Christmas at the Ark

Yes, we hang stockings.  We hang stockings for the 'kids' who are still with us over the fireplace, and we hang stockings for those who have passed away, on the entertainment unit.  Each stocking on the fireplace gets a gift suited to their personality.  We stopped buying the little fuzzy mice for the cats because the dog skins them, leaves the little hard bodies lying around the house (looking like wingless, legless, headless bats), and later the fur turns up... elsewhere.  Instead I give out other catnip toys, balls, or non-fuzzy mice.  I also get them treats, and at least one new toy all of them can play with.  The dog gets cookies because dog toys scare him.  That's a whole other story.

Dartmouth gets a Kinder Surprise (although I make sure I have enough catnip toys for him too).  We eat the chocolate and Betty collects the toys.  Darty likes to play with the top of the plastic 'egg' and bat it up & down the stairwell.  He used to pack them around with the egg covering his nose.  When he was little he sometimes packed plastic Easter egg halves this way, which made it impossible for him to see.  It was very cute.

Josie didn't play with catnip toys.  Being brain damaged, she didn't know what they were.  However she had a favourite plastic ball that had a rattle inside.  Every year I would try to find another of these for her to bat around.

Christmas Day can get crazy.  We daren't fill the stockings the night before.  Nothing would be left by morning.  Positive proof of this was the Christmas that Betty worked, and I filled the stockings early.  I had the bag of toys with me as I answered the phone. At first I didn't quite twig as to why I had such a big audience.  Then Martin started leaping at me.  Or to put it correctly, at the catnip filled tomato I had in my hand.  The phone conversation got a little tense as I found myself having to run around the house ducking a flying orange tabby at every turn while the others followed.  In desperation I fired the tomato towards the stairwell.  It went bouncing down the stairs with Marty in hot pursuit.  I then turfed the rest of the toys into the bathroom.  I now wait til the last moment to fill the stockings.

Once the stockings are filled, and pictures are taken, I hand out the gifts.



What follows next is a little unnerving, and sometimes a bit uncomfortable.  Cats writhing around everywhere.  It feels like you're in the middle of a blue movie.  Occasionally a fight breaks out as two vie for the same toy.  After about half an hour they all start to mellow and we swear they're all relaxing with a smoke.

  

Indignities

One's pride goes out the window when one is owned by a cat. One's dignity goes there too when one is owned by a house full of the critters. Nothing can wake one up faster at 3 am than a cold wet hairball oozing between one's toes as one is heading for the bathroom. Particularly when one vaguely remembers hearing the hairball come up at 1am but was too tired to do anything about it.

Having a cat bounce off your back & nearly send you face first into a litter pan as you're scooping can be scary. However, the day I decided to get a closer look at the stuff I was cleaning off the carpet was unnerving. As I leaned in for a sniff, I lost my balance and went nose first into the blob. Fortunately it was a hairball.

You could say I should just have picked it up. That would have been smart I suppose. However, right around that time I'd got up one morning, and found a toy mouse in my path. As I bent to pick up I noticed it didn't have a tail. The toy was not a toy at all, but a headless, wingless, legless, bat, so I learned to look closer before touching. This, by the way, explained Martin's fever the previous week, and why the vet couldn't find any puncture marks.


We're used to discussing serious subjects with a cat perched on a shoulder staring intently off to one side.  Washing dishes just wouldn't be the same without a tail sliding under one's nose as the critter wanders by.  Movies are often viewed between cat ears, or around a cat sihlouette.

It's not uncommon to suddenly notice that we've gone out in public so covered in fur that we're not sure what design was originally on our t-shirt.  It can be embarrasing to admit to the vet that the smell he thinks is coming from your sick cat is actually emanating from yourself.   Having a cat make 'the face' after sniffing your breath first thing in the morning is .... well .... informing.  They are so helpful.

Dinners are often spent with a cat either trying to pad your chicken, or edging around your neck towards the plate, while purring sweetly.  Then there are those who keep hitting you because see no need for you to eat when they need attention.

As for the critters, they don't see what the problem is.  In fact, their version of indignity is when we get all bent out of shape over the things they do.  You can see it in their eyes: Why are those stupid humans dancing around and making so much noise?

At least Drew didn't throw up in my hair in the middle of the night. He saved that gem for Betty. Frasier did pee on my back though. I am officially his.

$30,000.00 cat

During the great forest fire, we evacuated to a friend's farm. Our friend kindly provided us with a whole room for the 11 cats we had at the time. Joining our group was a small black & white kitten named Oreo. Betty was concerned he wasn't getting enough food, so we brought him to the kitchen to feed him away from the others. He found his way to the dog food bowl, and I caught him standing on the edge of it looking like something from the Lion King.  The pose said it all.

