate on writing, just beginning where one left off the previous day takes some minutes; it’s not like flipping a switch to the ‘on’ position. In other words, the amount of time available doesn’t make an effort worthwhile. Do you remember when you were a child and it took fifteen minutes for mum to dress you in all the warm clothes she thought necessary for half an hour’s play in the snow? Yeah, like that.

After snack-time (and its attendant cleaning, packing up and box-scooping), I have perhaps another half-hour for myself. This is frequently rendered pointless for the same reasons as the earlier thirty minute period.

I decided, therefore, to move snack-time back by an hour. This gives me, theoretically, a longer period, undivided by cat-related business, to do as I wish. Then, instead of another uselessly small opportunity afterward, I go straight into showering and preparing everything for the next day’s morning.

A later snack-time also allows me to eliminate the ‘little bit’ that I was giving to Brazil at about nine o’clock. That seems unfair to him but, because the other cats were seeing that I was offering him a morsel at that time, they were demanding their own. It felt unjust to exclude others who wanted something, and thus, it was threatening to become a fourth meal-time, with all its consequent work. Food served an hour later keeps everyone from feeling peckish longer.

This brings me back to the first sentence of this entry. Though it may be alleged that cats cannot actually read a clock (analogue or digital), they can certainly tell time, and at seven o’clock, the beasts began acting up, talking, moving about and swirling about my legs. These distractions reduced the efficiency of the extra time available for writing, but did not destroy it. The distractions will also diminish over the next week, as the inmates become accustomed to the later snack-time. But they were displeased at what was perceived to be my tardiness last night. While telling time is within their abilities, understanding actual schedules is beyond the endurance of their patience.

I expect a few more days of consternation before the new norms are accepted.

Kids These Days

Imogen and Valkyrie play sometimes, but only when Imogen wants. She will exchange whaps with the younger cat and rush at her; that’s all good fun. But when Valk pursues Imo, it’s a different story. Then the youngster is an annoyance, and why can’t she act her age and leave her elders alone?

You In There?

Hey, human, it’s me, Valkyrie. Are you in there? What movie are you watchin’? Is it about treats? I like treats. I’ll open the door. I think I can almost reach the knob...

The Forgotten Vitamins and Minerals

I am told that sometimes a cat will chew on something that is giving her nutrition that she is missing. Today, Valkyrie decided that she needs the dirty plastic taste and old-metal tang that only a door-stop could provide.

The Calls of the Wild

Cutting cats’ claws isn’t usually an ordeal, though it often depends on the cat, and sometimes it depends on the audience.

I tried to have some privacy to cut Indigo’s claws. She didn’t like the process and started complaining. Apparently Moxy heard this and came into the room, making his characteristic diminuendoes. This attracted Sable, who trotted up to the Mixer giving voice to her own hooting sounds. Valkyrie hurried in from somewhere; she dislikes Indie and began wailing at her. All of this caused Indigo further stress, and she cried and growled even more. I managed to cut all of her claws, but it was like sunset in the jungle, with every animal having his say before bedtime.

Next time, I’ll just close the door.

A Cruel Cut

It’s claw-trimming time again at the Cosy Cabin. I am fortunate in that I am able to cut the claws of seven of the eight cats living with me (Sable being the exception). There is resistance - squirming, fidgeting, twisting - but nothing serious; certainly no cat enjoys it. But I can accomplish the task.

First up was Millie. I had to pause between cutting the claws of the different paws, as it was too much for her patience. She became rather growly after each paw was finished. In fact, when I completed the first paw, she walked away in a huff, then turned, came back and slapped my hand.

Maybe they’ll appreciate me more when they move out, get jobs and places of their own…

The Food Campaign

Valkyrie’s liquid poop continues. The various kinds of food the veterinary recommended did not help. She only ate one of them - the others were not to her liking - and it had no effect on her. Neither did Metamucil help - it was intended to firm up her stool   though I was able to feed that to her without difficulty, hidden in her food. The doctor was reluctant to prescribe antibiotics, as they would have adverse side-effects; as well, there seems to be nothing other than her feces’ condition that would indicate an infection. A probiotic cannot be given to Valk in an amount large enough to have an effect: she doesn’t mind it, but won’t eat anything with too much of it included.

Since she is otherwise appearing healthy - still very active, bright, alert and playful - it may be that Valkyrie has developed an allergy. First, I tried reducing the amount of fish that she consuming but that too had no effect. Now, I am attempting to eliminate chicken from her diet. If that is the culprit, a week’s starvation of chicken should show a result.

The initial step is finding something without chicken that she likes to eat. Most of the flavours of food that she does enjoy have in them chicken or a component of unidentified origin, such as ‘meat by-product’ or ‘liver’. This means buying the more expensive, more specific brands. So far, the only one out of several that she likes is Fussie Cat tuna-and-mussels. Trying to test her preferences means finding what she will eat before actually keeping her on that diet, so it will be a while yet before this new meal plan creates results - if it does at all. In the meantime, of course, I must still feed this long, slender cat what she will eat.

Too Close for Olfactory Comfort

As readers may recall, Indigo has taken to sleeping on the bed each night, very close to my face. This has not been much of a problem until last night. I think she may have thrown up somewhere, or had some sort of acid reflux episode. Her breath was terrible. It was so bad that I couldn’t stand to have her near. Regretfully, I had to push her away. I hated doing that, for she had no idea why she was being shunned. Having to tell a friend she has stinky breath is bad enough. When she can’t understand what you tell her, it’s impossible.

Inside Discipline

Sable hasn’t come back onto the bed at night. For the most part, she likes to lie on the window sill in the dark, and catch the scents that the air brings her. Perhaps it makes her melancholy for the old days of her freedom. Perhaps she smells something dangerous, and is glad she can relax inside. I don’t know.

I do know that she is responding to me more. She likes to pick at the window from time to time. I am unsure if it is the screen - since I never find any damage when I inspect it - or the frame, but I don’t want to take the chance. Therefore, when I hear her do that, I speak her name warningly. She stops. When she keeps doing it, I have to speak more sternly. Then, she stops and lies down. I can almost hear her sigh, her fun ended by her captor.

Being a housecat can be enjoyable - but it takes some getting used to.

Another Step

Sable took another step forward last night. I woke about 12.30 and, on my way to the facilities, I noticed a fourth cat on the bed. Usually, there is Imogen on the near side by my head and Indigo on the far side, also by my head, and Moxy by my feet. This time, there was another cat curled up next to the Mixer. At first, I thought it was Valkyrie. Indistinct in the darkness, the form nonetheless looked too large for Valk, so I switched on the light. It was Sable.

This is the first time she has been on the bed while I was in it. Alas, my disturbance of her slumber caused her to drop to the floor. But she has not yet retraced steps she has once taken. I hope and expect her new night-time position will be, if not regular, then at least common. We’ll see.