CAPITAL CAT

Kitty Doesn't Feel Well

What a summer I've had -- and I don't mean that in a good way! The last six weeks, and that's not in "cat time", crawled by like it was six years. As of today, I have a rectangular bare patch on my stomach the size of a paperback novel; in the middle of that I have a five inch long scar; my left rear paw has a scab on it that I'm not allowed to wash; all night and much of the day I have to wear a big plastic ring around my neck - I look like I'm wearing a satellite dish!! If I didn't have my CATTITUDE, I'd probably have a complex by now. How did all this happen, you ask? Let's go back to the middle of July.

That's when I began feeling a little ill. I would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like my tummy was tied up in knots, and going to the kitty litter was not pretty. The worried look on my female human's face didn't help matters. She worries at the best of times, but I could tell my situation had ratcheted up the concern. After a few days of this, I was quietly lying on my stomach, feet curled up under me in my "relieve the pressure" crouch, when out of the blue she swooped me up and slipped me into the claustrophobic contraption they call a carrier. To my horror we went to the VET!, where hiding behind sweet talk and smiling faces, they poked, prodded and stabbed every inch of my body. Usually, after those annoying activities I am allowed to dart into my carrier to await the ride home. Not this time. One of the doctors picked me up and whisked me through another door. The wide-eyed painful look on my human that I glimpsed just beforE the door closed, told me this time, things were different.

Next thing I remember is waking up and feeling wonky, with my belly shaved and a strange itchy feeling along the red mark in the middle of it. Things seemed to be dancing around me, and when I stood up I tottered over as I tried to walk. To top it all off my left rear leg wouldn't hold me up. When I put weight on it, the paw bent under and didn't have enough strength. So I limped. You can imagine how painful and mortifying this has all been. After I came home, the humans tried me on some new food and a nasty tasting medication. I made short work of that, bringing it back up almost as soon as it went down. That regimen stopped, except for a pill I had to take for two weeks to prevent infections.

Which brings me to my left rear paw. It got infected and naturally I started to wash it. Well, apparently that wasn't helpful. The fur between two toes disappeared. The toes turned red and one of them scabbed over. Hence, the satellite dish thing. It does stop me from licking the paw, but I walk like a cow with it on. And sleeping is way uncomfortable. 

This whole sick thing has put a real damper on my cat-ability. With a bum leg I can't jump as well as I used to, and worst of all, chasing my room-cats has been greatly curtailed. And my humans are, like, stalking me, following me everywhere to, as they say, "keep an eye on him." 

Yes, the summer has been trying, but I feel like I'm on the road to recovery - the leg is a little better each day and I'm slowly growing fur on that big hole on my tummy. All I know is next time the humans try to put me in that contraption they carry me to the vet in, they had better be prepared for a fight.

I'll keep you posted on progress.

How I Found My Home

As a baby kitten I lived in a shelter, in a cage with the bars too close together for even a tiny furball like me to squeeze through. My cage was identical to the dozens and dozens stacked on top of each other, row upon row. In each was one kitten. I could see into a few across from me...there was a pointy-eared Siamese with a voice that shrieked each time a human walked by... next to that was a one with long hair in patches of black, brown and white, with one patch on its nose that looked like a chocolate chip just out of reach of her tongue. On the other side of the Siamese was a smokey grey  Persian with its nose pushed flat between its mouth and eyes. It sat up a lot, turning its head left and right each time it heard a noise. At night when the room was completely dark, sometimes I would lie awake and all I could hear was a chorus of soft breathing, with the occasional minor key squeak echoing in the darkness.

Two events would regularly raise the level of cries. The first when food was served. I knew when this was happening because as soon as the aroma hit my nose, my ears would start twitching and I could feel the meows rise in my throat and then escape past my little pink tongue. The sound of kitten cries would fill the room and then quiet down row by row as the humans ladled the tasty crunchies into each of our bowls.

The other event would be when some other humans came through the room and chose kitties to take home. Each time someone would walk into our room, I sat up, alert and watchful. These humans normally came in pairs and it was the female who became my target. She was always the one whose eyes misted over, cheeks glowed and a tiny sound, like a kitten's squeak, popped from her lips.

