Zoë Moonshadow (Feline) Settles In

It's been a while since we've had a new cat in the household. As I've mentioned in one spot or another, Oliver Littlechap's death in 2019 ended a feline era stretching back to 1997 when Christine and I adopted Daisy and her brother, Cleo.

All of our cats lived out their lives with us, and in later years, they craved warm laps and companionship. Mostly warm laps. 

Zoë Moonshadow is about five and still has those bursts of energy that send her streaking across the living room up the stairs, around the second floor and back again in a heartbeat, with a thunder of footfalls that sound like a herd of wildebeest. She sits on laps but briefly before she's off on other business.

She's settling in with us and seems to like us. There is a bit of unwinding yet to do, though. One two many strokes of her head and coat results in a warning bite. Not too hard, but not a play bite either.

The humane society noted she'd been terrified of large dogs in her second household. Christine likens her situation now to PTSD. I've noticed Zoë's muscles tense as she cocks an ear to an unrecognized sound, as if a dog's approach might be imminent. 

Daisy never knew that kind of fear, but she had her own agenda early on, cuddling was a small part of it. You took affection when it came your way and let her move on when she announced the time for new business.

I'm reminded now of that time. 

I suspect in time we'll get longer, lazy lap sits, but there's no need to rush that. We can spend time in play and hijinks.

Christine read somewhere that Russian Blues like feathered toys, so we grabbed a card of those when we bought her a bed and scratching post. They proved so popular they quickly disappeared. Tucked away in a summer shoe or some other hiding place found and forgotten. 

I bought a few more and a feathered toy on a stick that proves a joy. She chases, nabs if lobbed in the air and if a toy misbehaves enough it gets a pummeling with the hind feet.

In the absence of toys, she likes to hop on the bed and paw wrinkles in the blanket. They seem alive to her and in needed of subduing. 

 "I'm so glad we got her," Christine said one Saturday morning as wrinkles were trapped beneath paws. 

I was reminded that cat ownership often involves sharing the world as much as immediate bonding, watching habits and instincts at work. Coping with a fearful moment if a dog strays too close to a window. Supplying food of course. Seeking to mute some instincts, of course.

With the world made small by pandemic, limited to the walls of home more than ever, having a friend sharing the space expands the universe. 

Wane - a poem

Wane

Leaves take on new beauty:
Harbinger of demise.
Verdant energy fades.
Edges curl.
Ribs show.
Essence crumbles
To brown fragments:
Remains and companions
To the memory of the green,
The love of the whole.

Ollie Dressed Up

We all get ties for Christmas. My cat, Oliver Littlechap, is no exception. 

Oliver Littlechap Right Now

My spry, youngest cat, Oliver Littlechap, has begun receiving subcutaneous fluids for elevated kidney values. He's at least 11 years old and possibly a little older, and it was sad news.

It didn't hit in the devastating fashion Daisy's diagnosis did in 2008 because we've learned a lot about care over the years. She survived seven years and did well most of that time. Lung tumors and not her kidneys caused her death.

Happily, Ollie, who came into our world as Sad Orange Kitty in 2005, is doing well. After a weekend on an IV and now two weeks of Sub Q fluids administered at home, his levels were "perfect" according to the vet.

We're going to try every-other-day Sub Q fluids for him and re-check in a couple of weeks.

He looks sad in the photo from yesterday more because the vet cleaned his ears than because of feeling bad. He just came through for a morning stroll across my keyboard.

I have to be careful not to leave manuscripts open on my desktop or he'll attempt to collaborate, but sometimes I don't like what he does with characterization.

Chat er Cat life

I do weekly, optional chats with students in my horror, mystery and suspense class. Just as he sometimes joins me while I'm writing in the mornings, my cat, Oliver Littlechap, occasionally sits in. Sometimes he walks in front of the camera as well, offering close-up views of his fur.

He seems to have picked up the job from Ash who used to join me for chats but has kind of lost interest.

Monty Update

Monty is home and has had his first dose of insulin. He's eaten well today, but his back legs are wobbly. Apparently that's a common problem in cats with diabetes.

