Holly

We had to have Holly put to sleep on Friday.

I’m really, really sad about it, but I think it was the right decision.  I basically had two options – sedate and x-ray again to see how much fluid had cleared off her lungs, and then see what was going on with tumours, or to euthanase.  As she hadn’t got much better (if at all) on the medication in the past week, I decided it wasn’t fair to put her through more tests, and sedation and medication, when the best we could really hope for would be more drugs to extend her life a little bit.  So I decided to say goodbye to her.  And that has to be the hardest, most grown-up decision I’ve ever had to make.  Huge thanks to my wonderful, wonderful vet for being totally honest with me, giving me all my options, and helping me make that decision without trying to push me one way or another.  Thank you.

The end was so quick – far faster than I’d expected, and very peaceful and painless for Hol.  She just fell into a deep sleep, and now I’m sure she’s in kitty heaven – sunbathing, eating prawns and cheese sauce, and chasing birds.

Holly was about 16-17 years old, which isn’t bad going at all.  I’ll miss her so much because she was so easy going, so loving and friendly, so good with Evie – just generally wonderful.  She loved boxes and sitting on bits of paper – I remember her trying to cram her rather big bum onto a tiny till receipt once, and also she tried to sit in the shoe box from Evie’s first shoes – never going to happen!!  We’ve been through so many rough times together, and she was my constant.  She would always be there when I got home from work. Would always want strokes and loves, and would sleep on my bed at night.  I’ll miss her so much, but at least now she’s not in pain or struggling any more.

Emergency vet visit

Had to take Holly cat to the energency vet today. She’s lost a LOT of weight over the last month or so, and I was going to take her to our vet tomorrow, but then she was sick and started coughing blood (according to DH). She felt really rattly so I took her down. The vet didn’t seem very optimistic. Her said her kidneys were small, and she had a painful lump in her stomach. He gave me various options, and in the end we opted for some blood tests which they did there and then. They came out better than expected – no evidence of dehydration or kidney failure, possibly an infection. So she’s had injections of painkillers, antibiotics and anti sickness drugs, and she’ll have to go to our vet tomorrow, and probably have a scan. then they’ll decide whether this lump is a blockage (probably not) or a tumour (much more likely) and whether or not it can be removed.

She’s been really off her food, so I’ve bought a variety of stuff to try to tempt her – but when you have more than one cat, it’s difficult to work out who is eating what!

I’ve got my fingers crossed for tomorrow, but I’m also being realistic, and thinking that she probably won’t be with us for very much longer.
I’ll be devastated when that time comes. She’s about 17 years old, and I’ve had her for 16 of those. She’s seem me through some really bad times, and I can’t imagine the house without her. But I’ll worry about that when the time comes.

BBC is gone

I’ve held off posting this for ages, because I was hoping that the situation would change. But I know it won’t.

BBC first went AWOL about 3 weeks ago. After a week of searching we found him at the farm at the top of the hill where he catches rabbits. Newt brought him home (with a bit of a fight), and all seemed well for a week, then he went off again. We brought him back, and kept him indoors for 24 hours, but as soon as we let him out, he was off again. And this time he hasn’t come back.

We’ve had various conversations with the people at the farm. They started feeding him, because they thought he was thin, and there’s a lovely warm barn with hay bales for him, and apparently another barn with a heater in winter. Add that to the fact that there are people around to stroke him whenever he wants, yet it’s big enough that he can hide if he’s not feeling sociable. And then there’s the field. With all the rabbits. And all the other surrounding fields. And no doubt countless mice, rats and other small mammals to chase. It’s a kitty paradise up there, and frankly, having thought about it, I’m surprised he stayed with us for as long as he did!

I’m not happy to lose my Boo. I’m devastated, actually. But I’m trying to come to terms with it in the knowledge that he’s happy. He knows where we are, he can find his way back, so if it changes up there, he can always come back to us. And I guess that as long as he’s happy, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t keep him as an indoor cat – he’d hate that, and after so much freedom – as a stray, and now this – it would just be cruel. So, he’s made his choice. And we just have to live with it. At least he’s not so far away, and I can always go for a walk that way and see if I see him. And at least we won’t have the bunny carnage next spring.

