What a sweetheart Meep is! I used to pick Max up and hold her upside down on my shoulder - for some reason, she tolerated that pretty well.
I had a puppycat. She looked like a dog, but she acted like a cat; hence puppycat. She’d beg for fish, she’d follow you into the next room, but don’t try to get to close as she could be a mean, growly thing. I once saw her back down a Rottie who was twice her size all because he tried to sniff her.
She was a [del]princess[/del] queen; she owned the house. She had a ring, unfortunately, it had my name on it - yep, she had me wrapped around her paw…& knew it. Many a time, I’d end up on the floor, with her on the sofa getting skritches & be thinking, “Ummm, isn’t this a bit backward?” As she got older, I’d even help her onto the sofa (or the bed & then lie there uncomfortably because there wasn’t enough room for me.)
She got sick & the end was pretty quick. I went to the vet & held her on my lap (something she would never let me do) while the vet did her thing. When you pass, your muscles relax. The next thing I know, my leg is warm & wet. Yep, her final act was to pee on me! Seemed appropriate & made us laugh through the tears.
My sympathies DPJ and CW. That is sad news.
On the other hand, your advice about slippery elm bark has helped my Mia a bit so thank you very much. I think it’s given her a few more weeks.
I’m glad to hear that. As we learned about cats in renal failure, if you can keep them eating, that’s half the battle.
Well, let’s see what I can add. Since I’m sure that Dopers are well-acquainted with my cats Denver, Annie, and Frisco, all of whom I have posted about before on the board when their time came; I’ll share a couple of stories about a long-ago cat whom I had the pleasure to know.
Minou, or Minnie as she was often called, was a friendly little female tuxedo kitten who came into my life when I was about 12. Minnie grew up but she never really stopped being a kitten; she was always playful and ready for a game of Chase the String or Follow the Bouncing Ball, and she had a loud purr that seemed to turn on at a touch.
My hair fascinated her. In those days, I’d stretch out prone on the floor in front of the TV, and when she saw where I was, she would climb onto my back and comb my hair. What I mean is that she would carefully extend her claws, reach into my hair, and pull back, “combing” it. Sometimes, she missed, and got my scalp (yeowch!); but most times, she was good, and simply combed. When my hair was combed to her satisfaction, she would curl up on my back and have a nap, purring all the while. I had to hope that somebody would come by to change the channel, as this was before every TV came with a remote.
Cats are, by nature, hunters; and Minnie was no exception–or maybe she was. She was an outdoor cat, and intently watched local wildlife when she was out in our big back yard that was surrounded by cedar hedges. Problem was, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it–instinct told her one thing, but she just wasn’t sure about creatures that might not appreciate being caught and eaten. She had seen our other cat (whom I will call Jay) bring back small grey items in his mouth many times (mice, typically), and present them to my Dad. Dad, knowing that this was typical cat behaviour, would give Jay head skritches and tell him what a good hunter he was; at which point, Jay would proceed to dispose of the mouse within the privacy offered by the big cedar hedge. Minnie watched this many times. Maybe that was what a cat was supposed to do.
So one day, we spotted Minnie trotting home with something grey in her mouth. Proudly, she laid the offering at my Dad’s feet. It was a piece of maple tree bark! She looked up at my Dad and meowed. Dad, recognizing what was happening, gave her head skritches and complimented her on her hunting skills; at which point she picked up her bark and trotted off to the cedar hedge, where she played with it for a while before trying to eat it. That didn’t work, so she forgot about it, and went for a nap on the verandah.
Minnie was mine for 12 wonderful years. She is long gone now, but I still remember her fondly.
As long as I’m talking about past cats, and I’ve mentioned Minnie and Jay, I’ll add a couple of stories about Jay.
Jay was my sister’s cat. We got him as a kitten, mostly because my little sister (who was about seven at the time) really, really, really, wanted a kitten. We already had a dog, named Steve, that was my Dad’s pride and joy, but Sis wanted a kitten. And so, we got Jay. Jay and Steve got along quite well. They turned out to be great friends, and Jay would curl up as the “little spoon” to Steve’s “big spoon.”
Steve was old and needed some form of medication daily to keep him healthy, and so he got a pill tucked into a ball of Gainesburger in his food. Normally, he’d happily gulp it down, but because of his age or condition, he’d sometimes let it sit in the food bowl for a while until he felt up to eating. Well, one day when Steve just didn’t feel that hungry, Jay got to the Gainesburger-ball and ate it. If it had been just Gainesburger, it would have been no problem. But Jay ate Steve’s pill too. A call to the vet assured us that the pill would not harm Jay at all, though there might be some side effects.
Jay seemed fine, so we put our pets to bed. It was summer, and they typically spent the nights outside on the screen porch. We were concerned about Jay, but the vet said not to worry. So, we’d wait for morning and see how he was.
Well! Let’s just say that the next morning, we all learned just what the veterinary term “side effects” really meant: it was a synonym for “shotgun diarrhea.” The walls were sprayed. The screens were sprayed. Somehow, Jay had managed to spray liquid cat shit five feet up onto the wall. The poor little guy; he must have been so convulsed with cramps that he could not get to his litterbox, and let it go where he was. He seemed fine, as did Steve, though Jay was hungrier than usual.
On to the next story. This one takes place when Jay was about two or three years old.
As I mentioned, our dog Steve wasn’t in the best of health. One day, he fell off the deck. When he got up, he seemed to be disoriented. After a while, it became apparent that he could not see–he was bumping into things. While he had once conquered our yard, now he just stood there, afraid to move, lest he bump into something. A visit to the vet confirmed that he was blind, likely due to the fall he took. It must have dislodged the optic nerve. The vet said it might fix itself, or it might not. Wait and see.
Well, we waited. So did Jay. We followed the normal routine: Jay and Steve were let out into the yard when Dad got up in the morning, but Steve had a problem finding the door. Dad helped–and after a couple of days, a most extraordinary thing happened.
Jay knew there was a problem with his pal. He could not have known what, but he did see Steve walk into walls and miss doorways. So, he set out to help Steve get where he needed to go. When he saw Steve heading for a wall, he inserted himself between Steve and the wall, turning Steve away. For two weeks, Jay was Steve’s constant companion, guiding him to where he wanted and needed to go. It was amazing to watch. On his own initiative, Jay became Steve’s “seeing-eye cat.”
After a few weeks, Dad and the vet decided that Steve’s vision was not returning; and as he was old and ill, and had had a great life, it was time to say goodbye. Jay carried on for years afterwards, but he appeared to miss his friend for the first little while.
Story about a rescue I adopted from friends. He received the name “Frank the Waiter” because a) he had a real “guy” face and b) he was a Blue Russian mix tuxedo cat. Frank came to me because he was totally afraid of other cats and I only wanted one cat. He had, however, been clearly brought up with dogs. He had no fear of them and liked to play fetch.
I lived in a row house with a rather elegant wooden staircase and a long, narrow, living/dining room. One of Frank’s favorite activities in the home was “Ride the Rug.” He would begin on the bedroom floor landing and rocket down the stairs. He then would manage to pull a u-turn at speed and dash through the living room to a small rug I had that was the only divider to the dining area. He would leap on the rug and dig his claws in and ride the rug until it slammed into the far wall. He would then come find me and pester me to put the rug back in place so he could do it again.
I miss that guy.
These are great pet stories! I was playing with our remaining cat last night - I put her in the laundry basket and started swinging her around - this is a favourite game of hers. She crouches down and enjoys the ride, then mews at you when you stop.