feline fun, frolic and updates on the cats you met in Confessions of a Catholic http://www.wordpowerpublishing.com/ en-us cat blogs WordPower Publishing http://www.wordpowerpublishing.com/Confessions_of_a_Cataholic__The_BLOG.html Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:26:28 GMT During Thanksgiving week our rambunctious Keeley, the lovable goofball, had a crisis; and therefore, so did we. (It was the Thanksgiving weekend last year that Dancer had a crisis which turned out to be kidney disease, and we lost her in May of this year.) Keeley wouldn't eat. Keeley has never in his life not eaten (with the exception of one day a couple of weeks before, when he bounced right back and all seemed well), so we knew something was seriously wrong. He became lethargic and slept most of the time. We called our vet the next morning but our schedules wouldn't allow us to get him over there until Wednesday morning. I wondered if he had a bowel obstruction. I worried about him as night came and he seemed progressively more ill and unresponsive. I began to pray that he wouldn't die during the night, he seemed that ill. The other cats acted concerned but they left him alone.But an usual thing happened that evening. Digory, who is a kind of nemisis of Keeley's (and is jealous of any attention he sees Keeley get), hopped up onto the couch next to Keeley and laid down, touching Keeley's flank. Digory stayed there for a long time. I was amazed, and quite pleased. Who knows the mind of a cat? It turned out Keeley had an obstruction, all right, but not of the bowel. His urinary tract was by then entirely closed off and he was being poisoned by the waste that he couldn't get rid of. He would need surgery to open up his urethra, and then would need to stay for at least a few days, on IV fluids all the while, to get the poisons flushed out of his system and to make sure he was urinating properly after being taken off the catheter he'd be on after the surgery. It was a long three and-a-half days. On Thanksgiving the hospital was closed, though our vet came to check on him, of course. The only other "patient" as a diabetic dog. On Friday afternoon we could come and visit Keeley. We had, of course, called in the meantime, and on Thanksgiving night the vet called us with a progress report. Keeley was a bit dosy, but once he saw who we were, he purred (and purred and purred) and arches his back and rubbed our hands with his face. It wasn't rocket science to figure out he was happy to see us! He would need to stay into Saturday, but assuming all was well, we'd be able to take him home before closing on Saturday. We did, and he's gotten progressively better (clearly he was still in pain at first, and in fact was on pain medication and antibiotics for several days after coming home). An interesting thing has happened to Keeley's personality in all this. He's become inordinately more affectionate, he purrs much more easily, and he comes around for pettings and to be picked up, and nestles into my our Ed's lap or chest. That wasn't often his way in the past. (He would get over-stimulated very quickly and would very soon run away from petting or being held.) He no longer does that. It seems he knows that we and other two-legged creatures saved his life. And he is ever so grateful. http://www.wordpowerpublishing.com/Confessions_of_a_Cataholic__The_BLOG.html Tue, 03 Nov 2009 15:02:35 GMT In the book I opine that Digory,who is now 14 years old and then some, may be a "work in progress" until the day he dies. He's an affectionate and smart cat. But he's also neurotic. So when he gets uptight -- as he does when one of the four others gets too much of my or my husband's attention -- he periodically shows it by peeing in, say, the bathroom instead of one of the litter boxes. I suppose that could be said to be an appropriate place -- if only he'd use the toilet. (I actually have a kit to train cats to straddle the toilet seat when going, but it's nigh unto impossible to train five cats in one household.) Recently, we found out Digory has something to be neurotic about, though he's being a trouper about it. He wasn't eating enough, and was vomiting frequently (not the hairball kind of vomiting). It turned out he has pancreatitis. That can be quite serious, even deadly. But Digory seems to have a relatively mild case. Or at least he's making us believe that. His blood work, however, seems to confirm it. Pancreatitis may be related to inflammatory bowel disease (a subject of which I know much, having had Crohn's disease for 30 years, give or take.) The pancreas secretes disgestive juices into the intestines. At least, normally it does. A malfunctioning pancreas leaks those juices into the pancreas itself, causing inflammation and, well, digestion; only digestion of tissues that aren't supposed to be digested. Steroids like prednisolone are often used to ease the inflammation. But steroids aren't great long-term. Supplementing digestive enzymes can be very helpful, and that's what we're doing with Digory (along with what I intend to be a short course of steroids). He's also on a one-protein diet (canned). He's eating better and seems to feel better. And consequently he's acting like he does when he's his best, normal, affectionate self. We'll keep a close watch, of course, on how he does here on in. The losses of Dancer and Cassie in May and July are still all too fresh. We hope Digory, even if in his ornery incarnation, will be with us for a long time. Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:57:40 GMT onfessions of a Cataholic the BOOK is eight days away from official launch. Just yesterday I told Internet friends on a couple of lists I’m on about it - lists laden with cat lovers - and I’m gratified that pre-launch orders are coming in. That said, I’m mortified about the picture of myself on the dustjacket. But then, I’m generally mortified at seeing pictures of myself. I imagine myself to be more sophisticated than I look. But maybe that’s good for me. It certainly has a way of dashing one’s vanity, if it exists. Yesterday I had a new cat adventure. Or rather, the cats had a new cat adventure. My husband and I each left the house at the same time, though he was slightly behind me. Our front door sometimes misbehaves. It did yesterday. When I returned a few hours later, I was aghast to see it standing wide open. I wasn’t so much concerned about having been robbed as with our five cats having sauntered out into the crisp fall air to explore the neighborhood. I didn’t believe they’d permanently disappear; it just would have been annoying and time-consuming to find them and gather them back in. Well, only two were out: Caspian and Digory, the two I certianly expected to relish their freedom. But I expected Keeley to be with them, and he, instead was as he often is: lounging on a towel on my laser printer, looking out the window. He didn’t seem to realize the opportunity he was missing. Little Roo (she’s 3 1/2 years old, but is literally little, and is kittenishly playful) greeted me at the front steps. Hedwig was lounging where she normally does. She’s the newest girl on the block and a little shy, so it didn’t surprise she hadn’t ventured out. So off I went to call and hunt for Caspian and Digory. I saw Caspian almost immediately, in our fenced back yard - but I was on the outside of the fence. I went around to the gate and called him. He was quite eager to come. Then Digory appeared as well. Gathering one under each arm - no easy task; Caspian is a big cat - I hauled them back into the house. Then I sat down at my computer to get to work. Not long later I heard a cat galloping (galloping is precisely the word for it), some shuffling, then what sounded like scratching on wood (which I wasn’t crazy about; Hedwig has occasionally tried to hone her claws on the woodwork). I jumped up to see what was going on. Keeley was pawing at the dining room cabinet, head down. When he lifted his head he had a chipmunk clenched between his teeth. I could only think that the chipmunk came in the open door. Or possibly was brought in; maybe even by Keeley (who then may have dropped it and lost interest when it hid under the cabinet). I herded him and his prize toward the front door. He dropped it once on the way, but retrieved it, and the chipmunk - still very much alive - didn’t have time or inclination to run (they often play dead in such circumstances). When we were in front of the door I managed to grab Keeley by the scruff of the neck and make him let go of his prey. I opened the door; the chipmunk ran out. Before I could react, Roo (who had been excitedly watching in the background) ran right after it. The chipmunk jumped into the adjacent flower bed, into the ground cover of Bishop’s Cap, which is like a forest to such a small animal: it’s some eight or 10 inches high. Roo jumped in after the chipmunk but couldn’t see it immediately, and thus couldn’t catch it. And I was there to deter her. I grabbed her, picked her up, brought her in and closed the door. She was not happy. Nor was Keeley. But I’ve never known either of them to hold a grudge. (Digory, however, is another story in the “grudge” department.) It’s been many years since any cat of ours has had an encounter with a chipmunk, and I’m glad of it. The chipmunk is almost always the loser. There was a chipmunk once, though, that outsmarted our first two cats, Marple and Delta. But that’s another story (and one I tell in Confessions of a Cataholic. I guess you’ll just have to read the book! C. Cataholic Confessor