And Subsequently...

Moxy’s dental procedure went well. He had a full cleaning, and two teeth extracted.

He did have another issue that I wanted the doctor to examine. Moxy has had what looked to be a cyst on his left shoulder. It was not under the skin, but on top of it, and connected only to the skin; I didn’t think it serious, but I wanted it looked at nonetheless. It was removed, and as the doctor said that she has some concern about it, it was sent away for analysis.

This little addition to the work planned is causing more complications than the dental surgery, since the spot where the cyst was is sewn up and cannot be disturbed. Moxy has to be kept from wrestling or other exuberant action for a week, and will wear a cone while I am absent. He did not seem interested in the wound through the night, but that may change as the healing process makes itself felt. Nor did he want to play, with toys or roommates; that too will likely change as he begins to feel better, but needs to be discouraged for a week. He dislikes the cone more than most cats I’ve had to put it on, and hates the painkillers he must be given every morning. On top of this, he must return to the hospital in ten days to have the stitches removed, and the site examined.

The Mixer is not enjoying himself right now.

Teeth and Gums

Moxy would prefer not to be the subject of today’s blog-entry, because it’s about him going to the veterinary hospital for a dental. His teeth do not appear to have been making him uncomfortable, but he has at least one that will need to be removed, and he requires a general cleaning. The Mixer is probably under the knife even as I write. I don’t anticipate any problems - he is youngish and healthy - but I will be glad when he is back with me.

Moxy's Busy Weekend

Moxy was in prime blog-subject form this weekend.

It started Saturday, when I was relaxing in the sitting room with a cup of tea. I was seated on the couch, with my tea on the table behind me. I observed through the front window one of my new neighbours approaching the door. This was fine, but it meant that someone would be knocking on the door presently, sending the cats racing in all directions - except for Neville, who removes himself from his cat-bed for no one.

I knew Moxy would take a short-cut across the top of the writing table; even if he didn’t strike my cup, the violent disturbance of his bulk pounding across the surface would spill its contents. I stood, picked up my cup and held it, safe from escaping felines. The rap on the door produced the expected scurry. Moxy jumped up onto the table, ran across it, jumped to the floor - hitting my cup-holding hand directly on the knuckles and sending the tea flying.

Saturday night, I was typing at my computer in the bedroom. I heard the telltale bump-bump-bump of a cat trying to open a kitchen cupboard’s door. I shouted for whomever it was to stop it. Bump-bump-bump. I walked to the kitchen, giving voice to my annoyance on the way. There was no one present. I returned to the bedroom only to hear the insistent banging again. I came out to the kitchen, to see it empty once more. I returned to the bedroom. Bump-bump-bump. Out I hurried for the third time. Once again, the room was felinistically empty. Bump-bump-bump. I walked to a closed cupboard door, opened it, and out shot the Mixer, free at last.

Last evening, Moxy involved Valkyrie in his shenanigans. They were chasing each other about the house, which I enjoy seeing and hearing. But then the chase became confused, and they, perhaps unbeknownst to each other, headed toward one another at full speed, a collision imminent. At the last moment, both cats stopped, leaped into the air straight up from their sudden halt and, when they landed again, gently pushed at each other with their heads and sauntered away.

And finally, when I was pulling down the bedclothes preparatory to sleeping, in barrels Moxy, as he does every night, and leaps up onto the bed, from which he must be removed in order for me to continue to ready the bed. Every night.

And the Mixer isn’t even the mischievous one.

Having a Kitten

Having a kitten is a constant variation on the phrase, “That wasn’t open a few minutes ago…”

There's Always Something

For today’s something new…

Early this morning, while I was eating breakfast, Imogen jumped on top of the refrigerator - on which she is allowed - and then pushed herself as much as she could between the top of that appliance and the bottom of the cabinets over it, all the while making peeping sounds. After a few minutes, she pulled herself out and lie down for a snooze. I tried to find what she may have been seeking, what may have been drawing her attention, but of course could find nothing.

I wonder what will bemuse me tomorrow.

Broken Rules

Sometimes I break the rules for certain cats when they do certain things.

Indigo doesn’t leave the bedroom much. She has expanded her small world by spending time on Min’s cat-tree, and sometimes she wanders into the cat-room to sniff what is new there. But those are the normal physical limits of her life.

One day this week, I heard somecat making noise by the Cosy Cabin’s side-door. I knew it meant my shoes were being insulted by being treated as toys. I was expecting to see Valkyrie; she has enough toys and, besides, knocking the shoes about on the welcome mat, or the shallow shelf they sometimes rest in, throws dirt over the floor and onto the carpet of the stairs, if she happens to bat or drag them down the steps.

But it wasn’t Valk. It was Indigo, having a little fun with my footwear. That was different. I didn’t say anything to her, and she continued playing for another five minutes. Indie doesn’t get out much, and when she does, I won’t discourage her.

Sometimes I break the rules.

His Winning Way

Moxy doesn’t limit his attempts at friendship to new cats, or to those who might feel like outsiders. As may be seen here, he even tries to win over the least likely of socializers, namely Neville. At first, it looked as if the Nevsky was about to whap Mox for being too close. But he evidently saw no harm in the big, fat-headed fellow, and let him lie next to him. They were both soon snoozing.