Hopefully regulating his glucose will help on that front in time.

At the moment, he's sleeping in his favorite spot, a spot that actually became a favorite perhaps at a time that his diabetes was developing. It represented a move from the sofa, long his domain.

We weren't sure what brought the change. At the time, he could still hop up onto it as he chose, so I'm not sure what the move meant. At any rate, he's comfortable.

It's good to have him home, good to be able to brush his coat and offer comfort. I'm hopeful medication and care will give him a little more time.

I've always been cognizant of the fact that the pets don't live forever, but even if you are aware of the passage of time, you can't slow it down.

Vacations pass too quickly, even though you will each day to last longer, to stretch and be all it can.

It's not just vacations. All of life ticks by faster than we'd like.

What can you do but try to stay alert to that and keep moving?

Monty's Illness

I haven't mentioned my cats much on the blog in a while. Monty, seen above looking up as a flight carrying people to DisneyWorld passes over, has been a bit sluggish of late. I took him to the vet on Tuesday, and they've determined he's developed diabetes.

He's sixteen, which, in cat years, is the same as pretty old to you and me. I was able to win his release from the pound around 1998 where he was incarcerated over what he describes as a big misunderstanding.

He remained quite robust until a couple of months ago, but then he began to slow down a little.

We had his teeth cleaned and his blood checked, wanting to make sure there were no issues with his eating. They shaved some patches on his legs looking for a vein for the IV at the time. He did not find it amusing when we called him Boots or made poodle references.

The cleaning and a round of antibiotics seemed to help for a while, but earlier this week his heart just didn't seem to be in it when he tried to steal my dinner.

This time the blood test along with some calculations by the vet of some past readings confirmed he's going to need insulin injections.

I learned to give Miss Daisy, who still abides,  sub-q fluid treatments, so I guess I'll be learning give shots as well.

He'll love me for it, I'm sure, and I know I can count on his cooperation.

Update - 8-2-13
Here's a pic of Mon at the vet. He should get to come home after one more day. The IV's really helped his coat, and he issued verbal complaints when I visited today.

Miss D Abides

I haven't done an update on my cat, Miss Daisy, for a while now. She was diagnosed with kidney disease a few years back. Hard to believe how long its been.

Happily she's still hanging in and going strong. We do subcutaneous fluid treatments every night. Just takes a few minutes with an IV drip. She forgives that and sits on my lap afterwards. 

She's less forgiving of Oliver, the first rescue cat from the woods behind our home. Him, she keeps on a short leash. Infractions draw hisses. 

She's done far better than we expected when we first received the diagnosis. As I write this, she's strolling past me, headed back to help Christine work on the household budget. 

She has opinions about everything, and she's happy to express them.

The Night Oliver Littlechap Spent in Jail

My indoor-outdoor cat, Oliver Littlechap, wandered onto our doorstep five years ago, a thin Oliver Twist for whom we couldn't find an adoptive home. If he wasn't wild, he was close to it.

He lived on our patio for a while and was eventually granted inside privileges around the time Hurricane Rita's inland bluster reached our neighborhood.

Domestic dispute
Oliver's domesticity has always been a little in question. For ages he's liked to prowl the wooded area behind our house and has on occasion been given to staying out all night.

Cats are just not that into doing what they're told.

He disappeared once around 8 p.m., didn't return the next morning and remained missing until Christine and I stood in the back yard calling him diligently in the early afternoon. The vocals finally disturbed him, and he came staggering, blinking and half-asleep, out of a flower bed.

With a little effort, Christine's curtailed some of his roaming, letting him out at night before mealtime. Usually he's been back in an hour, though more recently he's taken to going out the front door when we get home in the evenings.

Bolts out actually, allowing no time for greeting or discourse.

Tuesday was no different when we came home from the gym. An orange streak shot past us, and we went inside to shower and fix dinner.

The front mat remained empty a while later when I looked out. Usually Ollie plops down there after his rounds, waiting to be let in for dinner. Or perhaps for him its supper, the later meal, usually enjoyed after The Theater.

