A Tail of Two Cats (And A Dog and another Cat...)

I currently have two cats, which is ironic, considering I'm more of a dog person. Most people, if they like dogs and cats, tend to like one species a little more than the other. I've always been more of a dog person, but that's beside the point: I now share my house with two cats.

Actually, it's not completely my fault that the two of them live here. Oh, yes, I know, I didn't have to allow either one into my house. But there are times when life happens. What was it John Lennon said? "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Which is what happened here.

I was having a bad year. It hadn't actually been a January-through-December-bad-year, more like June-through-whenever kind of bad year. It started when our cocker spaniel died in June, 2006. Osha was 16 years old, and we knew it was just a matter of time. She's started losing her hearing, her vision was getting bad, and in the last few weeks, she seemed to have the dog equivalent of Alzheimer's.

One afternoon, maybe a week before she died, I'd let her out in our fenced-in back yard and, somehow, she'd managed to slip out in a break in the fence that she'd never been able to get through in her middle age. When I saw her wandering next to the road, I ran out and scooped her up. She gave me a happy-aging-puppy look that seemed to say, Hi! I can't quite place you, but you do look familiar! Maybe you have a nice treat for me? I knew...



Osha

A week later, the evening of June 4, she had trouble getting up and coming to the bedroom. My son, J., was on the computer, and planned to be up for a while.

"If she needs help, let me know," I told him.

"Sure thing," he answered.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, he knocked on the door, holding Osha. She'd tried crawling out of the living room toward the hallway. I took the old gal and placed her on her nest of blankets, petting her once-silky fur.

But no matter what, she couldn't get comfortable. Paul got up and fixed a pot of coffee and we sat up with Osha. We knew that if she didn't go that night, we'd have to do the hard thing and take her to the vet's in the morning. She was that far gone. Sixteen is a very old cocker spaniel.

Finally, at 4:00, when it was obvious she couldn't get comfortable, I picked her up and sat on the front porch while cradling her. She'd always loved sitting on the porch, sniffing the air, watching the neighborhood. She howled her wimpy little cocker spaniel howl, something she hadn't done in probably several years, then settled down. I told her what a good girl she was, that it was okay for her to go.

When I brought her back inside around 4:30, she seemed ready to sleep. Sometime between then and 6:00, she passed over the Rainbow Bridge, her friend and buddy, our cat, E. B. White, keeping watch.

That was a hard one. Even Paul - a former Marine! - was a little teary-eyed.

Then came October. Paul was sick and had to be rushed by ambulance to the hospital. At one point, he seemed to be getting better. But after almost a week, he passed away. I won't go over the details; suffice it to say that I covered that in another blog...



Paul

The following June, E. B. White died. She'd seemed to be going downhill after Osha and Paul died. And on Father's Day of 2007 - June 17 - she, too, died. After wrapping her up in an old towel so that I could take her to be cremated the next day, I called to wish my dad a happy Father's Day. Unfortunately, it was obvious he couldn't come to the phone. Two years earlier, he and my step-mom had come to visit to let me know Dad had cancer and was terminal. He died two weeks later. My brother, too, had gone several months earlier.



E. B. White



Greg



Dad and step-mom, Phyllis

I really wasn't in the mood for any more pets. Cats and dogs tend to have a shorter life-span than people, which means that there's a good chance you'll have to go through the pain of their deaths. I was soooo over death and dying. Whether the loved one was a person or a pet, it hurt. True, some deaths hurt more than others, but it still hurts. I was not going through that again!

About a month before E. B. died, though, I had called my friend Kevin up. Kevin, you might recall from previous posts, drives cab. I needed a ride, so I usually call Kev.

On this particular trip, Kevin informed me that his friend Billie, a nice gal who'd gone through a rough patch with her sense of humor intact, had a cat who'd just had a litter of kittens. "All of them have been claimed for adoption when they're old enough, except for one," Kev informed me. "That one is yours'. He's your karma." I was sure he meant that I was destined to have this cat, but it came out as Karma.

"No way I'm taking that kitten," I informed Kev. "I don't need another cat."

"Yes, you do," he insisted.

"Whatever." I let the subject drop, figuring that someone else would come along and decide that they had to have that kitten.

But nooooo. Kevin kept giving me periodic updates on my kitten. The first couple of weeks, I kept telling him no. Then I got to the smirking stage; no way is he giving me that darn kitten!

"But Karma's so cute!" he gush, as I smirked away.

Sometime between E. B.'s death and my dad's death, two weeks later, I was on the phone with my son-in-law, B. (M.H., who I'd wanted to talk to, had gone to work.) Suddenly, a car honked in the driveway. I looked outside.

Kevin.

"Hold on," I told B. "Someone's here."

I opened the door as Kev opened the trunk of his cab. "I got your cat!" he called.

"Even you wouldn't keep a kitten in the trunk of your cab!" I responded. He gave me a look.

"No, Billie has Karma. I just have all the cat stuff so you can't give him back!"

It was then that I noticed Billie in the front seat. She opened the window and handed out a tiny black furball. Karma's eyes were wide and he opened his mouth to let out a yowly mew. I took him as Kev put litter box, cat litter, and a six-pack of canned cat food on the front porch before beating a hasty retreat to the cab.



Karma Kitty, first week at home

"Enjoy!" he called as he jumped into the cab, threw it in reverse and left!

