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I stated in my last post that our beloved cat, Cookie, is missing several teeth. In fact, a few years ago we had them extracted (see 1/27/07 post). Our wallets are still smarting. Since our cats have been outdoor cats, I was unaware how poorly Cookie’s food was digesting, or should I say NOT digesting. Since keeping her indoors, I had been cleaning up episodes of cat nausea twice a day. I was concerned, not to mentioned grossed out. Fortunately, our vet is not sheepish about charging the typical rate for full feline exams, which included x-rays that showed nothing. I have often been tempted to ask, “since there’s nothing there, can I get my money back?” This works well, I suppose, if you buy a toy that doesn’t work, but It doesn’t quite carry over into the world of medicine. I walked out with empty pockets, yet no definitve answer as to why Cookie was unable to digest her food. Before her appointment that day, I had braced myself for the possibility that we might not bring this sweet affectionate cat home again, but was happy to learn after her exam that she was stuck with us for a little longer. Since Cookie tends to swallow her food whole after losing those teeth, the only advice the vet had for me was to soak her food with some water so she could chew it easily, which might help her digest it. He was right, but the deed is almost as nasty as, well…the alternative I’d been living with. Have you ever seen a bowl of cat food that was left out in the rain? That’s exactly what was on the menu for poor Cookie. Surprisingly, she took it well. I, on the other hand, looked at the soaked concoction of mush I WILLINGLY created and thought, “I can’t in good conscience serve this up to her.” But serve I did. There’s NO WAY it tastes nearly as good wet as it does dry, but she manages to clean her bowl without complaint. On a side note to my kids, WATCH AND LEARN! The biggest challenge (as if you didn’t know this was coming) was Mitzy. Oh, she kept her food down fine. The problem is, she had no trouble keeping Cookie’s food down either. Picture the scene: Cookie is staring at me with starving eyes, looking pathetic with her bony, undernourished frame. I quickly scoop some food into her dish and pour water over it. Then I set it up where she can’t get to it until it’s soaked through fifteen minutes later. In the meantime I turn my attention to getting my nine-year-old out the door for school--a task for which all moms should earn a medal, I might add. Once he’s the bus driver’s problem I turn back to the bowl I prepared for Cookie--to find Mitzy has slunk over and consumed it completely (envision more than mild irritation here. Trust me--you won’t overdo it). Now I have to start all over again, scooping, soaking, and this time hiding the bowl behind a closed bathroom door, all while Cookie follows at my ankles and stares at me like Oliver Twist. Challenge #2? Trying to keep Mitzy’s DRY food away from COOKIE. Once I realized Cookie was not going to wait patiently for her homemade paté, I had to find a suitable place to keep Mitzy’s bowl where she alone could get to it. Thankfully, because she’s a younger cat, she still has some serious spring in her step and can easily leap to a high, deep windowsill we have in our finished basement--something Cookie can’t reach. So now her dish has a permanent spot there. It looks lovely, really, nestled in between all my tasteful décor…really. Okay, I hate it there, but I’m desperate. I’m waging a war against soiled carpets and mush under my feet. Disgusted yet? Now you know how I feel. Anyone hungry for a snack?... I have the technique down to a science now. The first thing I do after dragging son #1, kicking and screaming, out of bed, is go straight to the laundry room to prepare Cookie’s breakfast, which I then shut up in the bathroom until it’s ready. I also scoop some food into Mitzy’s bowl and place it in the high windowsill. Then I prepare human breakfasts for a while before returning downstairs to give Cookie her bowl, therby quelling her “stare of guilt.” The funny thing is, even though Cookie knows she has delayed gratification coming, she never ceases to act shocked that I do not serve up her food the minute it is scooped into the bowl. And I’ve learned never to mistake her silence for patience. Just the other evening Ryan and I sat in our family room and watched in shock as our dear geriatric cat, out of nowhere, decided to try an impulsive leap to the high ledge herself. She fell short, of course, but just barely, putting up a good fight. I think there are a few claw marks going down the wall where she clung for dear life, watching that coveted meal slip further and further from view. At least she didn’t hurt anything but her pride, which doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to be repaired.
Stay tuned for Episode Three in the cat trilogy, which I’m just itchin’ to write (painful pun intended). |
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Posted by Anonymous
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