http://www.wordpowerpublishing.com/index.html Fri, 16 Oct 2009 11:38:16 GMT Once you get to know Roo (aka "Buckaroo," "Kangabuckaroo," Roo-lu," etc.), in the Confessions you'll find out what a feisty, smart, quirky and just plain interesting cat she is. She is the only cat we ever took in as a stray, and what a story that was! (it's in the book; I won't digress to go into it here). So she did know how to hunt once upon a time. However, since she was emaciated when she came to our door, having decided she wanted to live here, she was apparently not very good at hunting. The other thing you need to know about Roo (who is now about 3 1/2) is that she loves to play in the empty bathtub. She firmly believes that I am unable to go to the bathroom alone, and when she accompanies me, she hops into the bathtub and waits expectantly for me to dig a plastic ring out of one of my jeans pockets (the kind of ring that seals vitamin bottles) and toss it up against the tiled wall so that she can dive after it. She chirps and sqeals in delight, grasps her plastic prey between he teeth, hops out of the tub and drops it at my feet to start the game again. And again. And again. She seldom plays in the bathtub unless I'm in the room. But last Saturday night she was playing in the bathtub. I had heard her vocalize her repertoire of "hunt" sounds that she uses when she's hot on the trail of one of her rings, and when she's playing hockey with it, solo. So I didn't give it a thought. That's Roo. But when I walked down the hall to the bathroom and switched on the light, there she was, in the tub, staring intently downward, without so much as a head turn in my direction as I arrived. That's rare. She's a highly "interactive" cat, but she wasn't interested in our usual little "handball" game just then. I looked again, carefully, to see what might be so intriguing to her. There in the bottom of the bathtub was a stubby, gray-black, short-tailed mouse (the thought immediately occurred to me that Roo might have shortened its tail for it, but I saw not evidence of a stray tail! A different kind of cat toy The mouse was very much alive, and just then let out a frightened -- or no doubt terrified -- squeak, mouse language, I'm sure, for screaming at the top of one's voice. I had no desire to see Roo kill the poor creature, and Roo didn't seem about to do that, either. She was too busy having fun with it, nudging it with left front paw, then right, then left again. I grabbed Roo, quickly walked out the door and shut it behind us. (I didn't figure the mouse could get out of the tub. It seemed exhausted, though likely not hurt (except possibly for its unfortunate tail), and the tub sides were high and slippery. Roo was incensed (INCENSED!) that I took her away from this actual prey -- prey which was emitting a peculiar odor, I might add; and odor unpleasant to me but no doubt elixir to Roo. When I set her down she instantly turned around to face the door and began to yowl and meow and INSIST that I let her back in. Her pleadings did not move me. And when I returned with a large plastic bottle with a lid to slide the mouse in and transport it outside, she renewed her insistence. I managed to get back into the bathroom without her coming in with me (but it wasn't easy). And I did indeed gently catch the mouse and bring it outside. In the meantime I began wondering where it came from. We've lived in this house nearly five years and currently have five cats. We've never yet had a mouse in the house. I suspect it came from the garage (where I'd seen evidence that it or a chipmunk had been eating my stored birdseed). But I don't know how Roo found it. However that happened, she must have carried it all the way across the house from the garage to the bathroom and dumped it in the bathtub -- her personal playground! Her vocalizing, which my husband and I had ignored, had said for real, this one time, "Hey, look! I caught something! I caught something!" While we've cut back on plastic usage a great deal, in this case ... I would have preferred plastic. (And no, I didn't take a picture.) C. Cataholic Confessor http://www.wordpowerpublishing.com/index.html Thu, 15 Oct 2009 11:37:31 GMT On October 31 the Confessions will be released. I'm hoping that readers who get to know the 10 cats about whom (non-cataholics would say "which") the book was written will stop by here often. I'll always be happy to hear your comments about the book (or anything related to cats and to this site). You'll get regular updates on the five current cats you'll meet in the book, and I hope you'll tell us all a funny or poignant story you may have about your own cats)or cats you know. I'll be adding to this regularly and hoping it will be pleasantly interactive. C.Cataholic Confessor (aka Marian Van Til)