I looked at this tiny little bundle. "What are we going to do?" I asked. He leaned into me, then looked up and bit the end of my nose.

I got him and the stuff into the house and watched as he sniffed the carpet. E.B.'s scent was still there. "Yes, Karma," I told him. "This is a cat house." Meaning that we'd recently had a cat.

At this point, I heard laughter. It sounded kind-of far away, but somehow close. The phone!

Grabbing the phone, I asked, "Are you still there?" B. was. He'd heard the cat house remark.

A month later, we adopted Drexie from our vets' office (Pinellas Animal Hospital). I figured a second cat would keep Karma company. After a day or two of getting acquainted, during which time Karma kept trying to get rid of the intruder, until she finally fought back and let him know I'm staying, they've become friends and perfect foils for one another.



Karma Kitty, adult



Drexie Calabash

I guess I'll keep 'em.

Karma

So Karma's been acting a little off the past few days. In this case, I'm not talking about the cosmic boomerang effect, where "you reap what you sow." Karma Kitty is our five-year-old black cat. He thinks of himself as a panther masquerading as a cat; it's the whole cattitude thing.

But he hasn't been acting quite himself the past few days. I tried to pinpoint it exactly, and kept hoping that it was my neuroses tip-toeing in through the front door. Karma would run full-tilt through the house mid-morning, playing a rousing game of banking-off-the-walls-and-skid-down-the-halls-sideways-tag with his sister Drexie. They love the game, and have been known to include a sideways sweep of the dining room table when they're in full play mode.

But by noon, he wouldn't want to play. Or drink. He'd eat a little of the crunchy food, look at the litter box, then slink off to sleep where he'd be undisturbed. He also looked like he wasn't feeling up to snuff.

So this morning, I called the vet's office. We've been taking pets to the same veterinarians for a little over twenty years. It's been the same two male vets since we started going there and, over the years, an occasional new vet. I can't say enough good about Pinellas Animal Hospital.

Anyway, I knew I'd have to see about paying them next month, but Karmie was sick now. The crazy jabbering monkey keeping up a neurotic monologue in the back of my mind kept telling me, "Nope, doesn't matter how long you've taken pets there, they'll want money now...You might as well hand the cats over and let someone else have them, someone who's rich." Stupid jabbering monkey neurosis, getting me scared...

But when I called and explained what was going on, you know what they said? "Bring him on in. We'll work something out. We know you're not going anywhere." What a relief!

So, I called someone to bring us to the vet's and arranged for someone else to pick us up for the ride home. And then the fun began.

The pet carrier had been recently cleaned and a nice soft bath towel had been placed inside for Karma to lie on before being brought into the living room with the door open. Sometimes, if I do this a little while before we have to go, Karm will wander in and act like it's his cave. Other times, he realizes that he's going for a trip to the vet's office.

This time, it was the latter...and he was having none of it. It took three of us to corral him and get him into the darn thing. You've heard "It's not the size of the cat in the fight, but the size of the fight in the cat"? He may be a 12-pound-and-change cat, but the fight says panther. By the time we got him in there, we needed the box of bandaids.

Within a few minutes of arriving at the vet's, we were in ushered to an exam room. The new tech asked what was going on, then went to pull Karma out of his carrier.

"You might want to grab some gloves," I warned her. Karma's low-throated yowl and hiss reinforced my warning. After gloving up with elbow-length gloves and taking Karm out, the tech weighed Karm, then had the vet come in. Within minutes, Karma, a.k.a. the Great Hissing Yowler, was in the back room for a few tests, after which, he was deposited back with us while the vet awaited the results.

Karm dove for the carrier, which I'd had the foresight to close. No getting in there until we were ready to leave! He literally ran circles around the carrier, occasionally slapping it with a front paw, trying to find an opening, to no avail. So, the G.H.Y. stalked around the room, yowling and hissing his great displeasure, taking an occasional lunge and swipe at arms, legs, whatever was available.

Finally, at one point, he jumped on top of the pet carrier, and promptly peed. The stuff dripped through to the inside of the carrier. I glanced down, then did a double-take: sure enough, when he jumped off the carrier, I saw that there was blood in his urine...and I freaked! Part of me wanted to take the bath towels we had brought from home and wipe off the carrier, but I knew I wanted the vet to see what had happened.

"Why don't they hurry?" I muttered. "What's taking them so long?" M. kept telling me it was going to be alright, but I wasn't buying it.

Finally, the tech came back in. "It'll just be a few more minutes," she said.

But then I pointed to the bloody mess in the carrier. "He just did that. I'm really worried!"

"I don't blame you," she said. "I'll bring this in the back room and show Dr. G. and then clean it up for you."

After an what seemed like an eternity, I was told that the G.H.Y. had cystitis, which apparently is common in cats, especially as they age, especially if they're male. And the bloodly mess apparently is not unheard of.

After loading him up on fluids, antibiotics and a few other meds, they handed me one very indignant cat and a bag of canned cat food.

"He'll need to be on this for a while," Dr. G. told me.

"How long?" I asked. "Forever?"

"Why don't we play it by ear," he said.

Then, making plans to call on Monday and bring him back next week, I spoke with one of the front office people, a woman who is always asking after "the kitties." "Here's the bill, and when you come in next time, just bring in a couple of checks, with the date that you want us to deposit each in the memo line. You know we'll work with you!"

We're home now, Karma loves his new food, used the litter box, and is now resting on the couch.

I might take a little longer to recouperate...