Watching the Lights

A house across the street has an array of lights in a window that blink and shift at different speeds. Imogen was fascinated by them.

Once More to the Hospital

Neville’s trip yesterday to the veterinary hospital was eventful. We arrived in plenty of time for the appointment, only to find that there was no appointment. It had been cancelled. Evidently, someone felt that because I was able to bring Nev in on Christmas Eve, I would not want to bring him in on the 29th. They were in error. I wanted to keep that appointment in case the old lion’s condition did not improve, which is exactly what was happening. I can understand why it was thought I may not want to keep the later appointment, but I should still have been consulted.

Even so, the Nevsky was fitted in. The hospital more than made up for their faux pas, since Nev needed quite a few things done and he was there for almost an hour, until after closing time. His regular doctor examined him.

The abscess on Neville’s chin had grown larger over the weekend, partly no doubt to the fact that I stopped giving him his anti-biotics. The abscess was lanced, and a great deal of unpleasant contents came out. Neville was then given an injection of anti-biotics. I refused that option on the 24th, as I thought the oral liquid would be preferable. If it hadn’t made him throw up, it would have been. The trouble with the injection, the medicine from which endures for a fortnight, is that if there is an unwanted side-effect, it cannot be undone. However, the doctor also gave Nev an injection of Cerenia to suppress nausea that might arise from the anti-biotic. I have some of that on hand for possible use later.

The veterinary also looked in Neville’s mouth and could not see any internal cause of the abscess, such as a broken or emerging tooth. My old man has few teeth left, but another abscess was caused a few years ago by a tooth that had not been extracted during a dental surgery. It was determined that his mouth is in good condition, and that a simple scratch - origin unknown - caused an infection.

Neville was also given some fluids, as he was dehydrated.

Once home, his chin’s swelling continued to leak through the evening. This morning, it is still noticeable, but is about four fifths smaller than it was; the lancing and the anti-biotic will hopefully do a number on it. He was given a cone, of course, to prevent scratching, but upon observation throughout the evening, I saw Neville not bother the site once. His main concern was snoozing. This morning, there was no sign that he had been scratching the reduced swelling, so I left the cone off. He may scratch as the site starts to heal, of course, but if he wore the cone, he would find it impossible to climb into a litter-box (even the unhooded ones that he habitually uses) and would likely not be able to eat or drink. It’s a risk, but I think it had to be taken.

That is where my oldster is now. The abscess is greatly reduced and is being attacked by the anti-biotic. He is receiving probiotics to counter the likely renewed softening of his stools. He is still eating and drinking, and making his slow way to the litter-boxes when necessary. I am glad I took him to the veterinary yesterday, and am optimistic about the immediate future.

A Timid Kind of Courage

The best times for Millie to come out and explore the Cosy Cabin are weekend afternoons, when the other beasts are largely unconscious. This especially applies to Brazil and Moxy, as these two are the most insistent in entering the cat-room whenever its door is open; that in turn makes Mills want to stay in the room, rather than come out. I have also taken to leaving the cat-room door open when I have a nap, as most of the cats slumber then, as well.

But the newest addition to the household comes out even when her roommates are awake and moving about. She will be reluctant to do so if someone is in the corridor; if she sees the passage clear, she will usually venture forth. One of the more encouraging signs from Millie is that she comes into the bedroom when other cats are there. As long as she isn’t impeded on her route, she will continue her peregrinations. On Saturday, she was up on the furniture, finding a convenient hiding spot behind the computer. It was not, however, completely obscure.

Vacancies on the Cat-tree

It’s funny how a change in the population of cats in a household can change the behaviour of those remaining. I have noted that very often it does not have what seems to be a direct effect, but there is an effect nonetheless.

I have noticed that since Valkyrie left for her trial-adoption, Imogen has been using Minuet’s tree in the bedroom more frequently. It isn’t all the time, but the fact is that Imo was rarely in that cat-tree. And funnily enough, while she tolerated and played with Valk, it is Brazil whom Imogen sees as her enemy - yet Brazil is still here, still using the cat-tree. Even so, Miss Silky feels that the cat-tree is a good place to be now and then.