So today I’ve changed all the ID chip and vet details into the new owners name. I just hope they love him half as much as we did – and still do. So, no more stories about BBC and his ratting, or rabbiting or vet visits. But I still have his photos – and there’s a link here. Please take a minute to look at a couple of them, and remember my Big Black Cat with me.

So it really is true, you don’t own cats. They just choose to live with you for a while.

OK, I spoke too soon

Yesterday was the worst bunny carnage we’ve seen so far. Three ex-rabbits in as many hours. One lucky rabbit that got abandoned as BBC entered into a yowling competition with another cat, and made it’s escape. Finally, at 6:30am one live, squealing and very wriggly bunny that was released back to its home.

So it would seem that the bells are no longer effective. Or, they were never effective and the temporary lull in the mass slaughter was brought on by the rain. Not entirely sure what I’m going to do next. I did try ignoring him when he brought one in but that wasn’t great (I’ll spare you the gory details). One thing’s for sure though, he’s getting either locked in or out tonight, because I couldn’t sleep last night for worrying what he’d bring in and where he’d leave it!

BBC update

So here’s the photo of BBC’s leg as promised. It’s a bit blurry because he didn’t really want to have his photo taken. He was supposed to stay indoors for at least 3 days. That lasted less than 3 hours. He was also supposed to keep the dressing on for 3 days – that managed about 12 hours. He woke me up at 4am by jumping on my and purring ecstatically, clearly very pleased with himself. We phoned the vet and they said if it looks clean and it’s not bleeding, to just leave it. He then went back to the vet today as planned and he was happy to leave the dressing off, and as BBC isn’t really licking his stitches too much, he doesn’t need a big plastic collar – more good news because this means that he can still play outside.

I had a good look at his paw yesterday, and where the wound is, if it was deep (as the vet suggested it was) then I reckon he must have come fairly close to losing a toe or two!! Not that I think that would have slowed him down in the slightest. The cut is right on the edge of the paw pad, where it meets the ‘toes’, and there really isn’t much flesh or anything there at all. Still no idea how he did it – I did follow the trail of blood outside the house, but I lost it in next door’s garden. I can only assume he jumped off a wall or something into some bushes or undergrowth, and landed on someting sharp, like glass or a huge thorn. Anyway, he’s on the mend now, and that’s all that matters. I reckon he only has about 3 of his lives left now though…

Visit to the Vet

It’s that time of year where Holly and Tiswas are due their annual check-ups and boosters. I had an appointment at 3:50pm yesterday. Holly’s a friendly cat, so I managed to grab her with ease – getting her into the kitty container was less easy, but we managed. Tiswas – much less friendly. In fact, she doesn’t really like me at all. She was in the garden, and I made a grab for her, and she ran under a bush. I spent ages calling her, rustling bags, shouting ‘ham’ up the street – but she’s not a stupid cat, and there was no way she was going to put in an appearance.

So yesterday, just me and Holly went to the vet. The vet scared me by saying that Holly’s an ‘old girl’ now – she’ll be 11 in October. She’s a bit chubby, and her teeth aren’t great – but otherwise, she’s grand. And very well behaved.

So today, I have another appointment for Tiswas. But this time, I decide to use human brain power to outwit the dense moggy. I make the appointment for the morning, when she’s at her most sleepy. I give Newt strict instructions to NOT let her out of the house. So when I come downstairs, I just have to grab the sleeping cat and shove it in a box. Easy. Not so easy when said cat grows extra legs. The vet showed me a trick with the kitty container, but that obviously only works on cats with 4 legs – not 17. But at least by this time we’re locked in the kitchen, and I’m significantly bigger than the cat – so I must win. 10 minutes later – the cat has lost a lot of hair, I’ve lost a significant amount of blood, but she’s in!