Moxy isn’t called the Mixer for nothing.

When New Friends May Not Be New

Readers may recall a blog-entry from a week ago, when I wrote that Sable seemed to be talking to Moxy, but not to other cats in the Cosy Cabin. A friend mentioned this weekend that Sabe and Moxy may have know each other before taking up residence here.

Sable, of course, had been coming to my apartment building for years. Mox had been doing so, as well: he was an inside/outside cat, semi-owned by my former resident manager. Therefore, Moxy was familiar with the building’s vicinity. Even then, he was the Mixer, and knew other cats. Once in a while, he would come to my ground floor apartment, and Sable was no stranger to the resident manager’s home, though she would stay outside and nibble what he put out for strays.

It’s entirely possible that these two former outsiders were acquainted even then. Moxy, being who he is, would have tried to be a pal. Sable seems not averse to new chums. Perhaps they are renewing their friendship, rather than forging one.

Their New Habits

I’ve said it often: cats are creatures of habit - until they change.

After largely ignoring Minuet’s cat-tree, though it was a prominent feature of the bedroom, Indigo has started using it. She is, in fact, now on the top of the cat-tree as often as she is at its bottom. She will spend hours snoozing there, and even sometimes eats her meals there (‘dinner on the terrace, madam?’) One night, she spent several minutes looking out the window from the tree before coming to bed. I am pleased, as this increases places that she likes to lie, and gives her a view out the window, if she chooses to use it.

And then there is Imogen. After more than two years, she has decided to try a cat-bed, and she likes the result. I saw her in one of the sitting room’s beds a few days ago. I don’t know why she hasn’t tested its value previously, but now that she has, she is there a substantial amount of time, even foregoing sleeping next to me at night in its favour. It is actually a dog’s bed, but is perfect for cats: a thick, soft cushion; high sides to stop draughts and provide the enclosed feeling felines savour, and the perfect size for a cat such as Imo.

The Cosy Cabin has allowed every cat to expand his or her world - or, as they might phrase it, to develop new habits.

No Peace for Moxy

Someone thought the window well in the basement library was a good place to take in a ground-level view of the back lawn without being disturbed. Unfortunately, if there is a spot that may define the term ‘hiding in plain sight’, this would be it. Brazil uses it as a refuge when there are strange humans in the Cosy Cabin - and it wasn’t any more successful a location in which to go unnoticed for Moxy…

No Vet Visit for Neville

I have not taken Neville to the veterinary over his wetting issue. I’ve decided that it is not serious enough for that. The amount he is urinating is still satisfactory, as is its frequency. The strength of his stream seems to have recovered, at least to a degree, and periodically. Sometimes his rear legs and bum are dirtied and need cleaning, and he does take longer in the box than previously; I don’t think that these factors are enough over which to consult a doctor. A urinalysis would probably be performed, but with adequacy of amount and frequency, no blood in the fluid, and his behaviour otherwise normal, I believe the only result would be the finding that my oldest cat is getting older.

Nev is still eating very well, and demanding chin-rubs from time to time. If he doesn’t play, and if he sleeps much of the time, well, that’s usual. A certain unsteadiness on his legs now and then and neglected grooming are expected as the years advance.

I am looking forward to sharing my grey lion’s sixteenth summer with him.

One of Those Mysteries

Life with cats is full of mysteries, usually small and transient.

Tuesday, I came home from work and, as normal, Valkyrie greeted me and wanted to know what I had brought back. Imogen wandered by, nodded acknowledgement, and passed into the bathroom to await me there. The others rarely say ‘hello’ upon my return, but Moxy usually does. This afternoon, he did not.

After calling his name and cursorily searching for him, I grew worried. He isn’t one to try to sneak out, and I am careful about such things. Nonetheless, I couldn’t find him until I looked under the bed. There he was. He appeared nervous or frightened, and didn’t come out despite my urgings. It was not until the sweeping and scooping and other things that need doing upon my return were completed, and dinner was in the offing, that he emerged, coming up to me, rubbing against me and acting as if nothing had been untoward.

The Mixer had not done anything like that before. It was as if he had been scared or threatened. My first thought upon finding him - the likeliest event, in fact - was that he had come too close to Indigo, who would have reacted with hostility. Yet there was no sign of a physical altercation, no tufts of fur; out of the bedroom is where he would have fled, I would think, if such a thing had occurred, not under the bed. If there had been an intruder, I would have found more than just Moxy under the bed; other cats would have been hiding, if not there, then elsewhere.

But it ended without fuss and, apparently, without lasting harm. This will be one of those little mysteries that cat-owners find scattered through their lives, never explained and, hopefully, never repeated.

Sable and Her Friends

It is interesting to watch Sable’s progression. While still wary of any physical approach I make that is too close, she is accustomed to my presence, will walk into a room in which I am sitting or standing, and will allow me closer if I am bringing her food.

