This morning, Bea is sitting with me in my newly-cleaned-off office chair - which until yesterday was laden with about a month’s worth of flyers and crap that I’d collected from various and sundry trade shows. She’s murping (meow-purring) at me in feline sentences - none of which I can decipher with my backward human brain. I just say ‘yes’, ‘you don’t say?’ and ‘well that’s a ripper!’ - to which she happily murps back.
The cats have been on my mind lately - Nick’s latest check-up sucked out loud, because his creatinine levels are through the roof again. He has four times the amount of waste going through his body than is normal due to his failing kidneys. You could not tell by looking at him, though.
He is sleek and shiny, bright-eyed and actually up two pounds from the last visit. So we watch, and wait and hydrate him with sub-cutaneous lactated ringers every other day. And enjoy snuggling with him while we can.
Hobbes has had drippy-eye syndrome. Started with his left eye. Medicated that one, and it moved to the right…the vet thinks that his chronic eye problem is due to his respiratory problems as a kitten. She explained that it’s kind of like having chicken pox when you’re young, and being susceptible to cold sores in adulthood.
Hobbes’ 'cold sores' are mucusy, pustulescent drops that fall inexorably from his gold-green eyes. Yum. Anyhow, luckily he’s a good piller, unlike 99 per cent of the feline population. Gotta say I’m actually gaining muscle mass in my biceps from gripping the 22-pound behemoth that is Hobbes while Rob pops the meds deep into his throat.
Lily is hanging in there - three teeth in her whole head - but an appetite that would choke a horse. She’s been at the edge of the dark abyss more than once. I think that she’s just not wanted beyond this mortal realm, because she keeps stepping back - all seven pounds of tabbie terror.
She wanders through the house like she owns it (which, in her mind, she does) and loves spending time in her cat condo - where she’s outside, but protected from nasty ferals, Hobbes, humans and other irritants.
Finally, Bea - who is the healthiest of the lot. Our murping maven who loves to ‘lump’ under our bedspread and cuddle on Rob’s lap. It’s wild to think she nearly wasn’t part of anyone’s family since she was on the hit list at the shelter when we rescued her eight years ago.
Then, she was a cowering, quivering fraidy cat who jumped at her own shadow. Okay, she’s still pretty jittery, but she rarely cowers or quivers, and she’s a little butterball of love who expresses her undying affection by drooling and kneading human arms and legs.
The farmette felines are doing okay, all in all. And that’s just fine with me.