So, off to the vet. Gorgeous German Shepherd in the waiting room. It was very friendly, but as I’ve said, Tiswas isn’t – so she hissed at him. A lot. Then into the consultation room. “Just pop her on the table” the vet says. But again, the extra legs come into play here. Tiswas is spread-eagled inside the container, so even when I completely invert it – she stays wedged. A bit of jiggling, and she falls out – rather unceremoniously. Then “pop her on the scales” he says. So I pick her up, and she realises that although she doesn’t like me, I’m her only chance of escape, so she attaches herself to me, with all five claws from all 17 legs. I lose more blood. And I’m wearing a white T-shirt, so it shows. Eventually I prise her off me, and onto the scales – for a nanosecond. Then she launches herself at the window in a vain bid for freedom.

This time, I’m prepared, I grab her at arms length, she yells at me, I’m trying to be nice to her because I don’t want the vet to think I’m a horrible kitty-mummy. So, we’re back on the table, and he’s trying to listen to her heart and check her over – but poor Weasel is petrified, so her heart is pounding away. We dispense with any further checks (“I’m sure she’s fine”) and move onto injections. The vet is much nicer than me – I’m of the “suck it up and don’t be a baby” camp (especially for humans, but also for cats), whereas he’s more willing to pander to them. So Tiswas gets wrapped in a nice snuggly towel, with two people clucking and purring at her, while she gets her jabs. Then, we shove her back in the container (having weighed it whilst empty) and stick her on the scales again. She only weighs 3.35kg (7lb 6oz). Which I think is teeny – most of the babies I’ve delivered weigh more than that! And it’s half the weight of BBC. So I’m going to worm her (won’t that be fun) and watch what she eats, and maybe there’ll be some special treats for her as well.

But thank goodness that’s all done for another year!

What *is* BBC doing?

BBC_jumper

Originally uploaded by LittleRach.

Recently BBC seems to have taken to ‘doing stuff’ to our clothes. I’m not certain whether he’s trying to kill them, or mate with them, but whatever it is, he’s become quite obsessive recently. He’ll take clothes that are on the floor, in the laundry basket, he’ll even open the wardrobe and get the clothes off the shelves. He then holds them in his mouth, and drags them downstairs. Once downstairs, he usually seems quite satisfied to let go of them. In the photo he’s got a navy jumper of mine (shame he didn’t pick something in a lighter colour so you could see him better).

Crazy cats

Today, the cats are absolutely bonkers. Last night BBC wanted to sleep in the exact spot where I wanted to put my legs. I moved position, and so did he. So I woke up approximately 50 times because of a stupid heavy cat on my legs. After Newt had gone to work, and I was still sleeping, Holly decided she wanted to join the party. So now two cats want to sleep exactly where I want to put my legs.

Newt left the house with the parting words:
“BBC was attacking your jumper. But I stopped him.”
I should have guessed from that statement that it was going to be a Crazy Cat Day. I think the main reason for the craziness is that we’re trying to wean them off the cat food pouches that they started on last time BBC was ill, and back onto dry food. Now, I’m not talking about cheap Morrisons, or Friskies dry food – this is high quality, expensive, premium dried food. Food that they were perfectly happy with before.

When I eventually got up, I realised that BBC was no longer on the bed. Instead he’d got hold of a pair of my jogging bottoms, had them in his mouth and was pounding away with his feet and growling. I’m still not sure whether he was trying to kill them, or mate with them!

When I came downstairs, I gave them their new food, and they all ignored me. Then Tiswas decided she wanted to go out. So I let her out. But it was snowing, so she stayed outside for all of 30 seconds while she realised that snow is cold and wet, and then came back in. Unfortunately she chose to jump on the sofa just above where BBC was – so he swatted her. She hissed, he hissed, there was more swatting, and then she decided that cold, wet snow was preferable to BBC and went out again. Then I discovered that one of the cats (I don’t know who yet (but I think it could well be Holly) has a new hobby. It’s called ‘dig all of the kitty litter out of the tray, and see how far across the kitchen floor you can spread it’. She’s very good actually. I know we only have a small kitchen, but she managed to virtually cover the entire floor using just one tray’s worth of litter. Impressive.

