A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities~4

Posted on January 17, 2014January 17, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Little Joe was really getting up in years. Persians have a shorter lifespan than many other breeds, probably because of their “smooshed” in noses. In any case he was starting to growl and hiss at his formerly good buddy, Rocky. Rocky would try to play and Little Joe would try to get away and head for the hills. Plus Rocky was coming into his prime and turning into a good sized cat!

I felt bad for Little Joe. I figured he deserved some peace in his old age. While visiting friend who had 9 cats I learned she was being forced to re-home all but 3. The city she lived in had a pet restriction to try to prevent animal hoarding..no more than 3 cats in any home. She was desperate.

While we talked one of her 9 cats kept rubbing around my legs. When I didn’t give it any attention it jumped right into my lap and then climbed up my chest to get right in my face. Most cats don’t like to stare but this one locked his bright green eyes on mine as if to say, I’m yours. His purr was so powerful it vibrated his whole body. In that moment of weakness I told her if she was stuck, I’d take him. His name was Smokey.

Now if you have ever tried to find a home for a cat you know how hard it is. So not surprisingly about 2 weeks later I got a call. Would I still take Smokey? Could I come pick him up? By now I’d had second thoughts but I put myself in her shoes and kept my promise. Smokey came to live with Little Joe, Rocky and me. We were now a 3 cat household… a 3 cat- all male cat – household.

All the boys were neutered so that was a good thing. Little Joe and Rocky had all their claws. I do not believe in de-clawing. Smokey was a beautiful, gentle longhaired gray cat but somewhere along the line someone had de-clawed him.

Rocky welcomed the newcomer right away. A new playmate – but Little Joe would have nothing to do with this interloper. I tried the slow introduction, the challenge line with food, the territory swap, pheromones, everything I could think of but Little Joe hated Smokey. Fur flew often and Smokey didn’t back down just because he had a handicap.

About a year after Smokey joined us and an uneasy truce had finally been established, Little Joe began to fail. The Vet ran all kinds of tests and from December to March I lived at the vet’s office trying to find out what was wrong. Little Joe had stomach cancer. By the time it was found the tumor was so large that it filled most of the stomach cavity and Little Joe was starving to death. He had deteriorated to the point that he was too weak for surgery so the Vet recommended we release him and put him down.

Little Joe had just celebrated his 14th birthday. I held him when the vet administered the medications. There was just one small sigh and he was gone. Suffer no more, my baby! RIP.

It’s been years since I said good bye to Little Joe but I still cry when I remember those last moments. Letting go is the hardest part of being a pet guardian.

A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities~3

Posted on January 16, 2014January 16, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Once Rocky settled in life was never calm again. I still didn’t fully trust Little Joe with Rocky. Little Joe was just too big and Rocky was so tiny. But like a mosquito buzzing your head, Rocky loved to torment and torture his oversized mentor. It was my first real exposure to how different personalities can be between cats.

Little Joe was typically Persian. A couch potato, he didn’t play much, tired easily (or got bored) and was happiest just sleeping. When I took him to get pictures he was just a lump. The photographer could do anything with him and he’d put up with it. Petco used him for training for their new photographers. I got loads of discounted pictures and learned a lot from those sessions.

Rocky was the exact opposite. He was in perpetual motion and into everything. Where Little Joe couldn’t be bothered to try to escape if you locked him up, Rocky made it his mission. His paw would scoot under the door or the door knob would rattle. He’s just keep working it until he got it and came strutting out to say. I’m heeere.

Rocky is also a Pica Cat. I’d never heard of a pica cat before. Pica is a disorder characterized by an appetite for substances largely non-nutritive. In Rocky’s case it’s plastic. Not the hard plastic that bowls and toys are made of but plastic bags or the plastic wrap that comes on magazines, even packing tape plastic. Do you know how many things we use daily that are made of this soft plastic!?

I soon learned to throw those things away or put them in a drawer that he couldn’t open. The biggest scare of my life was when I heard Rocky coughing one morning.

At first I only paid a little attention thinking I’d have a mess to clean up. After all, cats throw up. They throw up hairballs and they eat too fast and throw up half digested food. Sometimes they can get sick if the food is too rich (it’s why you don’t give them table scraps) but this sounded different.

Just as I was about to go check it out Rocky staggered into the living room. He looked at me, his eyes rolled back and he fell on his side. I was frantic. On my knees by his side I thought I’d have to do kitty CPR but as I turned his little body over I saw a piece of plastic in the corner of his mouth. I grabbed it and pulled. As soon as it came out his little body gave a shudder and his sides heaved. A big breath in and out and he was back on his feet like nothing had happened.

