And the Kittens Follow After

Gwenith and Huw had their own turn at the vet's today. Happily, for them, it was only for routine shots.

I knew Gwen would be a struggle to corral for the trip over. She's shy and elusive and very wiry and determined to break any hold on her. She would go in the one and only cat carrier. Huw was for the banker's box. He was fine with it last time we went to the vet's a few months ago; he should be okay with it again.

An early lunch served in the Kitten Room about a half hour before the appointment got them both within reaching distance. Once Gwenith had her head in her bowl, I grabbed her, took her struggling to the carrier, and popped her in. Done! And the uneaten food went in after.

I put the carrier on the floor of the car.

Huw's turn, now. I'd put the open box, lined with a towel, in the dry bathtub. I picked him up and put him in, and He. Refused. To. Stay. I grabbed the lid; he jumped out. I shoved him back in and put on the lid; he pushed it up.

It was with mighty effort that I got my boxed tabby down the stairs. He wasn't settling down happily; what if he got loose in the car?

Leash. I need to find a leash. Put the box down by the front door and weighed down the lid with some bricks I happened to have sitting there. Lightweight leash is in the basement. Go get it, remove bricks, don't need to remove lid: Huw's done that for me. Off he goes!

"Oh, no, you don't! Come back here!"

I catch him and loop the leash onto him, hoping I won't have to use it. Cat back into the box. Cat still trying to push out of the box.

Meanwhile, Llewellyn is very, very excited. He knows something is going on. He's not sure what, but it looks like fun and he wants to be part of it.

He refused to sit-stay inside and ran out the front door when I carried Huw out to the car. I couldn't put down the box until the car was secured, or I'd be advertising for a lost gray tabby. Llewellyn frisked by the side of the car; would it make sense to let him ride along, even if I'd have to leave him in the car at the vet's?

I grabbed the back door handle and let the dog jump in (O fanku, fanku!!). Got Huw's box into the front seat of the car and belted in, my purse on top for a weight.

Then changed my mind. Dog's staying home.

Charged with him back to the house, sent him inside ("Aw, Mom!!"), locked the front door, and ran back to the car.

By the time I had the car started, it was about four minutes to our appointment time. By the time I'd driven two blocks, Huw had pushed out of the box and was heading for freedom.

"Huw! No!" I pushed him back in with my right hand while steering with my left. The rest of the trip was like that, with me hoping he wouldn't choose a time when I had to shift gears to pop out again.

He protested all the way over. Gwenith was quiet at first, but presently joined her maows to the duet.

Happily, they both calmed down in the waiting room. They were no wise so noisy as another cat that was brought in afterwards. Though the loud efforts of that kitteh's mistress to hush it were more obnoxious than her cat's cries were.

And though Gwenith the Pink Princess had to be unceremoniously dumped from her portable palace and Huw the Bold made a strategic retreat behind the same chair Rhadwen favored the other day, neither of them put up the screaming-meemie, ai will kil u awl struggle their adopted mommycat/big sister did the other day. But they didn't have to suffer the indignity of having a thermometer shoved up their rears at the outset.

They are both strong and healthy. Gwenith now weighs 8.5 pounds. Huw her littermate tips the scales at 12.7. Why am I not surprised?

I got them home safely, and they have not shunned me since then. So I guess all is forgiven.

But before vaccination time comes round again, I assuredly must acquire another cat carrier. The present system is not working.

Rhadwen Visits the Vet

I don't know what the tone of this post should be. Maybe let's stick with straight reporting, and let the spin develop with events.

Late yesterday morning, I was upstairs with all of my four-footed kids when Rhadwen, my ten-and-a-half-year-old calico started to hawk up a hair ball.

Not on the wooden hall floor, if you please, Wennie, even if it's not yet refinished. I picked her up and deposited her on the bathroom floor.

She continued to kakk, and brought up-- not a hairball-- but what looked like clear stomach juices tinged with blood.

Then she squeezed back behind the toilet and did it again.

Not a lot, either time, but against the white vinyl it was appalling.

We do not mess around with animals bringing up blood in this house. My late lamented shaggy terrier Maddie died four years ago of some mysterious blood disease, and it began-- or rather, my awareness of it began-- with blood on the bathroom floor.