Cats must see each other’s presence quite differently than we humans do.

Unsatisfactory

Neville has not done well on the anti-biotic prescribed by the veterinary. It is Clavamox (amoxicillin and clavulanate potassium combined), which my cats have had many times before. I was prepared for the soft stools that it inevitably creates, but hoped that Nev’s strengthening due to the Solenisa would keep him out of that. It has not. He has fallen in the liquidy stools several times, necessitating a near-bath in each instance. 

Added to that is the other side-effect: it is causing him to throw up. These, with the fact that the swelling has not diminished (though it has been only three days, I realise), has prompted me to suspend giving him the medicine for now. I will take him to the veterinary hospital once again on Monday, and consult with the doctor; it will be Neville’s regular veterinary, who knows him well.

This is a disappointment. If it were just a matter of soft crap, we could endure it. But Nev can’t lose any more food through vomit. The doctor may see no other option than to continue the Clavamox, though less satisfactory drugs were suggested during his previous visit. I think further discussion is warranted.

Adopted on Boxing Day

Today is the second day of Christmas, the feast of Saint Stephen, Boxing Day. It’s a good time, I think, to announce that Moxy will be adopted. I’ve decided to keep the Mixer with me.

There are several reasons for keeping him, aside from the fact that I like him and he seems to like me. Whether rightly or wrongly, I feel that outsider cats (and Moxy was an outside/inside cat) deserve to stay in the home to which they’ve become adjusted, to which they’ve adapted. That, of course, is not always possible, nor is it always preferable. Nonetheless, I think they have a certain proprietorial interest in the home into which they’ve been accepted.

As well, Moxy is the Mixer, and a great asset to a household which fosters other cats, especially shy ones. I believe it is because of Moxy that Sable has done so well in adapting to the indoor life. They are friends, and certainly, though Moxy doesn’t quite reciprocate her feelings to the same extent, Sabe is very fond of her fat-headed chum.

Then there is his relationship with the other cats. Though he may annoy others from time to time, most tolerate the Mixer. He seems to exude a confident harmlessness. Take for example, his warm and peaceful relationship with Brazil.

Then there is his character. He is simply a friendly, amiable fellow. Besides, his periodic moments of leaving his body behind to stare blankly at objects makes me think he is either very spiritual, or just not right in the head.

So Moxy will be staying with me. It is, perhaps, not a wise financial decision. But having cats at all is not a wise financial decision. Then again, some cats are worth the cost.

A Happy Christmas to All!

Merry Christmas to all those reading this, and to all those who are not. I hope this one is very good to everybody, and that it brings joy that follows you well into the new year.

I have almost the same crowd with me as I did last Christmas: only Xandria and Valkyrie - the two youngest - have left, and the latter’s adoption is not yet finalised. Funnily enough, Xan, too, was on a trial adoption last year at this time, with her own future not quite formalised. Everyone else is doing well, except for Neville who, at least, is holding his own. So I am grateful for what the Yuletide has brought me.

Below is my Christmas card for 2025, the outside and the inside. Click on the images to enlarge.

Don’t worry about wishing me a happy Christmas; most readers have done so already, if they intended to. Instead, please accept my wishes for a contented and peaceful holiday.

God bless you all.

What the Doctor Said

This morning, as soon as the veterinary hospital opened, I called and told them that I had sent pictures of Neville, asking if one of the doctors could take a look and recommend something for what I suspected was an abscess. The receptionist said that there was but one doctor on duty today, and she would be too busy to give suggestions based solely on pictures. She is a relatively new veterinary at the hospital; she’s been there a year, but I have never consulted with her. I realized that there was little to be done, and made an appointment for Monday.

However, about half an hour later, the receptionist called me back and reported the cancellation of an appointment at mid-morning. I was able to take Neville to see the doctor then.