Call back
When he still hadn't shown up in another little while, I called for him. Front first. Then back yard. Nothing. I waited a few minutes and called again.

Still no sign. Shaking the Pounce bag didn't do any good either. Reluctantly, I went to bed without Ollie inside, though I took consolation in remembering he'd done this sort of thing before.

The next morning he still wasn't on the stoop. Christine and I walked up the street calling until we had to go to work, and we toured the neighborhood by car before driving in.

I was worried, but I kept consoling myself that he'd be OK. Maybe he had wandered into the woods again.

After a couple of hours at work, I realized I wasn't concentrating and decided to make a quick swing home.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Ollie in one of those cat huddles on the front lawn. He'd finally decided to come home.

We pause now for a message from our jailer
But when I got out of my car, I noticed something on his collar. It's murder to keep a collar on Ollie. He's lost two dozen in five years. We had one of those chips implanted so that if he ever wandered too far there'd be a chance of getting called, but recently I found one I could keep on him without being too constricting.

I went over to him and rubbed his head, thinking, "My god has someone had him tied up?"

It wasn't a cord but a note secured by a twist tie.

"Your cat spent the night in my armadillo trap," an anonymous neighbor had written. Threats began after that. If he--though the note writer said she--returned to his/her property Ollie would be turned over to animal control.

Neighborly.

Five years I've worried about him, but Ollie's done fine in our quiet little cul-de-sac, 'till what I suspect is a newish neighbor with a landscaping fetish shows up.

It took Ollie a day to get back to being himself. His nose was red and his face seemed a little swollen, probably from trying to push the trap door open to free himself. Luckily it was chilly but not that cold the other night.

He's adapting to being indoor only fairly well so far, though there have been a few requests for a word with the management this a.m.


More Ollie

• Cat's on the Baker's Rack
• A visit to the Cat Condo

Upsy Daisy

We're well over a year past the chronic renal failure diagnosis for my cat Daisy. The initial news was devastating, as you know if you drop by here often.

Daisy's been our pet since she was only weeks old.

Weeks following the diagnosis were trying as we struggled with our vet's help to stabelize her condition. Subcutaneous fluid treatments and appetite stimulants helped restore her to a better state.

I wrote a year ago about her first post-diagnosis holiday season. This season's beginngs brought a reminder of her condition. She threw up last Saturday. Apparently renal failure produces stomach chemicals that lead to nausea and vomiting.

She'd been doing so well that I'd become complacent, the knowledge of her condition pushed to a back room in my mind. Then, a while after dinner, she sat up on my lap with an odd look in her eyes. Never let it be said cats don't have expressions.

A few minutes after the odd look, she hopped to the floor and tossed up her dinner. She kept throwing up through the night, turning to dry heaves and continuing on Sunday, making me fear she'd begun some kind of drastic decline.

We pulled out some anti-nausea medication she hadn't needed in a while and began to give her doses. On Monday morning she began to eat again, and was perky when I checked on her on a break from work. The vet suggested keeping up the nausea medication a while before deciding if we needed to bring her in.

By evening she had resumed her usual behavior. She curled onto my legs when I went to bed, then after a while she began to trot out all of the acts in her repertoire.

Around 11, she got in a fight with our oldest tom, Monty.

Around 11:30 there was the cold nose on the face. It's her way of asking for fresh food.

A couple hours later she was crying out in a shrill voice. I thought it was the prelude to getting sick again and jumped up to discover her walking around with her favorite toy in her mouth. It's a Beanie Baby knockoff of a mouse, and she's known to walk up the hall with it, whining softly.

Now she'd chosen to do it at 3 a.m. or so.

If she could play a musical instrument, that would probably have been her next feat, but she let things i.e. me rest after that.

She's on Christine's lap now, a week later, dozing as I peck keys, though moments ago she was pacing back and forth across my keyboard.

That's another act of hers. I'm happy to have her for each show.