But now she plays with toys. I’m sure she learned to do so from watching the other cats, especially Valkyrie, who is very active and cares nothing for who may be near or observing. Sabe’s playfulness is still tentative: the pictures of her at the door to the bedroom tried to capture her pushing about a fuzzy mouse, but her actions were too sporadic and cautious for display. She was a bit more active Saturday, while knocking about a toy in the kitchen. I tried to put that on video but, after a slow, careful advance, all I could record was a black lump moving like a jiggly pudding under the dining table.

This morning brought an interesting development. I was downstairs in the library, sweeping up cat-litter prior to scooping the boxes, with Sable watching me from the couch. Valkyrie always follows me when I descend to the library, and often Moxy and Brazil follow her. Those three were trotting about the couch, and when Mox passed beneath where Sable was sitting, she started talking to him in her hooting yelp. When Valk walked the same path, though, Sabe was quiet. I’ve written before about a possible friendship between Sable and the Mixer; I think this is another aspect of it.

My former outsider-cat has, I think, reached the point at which I can call her semi-feral, rather than feral. With help from her new friends, she might some day drop the feral designation all together.

Some Cats are Rarely Still

It’s funny how some cats are lap-cats and some aren’t, even if they like attention. Imogen is now a lap-cat, and Moxy is; they will stay for a long time. Brazil will remain on my lap for a few minutes’ petting, if I place him there to begin with, and Indigo is similar, expressing an interest in being on my lap, enjoying it for a while, then jumping off. Neville will lean over my lap for chin-rubs.

Valkyrie has been on my lap, but prefers to lie beside me, if she is near me at all. To be honest, she is too active for that, needing to roll and twist when I am stroking her fur. Her paws are always going, and she will become carried away and try to nip me, though she stops when I insist that she does. She seems disappointed when she has to stop, though.

Some cats just don’t see the reason for being still.

The Heights of Felinity

Most cats seem to enjoy heights. When the rescue-group of which I am part adopts out cats, we always make sure, or at least recommend, that the new home will have a number of heights the cat or cats can scale, usually in the form of a cat-tree.

My crowd, for the most part, enjoys altitude. The top of the tallest cat-tree, a custom-made seven-footer, is a popular venue from which to watch the outside, the inside, or just to snooze. Valkyrie, Moxy, Brazil and even Neville have enjoyed its prospects, though Imogen likes the second-highest level; I believe the highest actually is a little restricted in what one can view from there, due to it being as high as the top edge of the front window. Then again, a cat doesn’t need a cat-tree to enjoy horizontal distance.

In the bedroom, meanwhile, Indigo is starting to discover the advantages of the cat-tree. I think she uses it mainly to put some space between her and her fellow felines.

But her use of height is a work in progress. Most of the time, she is the odd cat out.

Fitting In

Moxy sometimes likes lying under the soaker-pad in front of the cat-room litter-box. At first, I thought that finding the rumpled and displaced pad as often as I have was a sign of my cats playing around and under it. That still may be the case, but it also seems that the Mixer simply likes the feel of it against his body.

I wouldn’t mind it much, except that the pad is there not to catch an aim that has missed the box but to make removal of debris tossed from the box easier. As you can imagine, pushing and batting the pad about rather obviates its purpose.

Ironically, not only is Moxy a very clean cat, he himself throws about very little litter while using the box. Perhaps this is his way of showing that he can be like other cats.

Right, Brazil?

The Tired Lion

The trouble with a blog dedicated to one’s cats, especially if one has several of varying ages, is that the blog can be fun one day, and worrisome the next. This is the latter.

Neville seems to be having a problem urinating. I should add that it is not the terrible kind of problem, as if he were unable to wet, or if it were coming out in drips. It’s just that it now seems to be dampening the backs of his rear legs. Even a week ago, I would hear him in the litter-box and there would be a strong, steady stream hitting the back wall of the box. (Yes, it’s what cat-people do when their pets become old: we eavesdrop on their urination to make sure it sounds healthy…) If it were splashing back, it certainly hasn’t done so previously. Now, I am having to wash Nev’s legs more often than his bum, since they of course collect litter when they are wet.

This may be a temporary development, or it may depend on the venue: I haven’t been able to hear him in every box since this change. It may have to do with a weakening of his rear legs when standing still - unmanaged diabetes can lead to this. I do not believe that it is a change in the amount of urine, or its quality, since what he leaves behind remains satisfactory. I think it has to do with the strength of the stream. The cause of any alteration may be bad, or it may be simple age.

Nonetheless, it is something to watch; a visit to the veterinary may be in order. I suspect nothing will be found that can be improved upon. Possibly the old grey lion is just growing more tired.

The Usual Suspect

Last night, after I had a shower, I went downstairs to the library to make sure all was in order. I saw something on the floor. It was a bookmark; the one I was using for the book I am currently reading.

Someone - I won’t name whom I suspect - took it right out of the book where it reposed on the dining table and ran off to the basement with it.

I have a very good idea of who the culprit is, but I won’t say.

After all, there are a number of possibilities, so simply because one is the likeliest doesn’t mean that one is the guilty party.

I feel satisfied in not jumping to any conclusions.