Not having examined the Nevsky before, the doctor found a number of concerns (his heart sounded good but perhaps a bit arrhythmic; his lymph nodes were a little irregularly sized; he had a tiny divot on the cornea of an eye). These were all legitimate concerns but with little to be done about them; most were addressed previously, and Neville is too old and on too many medications for still more to regulate his heart and other organs. Besides, there was a more immediate worry. (She did stain the eye to make sure the divot was not an ulcer. It is not.)

The swelling on his chin is very likely an abscess. The doctor noted a small scratch on the chin. While I doubted that one of the other cats produced that, Nev may have done that himself. He may have been itchy; as well, I have noticed that he is grooming himself in a minor fashion, which he has not done in a long time (the influence of the Solensia, perhaps?) so the actions may not be as familiar as they once were. In any case, he is on a liquid anti-biotic. I am prepared for this to cause some fluidy stools, and am adding more probiotic to his soft-food. In any case, I expect the medicine to help him. I did not cancel the appointment on Monday, just in case.

Thank you to all those who expressed their concerns about the old lion. So far, he is staying with me and enjoying his simple life - except for the periodic pokes and force-feeding of medicine…

Our Holiday Tradition

There is a tradition in the Cosy Cabin, which has carried over from the Cosy Apartment, like a ghost following a cursed tenant: the tradition of the sick cat on the long weekend. Since Christmas will give us a four-day weekend, it was almost destined to recur now.

I took Neville to the veterinary hospital for his second Solensia injection. It went as expected (ie. he threw up in the carrier due to nerves), though he worryingly has lost some weight. He had gained a little between his last visit and the one prior to it, but this time, he fell in tonnage from 5.4 kilograms (11.9 pounds) to 4.95 kilograms (10.9 pounds). Since he has been eating well - so much so that I was confident that he would have gained weight - this probably has less to do with food-consumption than what the mass in his liver is making of the food consumed.

That, however, is not the problem. This evening - after we returned from the hospital, of course - I was giving the Nevsky a chin-rub and noticed that there was considerably more chin to rub. It stood out like the tuft under a lion’s chin, only Nev’s was solid, and not fur. It felt, in fact, not quite solid, but rather like a tiny sack of silicone or gelatine. From the front, his chin is visibly larger.

I suspect it grew quickly; the fact that I felt a difference suggests that I felt it when it first manifested itself, and not that I had simply missed it previously.

Tomorrow being Christmas Eve, the veterinary hospital is open only until noon. I intend to send them pictures of Neville, some taken a week or two ago, and others taken tonight, and ask if a doctor can recommend treatment based solely on these. There is a possibility of that, as the staff, especially Nev’s usual doctor, know him and me well. Another possibility is that I may be asked to take him in very quickly, in which case I of course will. If anti-biotics are prescribed, I may have to pick them up at the hospital, or they may be called in to a closer pharmacy. This will be a rapid operation, with a number of variables, each leading in a different direction.

I will report more tomorrow, when I hope that I, the cats, and all you who are reading this, will be able to start a peaceful and healthy Christmas.

The Tree is Safe This Year

I felt it was safe to put up the Christmas tree and the stockings, now that Valkyrie is on her trial-adoption. Last year, the first day the decorations were up, she knocked down the tree and half the stockings. This year, they appear to be safe.

The tree is the same sad, artificial tree that has seen better Yuletides. I decided not to dispose of it last year as I was able to store it intact in the furnace room. There are no ornaments on it, since, though none of the remaining cats are as mischievous as Valkyrie, they are still cats. (The big litter-less litter-box in the corner is not officially part of the seasonal décor, but is for Neville’s convenience.)

The stockings each belong to a specific beast. Mine is the big one. Below that is Indigo’s, a reasonably no-nonsense sock for a no-nonsense cat. Sable’s warm and fuzzy stocking, for feet that need not worry about touching snow anymore, comes next. On the left is Imogen’s at the top; a fancy sock for the one who believes herself first, if not top, cat. Neville, as plain as Indigo’s, is above the pair belonging to Brazil and Moxy. Millie’s tiny feet have a tiny stocking.