I called the vet and got her slotted in as an emergency case early yesterday afternoon.

She didn't mind going into her carrier at all. She didn't mind the ride in the car, or the wait in the waiting room.

The examination? She minded that very, very much.

Cold plastik fing nawt gud bed! Ai getz doan rite noaw kthxbye!!

Ten-point-eight pounds. Good grief. I thought she was up to fifteen at least, she's so big. Is it really all fur?

Poky-tempachure thingee goez where??? DO NAWT WANT!!!

Between us, the vet tech and I were able to hold my yowling, spitting cat still just long enough to verify that her temperature was normal.

Then the vet came to do the examination, armed with a heavy towel. Oh, no, Rhadwen was not happy with that, no, she was not. The fighting and clawing started even before the palpations did. I have no idea how the vet could tell there were no areas of unusual tenderness on her tummy, but that's what she said.

Questions. Was she eating her food? Yes. Was she sluggish or lethargic? Obviously not. Could she have eaten anything she shouldn't have? Hm, Thursday afternoon I was sanding some woodwork; maybe she stepped in some of the dust when I wasn't looking and licked it off her toes . . . Could she have gotten into any chemicals? I gave them the name of the wood stripper I've been using, but doubted it could be that, since it evaporates very quickly and she'd never shown an interest in it before. Does she go outside, and could she have eaten something out there? Yes, she does, in the backyard only, and maybe she could have, but nothing I'd noticed.

"Her eyes are bright and she's well-hydrated. We'll take x-rays to see if she's ingested anything, and call about that stripper."

They left us in the room together. Rhadwen took her stand under a chair and stared at me balefully.

Reenter the vet and the vet tech, this time with a muzzle.

O. MAI. GAWD.

Ai weel kil u!! Ai will kiel u wid debastadieng dedness!! Awl ov Uuzz!!

They took her away, her yowls reechoing down the corridor.

Soon she was back, the muzzle askew.

"Any possibility of it?" I asked.

"I don't know yet," the tech replied. "We'll try setting up the x-ray machine first. Then we'll come back for her."

"Should I come back and hold her?"

"We think we can do it. Maybe."

Eventually, the vet and the vet tech returned, got a better grip on my fighting struggling scratching clawing spitting howling yowling sweet calico baby, and bore her back to the x-ray machine. Through the closed door her cries reecho'd and I wondered if there might be more blood on the floor today-- from the vet.

Before long the tech brought her back, and the vet soon joined us. "We got one. The x-ray shows no foreign bodies in her digestive system, and no sign of tumors or any other abnormality. It doesn't look like the chemical stripper could be involved-- she'd have caustic burns around her mouth, and she doesn't. If she'd got into rat poison--"

"Oh, no! That's what they thought might have happened to my terrier that died, though I have no idea where she could have gotten any!"

"Well, if it were rat poison, she wouldn't be throwing up blood, it'd be coming out elsewhere."

"Yes. I know. That's what happened to Maddie."

"So that's really not a possibility. And since she's eating and drinking and she's strong enough to have nearly killed us back there--"

"I'm sorry!"

"That's all right. We'll treat the symptoms and give her some ulcer medicine. Keep an eye on her and if there's any negative change, bring her in right away."

They told me what to look for, and sent us home with the medicine in a little bottle and a syringe to give it to her with, every eight hours. Cherry flavored liquid, which is ridiculous for a cat-- why can't it taste like tuna?

Rhadwen's been taking her dose the past day and a half by now. Not happily, not willingly, but getting it down. (We'd have an easier time with it if the dog wouldn't interfere.) She seems very much herself, and if she's kakked up any more blood she's done it someplace I haven't yet found it.

God willing, she hasn't at all.

So I am keeping my eye on her. I hope it was only something like sanding dust that she licked off her toes and it irritated her tummy. I don't like mysterious illnesses but this one can just go away quietly and never poke its nose into our lives again. I do not want my big furry girl to be sick; no, I want her around and healthy a long long long time.

Scary, Not Cute

After midnight last night I had to take my dog Llewellyn to the emergency vet's.

Yesterday evening, as I was about to drive into town to go to the symphony, I took him out to the alley to do his business. His business, if you'll pardon the specificity, was yellow, runny, and strained.

