Another cat story

Our current pet is our third cat, and we think she is about 11 years old--perhaps born in 1999. She had been homeless, declawed and spayed and was turned in at Cat Welfare Association. Her past on the mean streets of Columbus gave her reason to have eating issues. Poor thing. For years she would attack our garbage disposal even after a full meal. You didn't dare leave any food out. Our second cat was our loveliest--a part lynxpoint Siamese--purchased from a pet store. We thought she just had an odd personality--chewing up the underside of the furniture and racing toward water whenever she heard it running--and smart--could open the bathroom door by turning the knob with her paws. But in fact, she had bad kidneys, and died when she was four. Mystery, our first cat (1976), was our lover with sensitive ears. In those days I had an electric typewriter and when she heard it from another room she would race to me and leap into my lap and try everything to get me to turn it off. I think she saw it as competition for my affection. If I raised my voice, she would put her paw over my mouth--and if that didn't work, would nip me.

All this is to say you don't need to be a vet to see that pets are born with their personality and quirks (just like people) and can also learn bad habits (just like people). You see things the vet doesn't see.

Around the time we returned home from Lakeside last September our cat began a hacking cough and started to sneeze. I suspected she was back to her old tricks of eating inappropriate items, like twisty ties and plastic plants. I figured it would end up in the litter box. The cough would come and go. I also noticed she no longer spit up hairballs. Probably age, I thought. When I could no longer tolerate being sprayed with her sneezing every time she came near, I finally took her to the vet 2 weeks ago. Of course, she didn't display any of these symptoms for the doctor. She just did her terrorized "help me, help me, they're going to kill me" routine. The vet recommended an x-ray, because if she had a tumor, the medication she was about to prescribe wouldn't make any difference, and I knew what that meant. The x-rays were clear. Well, the antibiotic had to be compounded and the faxed order went astray (she probably had a virus, but had developed an infection the vet speculated, a virus gone dormant that she came with in 1999). So she didn't really get that until a week ago, plus some ear stuff and a nutritional supplement. All this came to over $300, but we love her, and if it's not terminal and will make her more comfortable, I can handle that.

I had vacuuming on my Monday to-do list, so Thursday I got around to it. Under the dining room table was a big pile of dried yuk. Lots of patterns in that rug, so it just blended in. I should have inspected it, but didn't, but as the quiet Panasonic ran over it I realized it was a piece of clear plastic encased in a lot of hair.

We haven't heard her cough or sneeze in a few days. Maybe it's the medication, or may it's my first guess. Or prayer--my women's group prayed for her Monday and Kendra's horse and Sharon's cat.