We are all set for Christmas in the Cosy Cabin. Valkyrie won’t be with us, about which I am a bit sad, but she is doing well with her new family, so I suspect that her kittenish personality will be too busy with new things to miss us. That’s how it should be.

Valkyrie's Next Adventure

Valkyrie is off to her prospective new home. She left a few minutes ago. True to her nature, she was annoying me to the last.

I will miss her. She was into everything; nothing was safe, and everything had to be hidden, sealed, locked or latched, and even those precautions were no guarantee of freedom from her interference. But I will miss her.

My principal worry is the same as with every foster-cat going on a trial-adoption: that the trial will fail, for whatever reason, and Valk will return. She will always have a place here, if need be, of course, but her own home, her own family, hers for her lifetime, is the goal.

Some ask foster-guardians why they don’t just keep their foster-cats, since the cats are simply going to another home that will be, for a while, unfamiliar to them and frightening. The answer is that those who adopt the foster-cats usually don’t take in strays or abandoned animals. The cats in shelters and rescue-groups were once lost or deserted. Once one of them is taken in permanently by an individual or family, another may then be fostered.

As well, fostering allows people to come to know the cat, to determined the best sort of home for her, which gives the adoption a better chance of success than if it is what might be termed a ‘cold adoption’ of an unknown animal. Foster-homes absorb the unknown elements and provide the permanent home with a known and socialised quality.

And right now, my latest known quality is on her way to her new home.

Too Busy to Say 'Thank You'

I think Brazil likes his cat-nip toy… Thank you to Ellen and the Tooth Fairy.

The Misanthrope

I feel sorry for Indigo. She dislikes the other cats. She will tolerate some, such as Moxy and Sable; she will growl and hiss at Brazil from across the room, and she and Imogen have come to blows. Indie lives most of her life in the bedroom.

Now and then, she will come out and lie down in the sitting room, usually not far from the dining room’s entrance. The other cats are present; two or three may be found in the sitting room at any given time. I feel that it’s almost as if Indigo comes out in an awkward and pathetically repellent attempt to be included in the group.

“Hi, guys, what’s going on?”

The others ignore her, knowing she had been hissing at half their number an hour before.

Then she slowly returns to the bedroom.

I suspect the reality is nothing like that. Indie probably just wants a change of scenery for a few minutes, or to make sure where those other beasts are, so she can know she has the bedroom to herself.

Even so, it is sometimes the misanthropes who are the loneliest. Unable to help how they feel about others, they nonetheless want the company of those who annoy them. It is a paradox seemingly impossible to overcome.

I feel sorry for Indigo.

At Least the Gift Survived

A gift arrived yesterday for Brazil. It is a cat-nip toy delivered by the Tooth Fairy (via Ellen, from 15 and Meowing). I want to thank both the Tooth Fairy and her contact here in the terrestrial world, Ellen, and will show Brazil playing with the gift soon.

First, however, I should point out that Brazil’s moment was pre-empted by - of course - Valkyrie. I knew that I had to keep the toy away from the cats for the time being; I wanted Shimmer to have it, at least initially. The card that accompanied the present joined those that I have so far received in celebration of the season. I thought I would have them securely placed on one of the sitting room bookcases so that a cat could not get at them from either above or below. I reckoned without the determination of the Eternal Kitten, and the scent of cat-nip on the card.

I’m sorry, Ms Fairy; your card was on display for a few hours, anyway…

A Mystery in the Night

Neville decided to climb to the top of the shorter cat-tree this morning, where, like the couch, he has not been for months.

Here’s an interesting thing: someone, undoubtedly the Nevsky, used one of the litter-less letterboxes in the sitting room for a poop some time last night. It looked like he had fallen into his deposit. Yet there was only a tiny amount clinging to his fur, and his right rear flank’s fur was stiff, as if it had been soaked and then had dried on its own. I think my oldster washing himself clean way back there, even under the influence of the Solensia, is expecting a bit much. Nonetheless, all he required from me was a soaking, drying and combing, to smooth out the hair, hardly a wash at all. A bit of a mystery, really.