Less than five minutes later, he threw up his breakfast (which he'd eaten nearly eleven hours before) in the front room. All of it. Recognizable. Undigested.

I debated with myself. Should I stay, or go? But I was dressed up, I had my ticket, and dogs throw up all the time. He'd probably eaten something that'd disagreed with him. Now it was out of his system and he'd be fine.

I filled his supper bowl, threw a bath towel over the mess, and left.

It was a good concert. Great music, well-played. Though I was distracted at times, wondering how my doggie was doing.

I didn't hang around after, but drove straight home, hoping I'd find Llewellyn to be his old cheerful self and his food bowl empty.

Neither were the case. He was mopey and lethargic. He lay down in the front room and wouldn't even look at the nice homemade chicken broth I now put down for him. He wasn't interested in the bit of nice, fragrant gooshy kitten food I tried to tempt him with. He just lay there with his dry nose, breathing heavily.

Oh, BabyDog, what's wrong?

When I called him and he acted like he couldn't get up and come to me even if he wanted to, that was it. It was time to call the 24-hour vet.

Frustrating, but there still are no 24-hour veterinarians in my county. Nearest one was nearly an hour away--I'd been there before with my late dog Maddie. The receptionist there said it sounded as if I'd better bring him, and I agreed.

Llewellyn seemed much better by the time we got to the clinic. Smiling, sociable, with tail wagging and no longer between his legs. Vet said the adrenalin rush of a car ride and a visit to a new place can do that.

She took my history of the case, along with something else I'd remembered. Friday, up in my study, Llewellyn snatched something off the floor and began to gobble it up. By the time I'd rotated my chair around, he had his mouth closed around it and wouldn't drop it and wouldn't let me pry his teeth open so I could make him let it go.

The strange thing is that he didn't just swallow whatever it was down and stare at me grinning at what he'd just gotten away with. No, he'd had to gulp, gulp, gulp to get it down his gullet.

I told the vet last night at it might have been a live stinkbug. Or a stray jellybean egg or foil-wrapped chocolate egg from when one of the kittens knocked the Easter basket over a few days ago. I couldn't think of anything else.

But after the x-rays came back, I saw that there well may have been something else. The lateral film shows something that just possibly could be a piece of fabric, about five inches long, in his small intestine.

Yes, I have been sewing up in my study. Yes, I have been trimming seam allowances. But why on earth would my dog gobble up a scrap? He's never been one to devour nonedibles-- unless they have something edible on them. But there it was on the x-ray.

Or maybe not. Vet said, "The line is very faint. It might also just be the way his intestines are lying. We'll need to take another x-ray tomorrow or the next day to make sure."

They gave him some antibiotics and anti-gas medication to reduce the slight bloat in his poor empty tummy. They injected a quantity of water, like a camel's hump, under his skin to alleviate his dehydration. Then they sent him home with me with a long list of instructions and warnings and caveats for the next few days. And it's a good thing they were listed, since by then (3:00 AM) my brain was refusing to take anything in.

So today I'm observing his condition. Fasting first, the remainder of last night and through this morning. Then a little bit of water and bland food-- actually just some tinned water-pack chicken breast around the pills he has to take. He's held that down so far, thank God, so now I have permission to feed him a teeny, tiny serving of chicken and white rice. And if he doesn't throw that up, another teeny, tiny serving of the same four hours later. And so on, for the next three or four days.

And watch his stool to see if anything comes through, and schedule the followup x-ray with my vet if he continues to eat and do well into tomorrow. Or bundle him into the car and get him down to the emergency vet's again if things go wrong.

If it is a piece of cloth, it could bind his intestines. They could even rupture and spill sepsis into his gut. Before that could happen, he'd have to have surgery.

Thus far, he seems more interested and lively . . . wants to eat, even though I mustn't let him till the scheduled time. Bossing the cats around and barking and jumping when someone came to the door. So I'll go cook him his bit of supper, and hope-- hope--all goes well.

Kitten Milestone

I dropped Gwenith and Huw off at the vets' this evening. Tomorrow they have their operations.

To read some authors, failing to get your dog or cat spayed or neutered is tantamount to pet abuse.

But I can't help it. Having to take the kittens to get fixed makes me sad.

What on earth for?

Maybe I'm afraid their piquant little personalities might change.