To this day I do not know where he found the plastic to chew on. I assume he was chewing away and it covered his windpipe. If I hadn’t been right there he would have suffocated. You’d think that would have taught him a lesson but it hasn’t. I still have to be sure the house is plastic proof all the time!

A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities – Chapter 2

Posted on January 15, 2014January 15, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Rocky was named after the Rocky Balboa character.

He was a feral kitten who should have been scared of humans. The neighbor kid had found a nest of kittens and taken the “orange” kitten to play with him. When he went to return him, the mama cat had moved the rest of her litter.

When I found the kid he was using the kitten as a literal “fur ball” throwing the kitten in the air and trying to catch him when he came back down. When I came yelling and screeching the kid threw the kitten in a grocery cart, bounced the cart a few times to see the kitten juggle around and then took off running. The kitten , who would become “Rocky” was so tiny that he fell through the wire bottom of the cart.

I thought oh oh, he’ll head for the woods now but instead he picked himself up, shook his head and with that little kitten waddle, made a bee line for me.

The kitten’s eyes were runny and swollen, obviously infected and who knew if he had injuries from his treatment by the kid. At the vet’s office they refused to treat him unless I named him. Under pressure like that I couldn’t think of anything cute or original. All I could think of was that the kitten didn’t have any more sense than Rocky did in the movie by the same name. Yeah, Rocky got beat up, knocked down but he wouldn’t stay down. He got right back up and in the end, bruised and bashed up, he won. So this little resilient kitten became “Rocky”.

I still planned to take him to the shelter. Little Joe never accepted other cats. So I put the now treated kitten in the spare room for the weekend. The first day was fine. I’d go into the room to spend time with him. As soon as I called “Rocky” he’d come toddling out from where ever he was hiding. The vet was surprised that he was eating solid food. They thought he was too young to be weaned but he didn’t seem to have any problem eating the canned food I was offering. He was so tiny and cute.

This was when I first learned what a great escape artist Rocky would turn out to be. Coming back from an errand I saw the door open to the spare room. My heart dropped. I was sure I’d find his bloody little body shredded somewhere.

Was I ever surprised when I found a black and white Persian cuddled up with a tiny orange kitten on the couch.

Rocky had found a home…fur-ever.

A “Clowder” of Purrr-sonalities

Posted on January 14, 2014January 14, 2014 by Dusty Roads

Definition: Clowder : a group of cats

I’ve been around cats all my life. I haven’t always understood how to be gentle and kind. There are many family stories of me dressing the family cat in baby clothes and pushing her in a baby carriage.. or the best/ worse story is when I was holding the cat while she desperately tried to escape me, the toddling baby terror. As the cat scratched me mercilessly I hung on and screamed for my mother to “help me”!

(Selfish little brat wasn’t I?) My mother’s response was to tell me to put the cat down and she wouldn’t scratch me. But I was stubborn and refused, crying all the time. I don’t remember this , of course, but it’s one of those standard holiday stories that always gets pulled out when the clan gets together to reminisce.

Over the years I always seemed to have a cat, usually just one. I never thought about cats being social animals. I always thought they were quite independent. As my life evolved and my knowledge and empathy matured I decided that maybe cats left alone all day should have a companion.

I worked long hours and didn’t pay a lot of attention to my pets. I fed them and kept the kitty litter clean but playtime was short. My favorite times were the end of the night when we had “cuddle time”.

I’d had a series of solo kitties over the years but when I first thought about adding an extra cat it really wasn’t my choice.

At the time I had a Persian named “Little Joe”. Little Joe had “issues”. He was the original “grumpy cat”.

Introducing him to other cats was futile. He wanted nothing to do with a companion. As he was getting older I rescued a tiny kitten from an abusive neighbor kid.

My plan was to take the kitten to the vet, get a clean bill of health and then surrender it to a shelter. Things didn’t quite turn out that way. To my surprise my grumpy, old Persian liked the kitten and the kitten liked Little Joe. So began my experiences with a multi cat household. That kitten was Rocky.

As grumpy as Little Joe was, Rocky was irrepressible. He was so full of life and joie de vivre he literally bounced off walls.

At the time Rocky joined the household he only weighed in at 1.2 lbs. Little Joe, on the other hand was a whopping 12 lbs. A real David and Goliath match up.

When Little Joe had had enough of Rocky’s antics he’d try to carry Rocky around like a mother cat, by his ruff, except he seemed to always miss the ruff and get Rocky’s whole head in his mouth. I’d hear muffled mews and go check and there was Little Joe dragging poor Rocky along the floor with the head completely in his mouth.

It never deterred Rocky. He’s be right back after Little Joe or racing around the apartment.