Oliver Flip

Got a new Flip Ultra for my birthday. Here's a quick test of it.

Song Title? Cat's On the Baker's Rack

My cat, Oliver Littlechap, makes himself at home on the baker's rack just off our kitchen.

What I'm Thankful For

Well, one of the things is that my pet, Miss Daisy, is hanging in and holding strong. It's been about five months since she was diagnosed with chronic renal failure.

Both Christine and I have learned to administer subcutaneous fluid treatments, which she requires daily. I wondered at first if it was worth it, but much of the time she is her usual self.

On her last vet visit the levels they test were holding OK. We coax and work with her to keep her eating, and I'm conscious--as we should all be with all interactions--that the time I have with her is finite. I try not be be aggravated if she wants attention or to sit on my keyboard or my lap.

That's life. This is a little video diary of Dee in her day-to-day environment. It's a wonderful world. (I'm playing Enya's "China Roses," under the at-home version.)

Secret Messages from My Cat

I'm not sure what my cat, Miss Daisy, is trying to tell me, but she typed a cryptic message into MS Word a little while ago:

"8999999999999999999 89999999999999999 8999999999999"

Maybe cats have some secret knowledge to impart, kind of like those looms they had in Wanted, only with more benevolent messages.

Or maybe it's something simpler.

"The laptop is warm. Go do something else. I'm sitting here."

If My Cat Monty Had a Twitter Account

Climbed into the second floor of the cat fort. Curled up, went to sleep. 07:23 a.m. Aug. 19



Climbed out of the second floor of the cat fort and checked food bowl. 03:45 p.m. Aug. 19.




Slapped the orange cat. 03:47 p.m. Aug. 19





Climbed back into the second floor of the cat fort. Curled up, went to sleep. 03:47:30 p.m. Aug. 19




Humans came home. Got up to check food bowl. 05:35 p.m. Aug. 19





Watched Frasier on sofa while humans had dinner. 06:20 p.m. Aug. 19





Poked male human on the leg until he gave me fresh water. 07:25 p.m. Aug. 19





Slept in fort. 08:01 p.m. Aug. 19





Got out of fort. Moved to sofa. Slept. 08:05 p.m. Aug. 19





Humans' bedtime. Got up. Solicited cat treat. 10:30 p.m. Aug. 19





Slept at foot of humans' bed. 10:45 p.m. Aug. 19





Awoke hungry. Harassed female cat eliciting hisses and howls. Human male fed me to appease us both. 03:00 a.m. Aug. 20




Slept. 03:15 a.m. Aug. 20

Daisy Update

Miss Daisy spent the time I was away at the vet. He took the opportunity to do new blood tests and gave her a good report for the time being. She's been quite spry and active since our return home.

She's also been copy editing my work of late. She's seen here questioning a plot point in one of my comic scripts.

Dial M for Monty

Christine thinks Monty, the senior tomcat, may be trying to kill her.

Unfortunately Christine has the straight man role in our household, straight man in the comedy team sense.

She's the George Burns to my Gracie, Martin to my Lewis, Hardy by my Stan Laurel, though I must clarify that I have the weight advantage.

There's been a series of unfortunate events since we've been married that cement the role.

For example, Christine's relatives were coming to visit one Sunday a.m. I heard the shower come on in the bathroom. It was long after we were dressed and ready for visitors.

"I wonder why she's turning the shower on?" I asked myself.

A few moments later a drenched Christine came into the room with a simmering expression and clenched fists. "You didn't push down the shower plunger after you finished. I was just going to rinse out the drain."

There have been many incidents like that, though I'm usually responsible.

The other night Monty was really the culprit. He likes ice water. I don't know at what point we discovered this, probably when he was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, sticking his nose into one of our glasses.

From to time to time, we drop ice cubes into an old plastic drinking glass for him, or we just deposit ice in his water bowl.

He must think the little half-moon-shaped slivers from the ice maker are fish or something, because he'll sit beside his bowl, pawing at them. Sometimes he drags the bowl around the kitchen in the process.