(Though if I let Huw grow into a full-blown tom, his personality very well might change. And not for the better.)

Maybe I feel I'm irrevocably cutting them off from their natural development.

(Yeah, natural developments like incest-engendered kittens running around the house.)

Or maybe, maybe, it's just me thinking, sob, gulp! my babies are growing up so fast!

They're only five months old! And Huw already weighs eight and a half pounds! Gwen is over seven pounds! They're so big, they no longer fit into the cat carrier together! I had to press an empty file box into service to get them to the vet's!

And now they're getting their operations!

They're almost all grownded up!

Whahhhhhh!

Sniffing Out Trouble

Earlier this morning, the kittens Gwenith and Huw went to the vet's. They got the rest of their shots. They were weighed (Huw has more than doubled his weight in the past 26 days; Gwenith, who was bigger the first vet visit, has added over 50% to hers). And hallelujah, they were both cleared as free of FIV.

So now the felines old and new can start sniffing out each other's territory. Literally.

The kids went into my room, in the carrier. Llewellyn, poor thing, I bundled into the bathroom, to keep him out of the way. And Rhadwen I induced to come upstairs to inspect the Kitten Room.

This is the result.

I hadn't intended to give the kittens reciprocal privileges this morning. The ideal thing is to let the newcomers range over the whole house while the reigning cat is otherwise occupied. And my house is not ready for that.

But what could it hurt if I let Gwenith and Huw nose around only in the front bedroom after Wennie took herself off downstairs? Not a whisker!

Today they're most interested in strange smells and promising hidey-holes. In a week or so, they'll be happily flinging phones and doilies and ornaments off dressers and nightstands and shelves, just like their adopted big sister Rhadwen.

(Oh, golly. I can hardly wait.)

A Sop to the Worry Demons

I called the vet's today to change Gwenith and Huw's follow-up appointment for the 11th.

We're still going for their shots and all that day, but in the morning instead of in the evening. I've had a meeting come up.

So as long as I had the receptionist/tech on the phone, I asked her, "Um, the male we were calling Tiger when he first came in, he's been having coughing spells: I notice them once every two or so days. Should I bring him in before the 11th? Like today?"

"I don't think that'd be necessary. It's normal for kittens to get little respiratory infections. They get over them."

"Well, I guess so. Yes, my big cat and I both got the flu at the same time when she was a kitten, and we were on the same antibiotic! So you don't think it could be something like feline asthma?"

"It's unlikely," said the tech. "But keep an eye on him, and if he's still coughing when you come in, let the vet know."

So, okay, that's what I'll do. Though they saaaaayyy that feline asthma is hard to diagnose and a lot of vets don't/won't consider it . . . What if? . . . . (Oh, no!) But if there are other, more innocuous possibilities, like a transient bug . . . . And yes, if Huw isn't coughing anymore in two weeks, I guess that means asthma is unlikely . . . I mean, it'd stay the same or get worse, right? . . . .

Oh, phooey, buck up, kid! Watch the little cat, see how he does, and act accordingly.

The Invaders

The kittens went to the vet's this afternoon.

They don't know about the vet's, yet. And so they were out to take over the world.

It was all I could do to keep Tiger's little paws out of the used needle hazardous waste bin.

And Fluff ("Cream o' Wheat" is just too much of a mouthful-- so to speak) made a thorough inspection of the examination table, while Tiger was out of the room getting blood drawn.

But they behaved themselves very prettily when they were getting their eyes and ears and hearts examined, and they thought the worming medicine was nom nom nom.

More to the point, they tested negative for worm eggs (but I'm to watch their stools for dead spaghetti-looking adults--feh!). And negative for feline leukemia. First stage of the distemper vaccination today, but the vet told me they can't have their rabies, etc., shots till they're twelve weeks old or so. And he estimates them at about eight weeks now.

So despite what the Internet feral cat fostering advice sites say, I can't let Rhadwen near them in only two weeks. I have to wait four.

That is, of course, if they're still with me at that time.

And in case you were wondering, Tiger, the brown tabby, is a boy, and Fluff/Cream o' Wheat, the pale ginger tabby, is a girl. I'm glad of that. Sounds silly, but looking at her little face the past couple of days, I'd been thinking she made an awfully off-key boy cat. But as a girl, she's adorable.