Then BBC decided that if he wasn’t going to get his fancy food, he’d leave us and try his luck at some of the other houses he visits (we basically have shared ownership with another couple across the road – it’s a long story). Only as he was halfway out of the door, he too realises that it’s snowing, and that snow is wet and cold. So he stops. But by this time, I’ve turned round and started to shut the door. And in the winter you have to slam our door quite hard to shut it. Especially when there’s a large cat leg in between the door and the frame. Ooooops. He seems OK though. He yelled very loudly, but when I opened the door he ran off and didn’t seem to be limping at all – just sulking a little bit.

At the moment, all seems reasonably quiet. All three cats are inside, and the fire is on, which seems to keep them quiet. I’m just not sure how long the peace and quiet will last…

Oh God! My cat just ate the pot pourri!

I went to the gym today, so that they could work out a programme for me. Apparently I’m quite flexible – which seems very odd, I don’t feel flexible at all – I think maybe it just looks that way because I’m so short. After all, it must be much easier to reach different bits of your body when none of them are all that far away, or that far off the ground! Anyway, I’ve got 45 minutes of cardio stuff – on the treadmill, cross trainer, bike and rower – not the stepper because that’s just some kind of nasty medieval torture machine for your thighs. Then various weight machines – I like doing those, I like that burning pain you get, really feels like you’re doing something good, and then oh, the relief when you stop. Although I was a bit embarrassed that although I might be flexible, I’m rather weak and weedy and can’t lift more than 10kg on one of the machines.

Then I came home to 3 shouty, and scary cats. I don’t know what’s got into them today – they wanted letting in, then letting out, then picking up, then putting down, then feeding (a lot!). Finally Holly and Tiswas decided that out was the best place to be, and things got a bit quieter. But you know when things are *too* quiet (I’m sure if you have children you’ll appreciate that. I then found BBC happily tucking into a bowl of cream and gold, vanilla flavoured pot pourri. He seemed to be selecting a bit, chewing it, and then either deciding that it was tasty and worth eating or (more likely) that it didn’t taste at all good, and so should be spat out and spread all over the carpet. So now there are sharp, yet slightly soggy bits of pine cone, twigs and leaves all around the dining room table. And one cross cat outside!

We no longer have a rat!

Ages ago, some of you may remember we had a rat in the kitchen. I thought it was a mouse – it definately wasn’t. The longer version of the story is here – BBC’s Rat Adventure.

Anyway, after that incident I called environmental health to see what I should do about it. The man on the end of the phone assured me that the best rat deterrent is a cat that catches rats. So we should be OK then.

No. A few weeks ago I started to hear the familiar scritchy-scratchy rat noises coming from the kitchen again. I called environmental health again, to ask them whether those ultra-sonic rat deterrent devices actually work. (I’m too much of a softy to put a trap down – plus Tiswas is stupid and she’d probably get caught in it!). Again, they assured me that I didn’t need an ultra-sonic thingy, and that the cat would sort it. I was a bit perturbed as to what I was supposed to do in the meantime while I was living with a rat, and the cat hadn’t got round to catching it, but the woman on the other end of the phone didn’t seem to think that was a big problem.

So, fast forward to last night when Newt is in the bath, and I’m in the bedroom. I hear a cat trotting up the stairs. Nothing unusual in that. Then I hear that telltale muffled ‘maiow’. I look round, and yes, you’ve guessed it – BBC has a very large, very live rat in his mouth. He’s clearly very pleased with himself, and clearly loves me very much, because he wants to present me with said large, live rat. I’m less keen. I scream. Newt splashes water everywhere. I demand that he gets out of the bath and deals with cat and rat. Quickly.

So Newt gets out of the bath, and wearing only a towel and armed with a dustpan and brush chases BBC downstairs. Plan A is to get BBC out of the house with the rat. BBC isn’t having any of this. He caught the rat, he wants to give it to me, and a semi-naked man with a dustpan and brush is not going to stop him!

Finally, the poor rat is deemed to be dead, and Newt manages to persuade BBC to part with the rat, scoops it up, ties it in a plastic bag, and shoves it in the bin. BBC spends the next half hour looking for the rat underneath the dining table.

I have to say, this time it was a lot more dignified than last time. But what I really want to know is why BBC always waits until Newt is in the bath to catch the rats?