The other night he dragged it around a while, sloshing out some water, and while I was at the computer, busily typing away I heard something like:

"Ahhhhh," SWOOOOOSHH. THUD.

Christine has a habit of saying things like: "OH, NO!" from the other end of the house.

I call out: "Everything all right?" to a response of dead silence, so that I have to get up and go see what the "oh no" was about. Usually it's something like the leftover fruit salad's gone bad.

Friday I said: "Everything all right" and got no response, so I got up and walked through the den into the kitchen.

Christine had been the source of the "Ahhhhh," SWOOOOOSHH. THUD, having slipped in the sloshed-over water Monty had left behind when he abandoned his water bowl and went to sleep on the sofa.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"That cat is going to be the death of me," Christine said, having picked herself up and determined she had no broken bones.

Now she has an eye on him, Grace Kelly to Monty's Ray Milland. That certainly puts a new wrinkle on things, but if this little game of cat ;-) and mouse goes on, at least it will keep them from turning on me.

This Will Not Be The Day

This will not be the day.
She sits purring on my knee
Or crouches in the corner
Near British mysteries and unread Micheners
Destined to be there a little longer.

She jumps today and scratches
And deposits her beloved toy at my toes.
Her eyes as bright this morning as the first time.
As innocent and devilish.

She fights the mouse for my attention.
Demands my fingers stroke her head.
And not the keyboard.

She curls finally upon my lap.
And purrs at me.
And it is as if
All our yesterdays are moments and not years.

This will not be the day
Tho' soon.
Too soon.
Too soon.

The Adventures of Oliver

The other night, after we'd had Miss Daisy at the vet because of her kidney condition, Christine brought her home while I went back to work and then to work out.

Oliver, our indoor outdoor cat, was inside when she got home, but he insisted he be allowed to go out.

Christine obliged, her attentions focused more on Miss Daisy, and Oliver went bounding out into the back yard.

A few minutes later, after offering Miss Daisy some food and heaving a sigh, Christine looked out the back window to see Ollie pawing at something.

"Oh no, she thought. He has a rabbit cornered." When that happens, we try to grab him and let the rabbits make a break for it.

Christine went out, planning to help out any hapless cottontail, only to find it was no rabbit Oliver was battling.

Now the serpent was more subtle
It was a snake. Not the same one that poked its head through the French doors a while back but a larger one. It was twisting about and generally flicking its tongue and doing its share of snake posturing.

"For the love of God, Oliver," she cried and when she was sure the serpent wasn't about to lunge, she snatched Ollie up and hauled him back indoors.

I came home about then to find her checking his legs and coat for signs of viper fangs. He didn't see to bothered and didn't seem to have signs of swelling, but he was yawning a lot. She was not sure what kind of snake it was, not having taken time to get his business card.

"I can't believe we're going to have to go back to the vet and tell him Oliver got a snake bite," Christine said. "He'll think we're terrible pet owners."

I wasn't looking forward to sucking out the poison on my own, but there is an emergency vet. Fortunately we decided Oliver was OK, but it was a little scary.

And Jabez prayed please enlarge my territory
His position was that the snake was in his territory. Cats are all about territory as you probably know.

And that is as true an accurate account of his latest ramble as I can type, with him sitting on my lap.

Daisy is napping in the other room, having taken to a new Hill's kidney diet dry cat food and having endured a subcutaneous treatment from Dr. Sid. In her mind that's a little like being in a Mad Scientist's Lair.

Thanks for the Thoughts on Miss D

Thanks to everyone for the kind thoughts about Miss Daisy. She's been in good spirits the last couple of days and the vet has been pleased with her response to treatment.

We've had some trouble getting her to eat the special diet food, not unlike the time we bought the best petfood in the world only to have her turn her nose up at it, so the vet said it would be OK to mix in a touch of her usual canned food for flavor.

I did that, and in typical Miss Daisy fashion she started eating, and I think managed to eat just the flavorful food and leave the healthy diet on the plate.

Addendum
Video upload is better today. Here's Daisy at play a couple of nights ago.