Surgery Day

Rhapsody was spayed today. I was expecting it to be postponed again due to the advent of her next heat cycle, but that didn’t happen, so she was able to face the inevitable sooner, rather than later.

It was a bit of a chore corralling her in the morning. She knew something was up, probably due to being fasted, which both puzzled and upset her. Then the carrier came out, another bad sign. I thought I would have a few scratches as a result of catching her; not from her being intentionally violent, but from her trying to get away once I had caught her. But she seemed to resign herself and I was able to put her in the mobile cage.

The surgery was uneventful. When Rho came home, however, I encountered a reaction I had not met with previously. As soon as the carrier door was opened, the former patient shot out, cone and all. She ran, as if in a panic, all over the house, and appeared in particular to be avoiding me. She was literally climbing the walls at one point. I wanted to remove the cone, as I thought that was causing the problem, but I left her alone to calm down, as I didn’t want to risk her opening her incision. She eventually ran into the cat-room (where I was able to catch her in the morning); I closed the door and ended up crawling slowly toward her. This allowed me to be near enough to untie the gauze ribbon and pull the cone off.

Even then, Rhapsody trotted anxiously around the room, refusing to calm down or stay still. I let her be. She was placid enough by early evening to let out. By then, she was allowing me to touch her again, and seemed actually to want that. She has eaten and drunk a little.

I was told by others in the rescue-group that this is a rare reaction that sometimes occurs due to the anaesthesia. Usually, the results are a dopey cat. Once in a while, though, a panic ensues after the surgery. It, like the dopiness, fades.

Rho is not troubling the incision, at least for the moment, so I will keep the cone off, as I have for other cats, most recently Valkyrie. I am watching my newest patient; so far, cleaning the hospital smell off of her fur is the goal of her licking, and not tending to the wound. As long as she continues worrying about smell, rather than feel, all will be well.

And she can have breakfast tomorrow.

The Captives

I don’t allow the Tempos out of the library all the time, even when I am home. They tend to be ‘on’ a great deal of the time, and the perma-cats and I need a rest from them now and then. Consequently, when I feed them, I usually lock them away in the library for a couple of hours. They don’t usually make much noise at these times, suggesting that they too need their rest periodically.

Even so, it doesn’t mean they don’t pine for their freedom, sealed up in their dungeon…

Imogen's Turn

Yesterday, I published a video of Rhapsody playing. Now, it’s Imogen’s turn, though here she is playing with me. She talks quite a bit when we’re playing this game, a game that always reminds me when she needs her claws cut.

Rhapsody at Play

Rhapsody has become quite the active player when the string-toys come out. This is a contrast to how she was originally, though of course she was already pregnant when she arrived at the Cosy Cabin. Even so, she jumped and ran then, which surprised me. But when playing with me, she would not move much, despite seeming to enjoy the game. It’s a different story now. In fact, she often interferes with the others’ attempts at play, she is so willing to fight the toy.

Uncle Shimmer and the Others

It’s interesting to watch the Tempos’ development, but it’s just as interesting to see how the perma-cats are changing in their attitudes toward them.

Their altering moods are not as obvious as the kittens’ changes, nor are they shared by all the adults. Brazil initially was intrigued by the tiny ones but didn’t care for their proximity. That is different now; he will tolerate their antics, though he would rather they just lie next to him and allow him to groom them. Uncle Shimmer doesn’t play with the youngsters as Uncle Mixer does, but he’s benevolent.

Sable’s annoyance with the Tempos continues strong, but they avoid her, for the most part. Imogen, on the other hand, is permitting the kittens to come closer to her than ever before. I was surprised last evening when Andante jumped up onto a dresser where Imo was reclining, and the latter barely reacted. When he came very close, though, she hissed, and Andante jumped down. Nonetheless, it is, if not a great leap forward, then certainly a step in the right direction.

I can leave the little boys out among the adults now without supervision or fear that someone will be hurt. I will clean the library and scoop the litter-boxes there while the Tempos play upstairs. Hearing the occasional hiss or growl, I don’t have to rush upstairs to see what the matter is. We’re a long way from keeping the babies out at night - since they cannot be counted on not to wake everyone every second hour by playing - but, as they have learned the rules of engagement, and the adults have become more accepting, there is greater tolerance than I would have guessed occurring with nine cats in the Cosy Cabin.

The Origin of the Species

Where do they come from, these socialised cats who are living alone and homeless outside?

I often wonder this when I encounter one of them. Most are unfixed, which at least makes sense in the context: their previous owners didn’t care for them enough to keep them, so they wouldn’t care enough to neuter or spay them. When they were no longer kittens, no longer cute, when they began yowling in heat or fighting because they were feeling their testosterone, they were abandoned.

Moxy is a good example. He was being cared for by the resident manager in my former apartment building. That man was elderly and caring for three cats already; Moxy came and went, and was at least receiving food and periodic shelter, when it was cold or wet. The manager and I caught Moxy and had him neutered.

The cat who would become the Mixer, uncle to kittens and friend to all, is at first uncertain around new humans but was perfectly socialised. He had had a home, had a family, had known some form of affection, though he is quick to startle and take fright. Did his family move and not want to include him? An inconceivable attitude to many of us, but one that crops up constantly in rescue-work. The family would find another cat when they arrived at their destination. Perhaps a baby came along and for one reason or another both cat and child would not be kept. Moxy grunts whenever he stands after sitting, grunts when he moves suddenly, and on summer nights will sometimes wail a window. This can be rather trying, and the easiest solution for his humans was to abandon him.

It’s bad enough for the feral, having to survive like wild animals in a forest. If they are lucky, they will have people feeding them, perhaps providing shelters for them against the cold. But those who used to have homes, who used to have security and affection, must be bewildered and very frightened. I suspect fewer are saved than perish because they don’t know how to fend for themselves.

But Moxy was fortunate. He found a man who loved cats and couldn’t say ‘no’ to him, even though he couldn’t take him in permanently. Then Mox came to live with me, and shows no desire to be outside again, even if he still wails at the darkness sometimes. He follows me and bumps his big fat head against me, and he kneads a great deal. He is a good-natured, happy fellow who enjoys life and what it has to offer. He will live out that life with me, the other perma-cats and all the fosters who will come and go. But now and then, when he is quiet, when he is sleeping, when that heavy, dense body is resting, I still wonder.

Where did he come from, this cat?

A Benefit of Being Inside

It was hot and muggy over the weekend. Allegro was grateful for air conditioning.