I suppose you can tell by the title, this is a story about cats, so cat-haters beware.
I have written about my cats more than once. I can link back to stories, but I choose to just repeat. My daughter has been waiting for this story, but I think she is expecting some humor, and I had to be in the right frame of mind. So, here you go, C. Whether you find it humorous or not, I suppose you can decide.
I have three cats now. Two of them are senior citizens, and one is still pretty young. When my boomerang kid returned, he brought two more cats with him. One is a basement kitty, the other is a bully. The bully’s name is Rogue, and it’s very fitting for his purr-sonality. Now we have four cats wandering among the dog’s territory. (The basement kitty never leaves the basement)
Some of you know that I’m an over-the-top cat lover. There are other names for people like me, and even though it doesn’t bother me, I don’t want to offend others….I’m sure you have guessed that name by now.
Our my oldest cat, Nugget has many nicknames, but I refer to him mostly as Scrawny Old Cat/Man, or Norbs.
Norbs is a cat with a plethora of physical, and mental maladies. He has hyperthyroidism, he’s bulimic (my diagnosis, because he usually pukes after eating), and he also has multiple personality disorder (again, my diagnosis).
Chuck, is the name my kids have given to him when he transforms. Chuck is nasty. He’ll hunt you down for unknown reasons and attack. He’s brutal. The noise that comes from his mouth is a banshee cry, Scrawny Old Man style.
One time, my daughter and I were watching YouTube videos about angry cats. As we were laughing our silly heads off—Chuck formed a plan of action—he stormed the den and C received the brunt of his fury. I’ll tell you, if you hear him screaming, run and hide–RUN–far, far away. If he’s in stealth mode–as he was that day–then one has to be completely aware, and be ready for defensive action.
Nugget will be 17 this year. Due to his problem with keeping food down, the thyroid problem, and who knows what else, he is very lightweight.
A while back, he was acting very lethargic. This brought panic to me because I’m trying to deal with life and the losses that come with it. I wasn’t sure I could handle another furkid leaving me as well. I’ve had enough of that—you know, back-to-back-to back-to back… losses.
Even though my very level headed, blunt husband reminds me that they are old, and things will ultimately happen, I like to use my selective belief system when it comes to my old fart animals.
I called the veterinarian, and was able to get Norbs right in. All the way to the vet’s office I gave myself the Big Girl talk, “I can do this–things will be fine–even if it’s his time–I can do this”.
The poor guy weighed only 6 pounds. He has a snotty nose because the medicine given to me the last time we visited, wasn’t working—yes, that makes two chronic snotty nosed cats. He was eating, but still puking. Norbs usually moves in s-l-o-w motion, but that morning he was reduced to extreme slow motion, and would lie on the floor stretching out as long as he could.
Almost $500.00 later, I was told he was…..
Of course, they performed an x-ray to make sure the mass they were feeling was, in fact, poop, and not a tumor. They had to draw blood to make sure other organs were within the normal ranges. Then they proceeded to violate him by giving him an enema.
The vet called the next day, to make sure Norbs was pooping okay. How the heck am I supposed to know which poop is his? We have a cat door leading to the garage. That is where we keep the poop pans–four of them. If I happen to catch Norbs in the poop pan–well– let’s just say my voyeuristic tactics causes him to have performance anxiety.
He’s walking fine and not all hunched up like he has to poop, and he’s no longer lethargic. He has a very healthy appetite, seems to look better, and he’s gained some weight. Usually Chuck appears when he’s constipated (that’s why I didn’t know what was wrong with him, because he was so mellow)–and so far, no visits from Chuck, he’s also farting.
Of course, I could exile him to another room, but his mournful cry for his mama melts my heart.
In the meantime, I will listen for the cat door. It swings faster when he goes through. Due to the fact that the others are fat, the door swinging isn’t as fast as they maneuver their bodies through it. Perhaps, he will have his back turned to me, and I will know for sure which poop pile is his.
ooo! Gotta go, I heard the cat door swing.