Déjà Cat?

I think we have been here before:

Ratty this morning

Ratty went to visit Dr Rhett last night.  He had a thorough going over, a blood test and his temperature taken.  The Vet thinks his 'head injury' has somehow recurred - or rather the effects of it.  Maybe scar tissue, maybe a small bleed.  Maybe, maybe.  An MRI might answer some questions but that is not available (or choke, choke, financially sensible if it was available).  Dr Rhett thinks a biological or metabolic cause is unlikely.  Having a diagnosis would only be valuable if it could help us look after Ratty better or force us to make an informed decision about his future.  We've ruled out diabetes and ruled in 'something neurological' for what it's worth.  The Vet's given him some anti-inflammatory syrup to help with inter-cranial swelling.

Dr Rhett said he was optimistic, given Ratty's recovery previously and given continued devoted care.  No guarantees, of course.

So we've brought him home for more TLCC (tender loving cat care) and hope.

Ratty can hold his head up (which he couldn't last time) and when he's taken to the litter box he uses it, which suggests he has control over his bowel and bladder, both encouraging signs.  However his eyesight is 'variable' at best and once again, he has no motor control of his paws.  He's also not licking around his mouth or doing any other grooming.

He can feed himself cat-crunchies - the brand he has always preferred - but refuses to drink.  This means I have to syringe water into his mouth regularly and try to get him to swallow.  I've also got some more tins of 'recovery' diet which I can mix with additional water and also syringe into his mouth.  He accepts that more willingly than the straight water.

I worry about hydration.  Last night Dr Rhett told me cats need about 2ml/kg/hour, which works out to about 240 ml per day for Ratty.  This is quite a bit to syringe in, 2 ml at a time ...  when he is not enjoying the experience and spitting half of it out.

Now I feel I am caught on the horns of a moral dilemma, twisted up with my own stubborness and sentimentality.  There is no confidence that if Ratty recovers again, he will not have a further 'turn' in the next weeks or months.  Clearly our dream of letting him return to his former swaggering street-cat status is dashed.  That is fine, we've made a home for him and he has his place here.  But how many more episodes of neurological meltdown does he need to endure?  Can I keep up the 24 hour care he needs?  Am I, in some bizarre way, putting my needs ahead of his?

He is not in any discernible pain.  He is responsive.  He loves having a snooze on my lap - that always seems to calm him so he can sleep.  He is dry, safe, comfortable, fed.


It is a beautiful clear day and quite cool for the time of year (16).  This morning LG had her breakfast alone in the sunshine.

I loved seeing Ratty out and about, having picnics with LG and washing her face.  On Monday morning I sat with them while they ate together and watched.  Ratty gobbled for  a bit while LG (his little sister) steadily munched.  Then Ratty stopped, sat himself up and watched her eat.  When she had finally had enough - she signalled this by backing away from the remaining crunchies and washing her face - Ratty tucked in and finished the rest. 

Lately they were waiting together for us in the morning when we set off for Marius's bus.  When I got back from my walk, they would have 'seconds' and Ratty would come inside with me while LG went off to neglect her kittens some more.  In the afternoon LG would sit on the door step and wait for Ratty to come out and then they would entwine their tails (really!) rub heads and weave themselves around to the empty carport next door (we have stopped feeding anybody outside our house, it was causing too many problems) for tea.

I think their relationship is unusal for street cats (or any other litter-mates).  Precious.  No doubt I am anthropomorphising again, wanting to preserve it for them.

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I saw this chap looking for handouts:

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Now what am I supposed to do?

Ratty visited the Vet on Saturday afternoon and was pronounced healthy.  The Vet was amazed at Ratty's progress.  We've made an appointment for two weeks' time for his little op.  He was the best behaved cat getting into the carrier, travelling and being a patient at the Vet of any cat we've ever taken before.

I can hear the chorus of 'I told you so' streaming through the ether and can feel all those heads shaking.  I don't want four cats.  The politics of three cats is bad enough.  And if Ratty moves in (as he has done) how do I square my conscience about his little sister 'Little Guy', Pink Floyd and all the rest?

Ratty has fallen in love it seems.  Once you take a chap into your bedroom, he thinks he should spend all his time there, with you, exclusively.  If I move from my chair he wakes up and maows, and if I don't come straight back, he wanders around the house looking for me.  The place he has chosen to roost is - surprise, surprise - exactly where he spent his days in the HDU.

And Wolfe, who is a jealous queen, tries to climb onto my lap to show Ratty that I love her the best, while poor Macc and Ming slink around the walls glaring at me and then arrange secret meetings with me upstairs under the covers.

My advice to the world:  never, ever fool around, it is simply not worth it.


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The Continuing Adventures of Miss Beowulf (aka Wolfe)

On Thursday afternoon Marius came home on an earlier bus from the site and we took Beowulf to our Vet.

She hated being put in the carrier - really went mad with gymnastics and then heart-rending howls - but she settled down when Marius out the bag on my lap and I spoke to her.  I ended up telling her a long tale about her own adventures - to keep talking and because I get bored saying 'it's okay Wolfe, you're alright'.  It's the quiet voice they need, not the words.

We were worried how she would cope sitting on the floor of the Vet's, waiting for our appointment with all the smells and dogs and cats and people.  She sat quietly and didn't cry.

When we took her in, we first asked the Vet to scan her and see if she had a microchip.  She didn't.  The Vet said there is no national data base  - they have one and possibly other vets have their animals recorded - so her previous owners most likely didn't think to have her chipped.  I was disappointed:  I'd hoped we would have found out something about her, even if we were unable to re-unite her with her previous family.

The Vet pronounced her healthy - no ear mites, no fleas, no signs of disease - and vaccinated her and gave her a couple of worming tablets.  She (the Vet) confirmed Wolfe is a female, as I had suspected.  And agreed that she had most likely been spayed as we hadn't noticed her going into heat.  She is estimated to be between eighteen months and two years old.

The Vet was surprised she was so healthy for a cat who had been on the street since April. And then we came up with a theory about her.

Wolfe has a notch out of the top of her right ear.  This is a universal (well, global) sign that a cat has been TNR (trapped, neutered and returned).  It is possible that she got swept up in a trapping program, spayed, notched and then returned to somewhere else.  Apparently the officials here are not too careful about who they trap or whether they are returned to the same place.

If this had happened, it would explain why Wolfe freaked out in the carrier initially - she may have thought she was going to be dumped somewhere else, again.  It would also explain why such a fine cat was ear-notched and why she was homeless.

The vet also said she thought Wolfe is a cross-breed, at least, if not a full Norwegian Forest Cat.  She might have some British Blue in her.  Wolfe's face is more pointed than the pictures we've seen of the British Blue.  And she does have an amazing purr.

We kept her in on Thursday evening as we were concerned she might head for the hills after her vet-experience.  She went out yesterday a couple of times and is currently lying across the entrance to the kitchen.

Last night she sat next to us on the lounge while Macc sat on the other seat - in sight of each other, not growling, and relaxing.  We are making progress.

As for the future - we are in limbo.  All our cats will be travelling with us if we move.
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An after thought:  when I wanted to take the cat to the vet, I rang up on Wednesday afternoon, my call was answered straight away (this doesn't always happen, sometimes the line is engaged), I had a nice chat with the receptionist about Beowulf being new to the family, and I was able to make an appointment for the following evening.  What a contrast to last week when I was trying to get in to see a GP for my wounds!

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