I wasted no time learning how to melt the heart of a female human. One day I heard voices just outside our chamber. The door opened and countless pairs of ears and tiny voices perked up. Mewing in my most pathetic voice, which by the way was fairly well developed considering I would fit easily in the pocket of a raincoat, I sought to nab the heart of the female to get her and her partner to peek inside my cage as they walked past.

I turned on my full act. Raising the level and frequency of my cries, I concentrated on becoming the sole focus of the female's attention. Curling my paws around the bars of my cage, I began to swat as if at a fly. The female cried out, "Oh, isn't that the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

I paused. With a magnetic stare, I locked in on her blue eyes. I tilted my head just a touch and then I sealed the deal. I flopped over on my side and stuck my forepaws through the bars. As she approached I rolled on my back, keeping my liquid green eyes on her all the time, repeating my squeaky meows to draw her nearer. She moved to the cage to reach out for me.

Her hand touched my paw. I whipped it playfully back and forth, careful to graze her fingertips each time. She melted. The tear in her eye said it all. At that moment I had my ticket out of there. As she gathered me in her arms, I emitted a series of purrs that seemed to vibrate the whole building.

There are hundreds of shelter kittens and cats waiting for a loving home. I have it on good authority that the shelters in the DC area are wonderful caretakers and want all of these shelters animals to find good homes. A few of the rescue agencies are The Washington Humane Society, Washington Animal Rescue League, Montgomery County Maryland Humane Society, Partnership in Animal Welfare and Northern Virginia Animal Rescue League. Look at these two Web sites also for more shelters in the DC region ...Metropets or Lucky and Shelby.

So, kitties, go for it. Give them your most lovable stare, with eyes as big as saucers. Cry with dramatic pathos. Bat at and play with the fingers touching your cage. Your reward will be a home you can call your own.

Humans, you go for it too!! Your reward is a life of warm companionship.

To Catch a Fly

A couple of days ago, I took on a fly in a battle to the finish-as the Spanish might say "gato a mosca". Normally my day doesn't include a tussle with a fly, but as the spring weather gets nicer and my humans spend time on the deck doing something called gardening, the wildlife gets more diverse and daring. During the winter, I often come up against a spider, but they are sly creatures. A spider can dart into the tiniest crack and then while I stare in after it, the little monster stares right back with its eight eyes, content in knowing I have no chance to reach in after it. A fly is a totally different challenge.

My female human had been puttering around on the deck planting flowers. I had carefully watched her being occupied by this odd procedure which she apparently enjoys. The activity puzzles me, transferring the plants from one pot to another. Why not let them stay where they are?

She came into the house one time to fill the watering can and suddenly cried out, "I let a fly in!", to my male human apparently expecting him to do something about that. I stayed out of it, lying on the carpet letting the sun warm my furry little belly. Then the buzzing started, and the popping sound as the fly bashed itself against the window.

I couldn't resist. The fly was in constant frantic motion, whipping through the air, letting out an irritating monotone buzzing noise and frequently bouncing off windows. In fairness, I'm sure it thought that the great outdoors was within easy reach and didn't realize that an invisible barrier barred its flight to freedom. So as I watched it buzzing and bouncing, buzzing and bouncing, I prepared to make my move. The fly swooped low over my head and I pounced, missing it by a whisker. It then zipped around the corner and into the bedroom. In a flash I was there after it, but the bug darted into the bathroom. That's where my male human was, having just finished showering.

I just had time to dart into the bathroom when he whipped the door shut. I hopped onto the side of the bathtub as he grabbed a towel. Crouched in my spot, ready to launch after the fly should it dart by me again, I watched my human tense, holding the towel in both hands waiting, watching and listening for the fly. It continued to speed around the room, buzzing and bouncing off the mirrors, seemingly inexhaustibly. My human swung the towel around futilely two or three times, then the opportunity opened up. The fly had lit upon a mirror, maybe to take a breath (if that's what flies do), and my human made his move. With one final smack the stunned insect tumbled to the bottom of the tub. Before I could react and claim the prize, he picked it up and sent it swirling down the toilet.

We had prevailed with my clever maneuvering of the fly into the bathroom and his quick reflexes. A fine team effort, for which I was rewarded with a treat called "Pounce", very appropriately named don't you think?