Oreo came with us after we returned home, and we soon learned he was ... different. Other kittens didn't like to play with him.  It seems he didn't know the difference between playing, and fighting claws out to the death. They'd run from him as he approached, but instead of chasing them, he'd stalk on over to them at his own speed.  They'd run from him again, and he'd simply turn and stalk in their direction once more. 

As we continued fostering, we learned that Oreo had another little twist in his personality.  He liked kittens.  Not in a good way.  I caught him trying to drag Dartmouth out the cat door one day, and later, with a glint in his eye, packing Brighton across the dining room table.  Both times a bellow from me made him spit the kitten out.  We've always thought if he were human, he'd be a serial killer.

Oreo had a big medical issue. He had diarrhea and could barely control it. Whenever the feeling hit, he'd "go". Rather than finding things around the house in the morning, I started taking him to bed with me. His tummy rumbling would wake me and the race to the litter pan would be on. I could never decide if I should hold him close to me, then change clothes, or away from me, and clean carpets.

Multiple visits to various vets who each tried different medications, proved fruitless. As he grew his control was better, but he still had the problem, and was horribly underweight. When an episode hit, the pain was so great that he'd try to kill anything within 10 feet. Worse, his tummy and back end became so sensitive that vets attempting to take his temperature risked losing a limb. During one visit, a vet left the room to check on something. Oreo climbed on top of his crate and before I could do anything (not that I could do anything), he let fly.  "Need a sample?" I asked when the vet ground to a halt at the door.

Our main vet suggested a diet of yams mixed with tuna, with some raw meat on the side. For the next couple of years I dutifully cooked and froze yams. I mixed this with a can of tuna and oreo was fed on the kitchen counter to prevent the others from bothering him. He also went through a steak a day.  When I'd hit the sales at the grocery store, the cashiers would shake their heads at the stack of two for one steaks for the cat, and the loaf of bread for the humans.

Oreo developed severe gingivitis, and had all but his K9s removed. He was then put on steroid shots every three months, which at last solved his painful diarrhea problems. I was later able to move him onto a regular cat food diet. Because steroids can lead to other problems, it was suggested I switch him to a Prednisone cream which was applied to the inside of his ear daily. The cream was specially made at a pharmacy 2 Provinces away, and shipped to us under Oreo's name. I thought this was kind of cool, but I'm sure the Postal workers wondered.

With his medical issues now under control, Oreo became a very happy cat.  Well, at least in his world.  While he was quite loving with us, his serial killer attitude would occasionally rise if one of the other cats was occupying a spot he considered 'his'.

I had been setting aside money in my Will for the care of the critters, and attempted to calculate how much each cat would cost if they lived to 20.  With his meds replacing the price of his steaks, I figured Oreo would cost about $30,000.   Good job he was cute.  

Fritzie

After we'd agreed not to foster, or adopt any further cats, Fritzie came into our lives.  He was an old man who looked like hell.  His fur was matted and sticking out everywhere.  He looked like he had mange, but he didn't.  He had scabs on his face and nose that would come and go.  He'd definitely seen better days.

 Shelter staff would let him out of the Adult cat room in the morning.  He'd eat his breakfast in the office, then walk back to Adult cat where he'd sit by the door until someone let him back in.  The staff grew quite fond of him.  Unfortunately he wasn't adoptable.  Apart from his age and appearance, two different vets had diagnosed him as going into organ failure, and had given him 3 months.  He wasn't showing any signs of failing, and the staff didn't have the heart to put him down, so Betty brought him home for a 2 week visit.

Fritz decided he liked the dining room, then hissed and growled at any cat that came near him.  Obviously he wasn't into being anybody's buddy.  He found the kitchen and a litter pan, but spent his days napping under the dining room table.

He would jump on the kitchen chair and eat his food at the table - the only thing missing was the table cloth and a napkin around his neck.  Sometimes he required a kiss on the forehead to get him started.  There was something endearing about this grumpy old man, so at the end of two weeks I looked at Betty & told her I didn't have the heart to send him back.  He only had 3 months, why not let him live them out in a nice house.  She agreed.

Two years later, Fritz, the "dying" cat, was still with us.  I don't know what we did, but it seemed to have given him a new lease on life.  He eventually ventured out from the dining room, learned the merits of a winter fireplace, and the joys of a sunbeam on the porch.  He claimed Betty's lawn chair for that.  He still looked like hell.  We did try to brush him out, but warning growls told us to make our attempts short. 

He passed away on a warm summer day in late August.  He spent the day on the porch, and then I carried him to his current favourite napping spot.  He never did make friends with any of the other cats.