Month: July 2011

One thing that has been pretty amusing to Sean and me over the years is pretending to diagnose our cats with an assortment of mental and emotional disorders.  Or, more to the point, all of our cats (like their human companions) have some kind of odd personality quirk that lends itself to one of the DSM disorders.  If you’re not familiar with the DSM (or, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual), it is basically the “bible” for psychologists, psychiatrists and helping professionals of many stripes.  Some consider it an essential tool to the profession; others consider it an overly prescriptive, unnecessarily pathologizing waste of time.  I, however, find it infinitely amusing. 

Take Wanda, for example:  Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder if there ever was one.  Ritualized and repetitive behaviors (i.e. kneading on our arms) that are highly compelling to the point of being utterly unavoidable.  It’s just a good thing that this doesn’t translate to other areas of her life or she’d be a very difficult kitty to live with.

Or Otto.  Otto has the classic Axis II-level Dependent Personality Disorder.  You try to pry him out from under the covers when his Big Buddy has to be away for any length of time.  Good luck with that, is all I can say.

Or Mango.  She would definitely be diagnosed Autistic if that were even an option for cats.  Her social skills with the other cats are limited, she is extremely sensitive to sensory stimulation, particularly touch, and if she has any interest in emotional connection with us, she hasn’t shown any evidence of it.  I’m just sayin’.  On the other hand, she could also be a pretty good candidate for Schizoid Personality Disorder…seriously.  Look it up.

Reggie has Histrionic Personality Disorder.  I know, I know…that’s just a “girl thing.”  For that matter, that’s just a people thing.  But Reggie is not at all convinced he’s not a people.  (As we speak, he is putting his paws delicately in my lap, over and over, trying to get me to pick him up.  Now he’s poking my chest.  Here I am, picking him up.)  So now, I am typing around Reggie, who is trying his darndest to get as much attention as possible while I am typing.  This is Reggie who screams bloody murder, even when Otto hasn’t actually touched him.  Reggie who will patiently sit on my chest while I’m asleep and gently curl his claws around my lips and then pull on them to wake me up.  Reggie who always greets guests at the door with a winsome:  “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”  He’s kind of a hoot.

And Mister.  Who has Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder.  Which, oddly, is not the same as Wanda’s Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.  (But it could, however, explain why they understand each other so well.)  OCPD is marked by a tendency towards perfection, and towards making sure that all things are neat and orderly and routinized and expected.  I have never seen a cat with more entrenched patterns, and more of a need for things to be exactly the way he expects them.  Pavlov would have been drooling over this cat.  Take, for example, the fact that when Mister was on a twice-daily dose of Resthyro, he was running straight for the guest bedroom every single time he saw one of us coming.  He had no regard for time or hunger or anything logical–just that we were heading his way and we must be bringing his treat.  He’s such a Buddy.  He’s also got a pretty healthy dose of Paranoid Personality Disorder in there.  I think it may be a contributing factor to why the other Buddies are always beating up on him.  Not to point any fingers or anything.  And anyway, is it really paranoia when the other kitties really are out to get him?

And last, but certainly not least, Elroy.  Okay, now we do have to double up a bit, because Elroy also seems to be sporting this year’s newest fashion–Dependent Personality Disorder.  Only his object of attachment is the other cat in the house who also has this disorder.  Unfortunately, Elroy isn’t Otto’s object of attachment.  Elroy can barely make a move without trying to be right by Otto’s side.  It seems like that’s been modified a little recently, with the advent of the Front Porch.  Elroy’s been parking his cute patuckus out on the drink railing (or “cat railing,” as we prefer to call it), while Otto has been choosing the relatively hotter climes of the inside of our house.  Still, this is Elroy’s most defining quality, and we all embrace it.  (Okay, maybe not Otto…)

I say all this not to be crass or rude or disrespectful to the Buddies.  I say it because it simply seems to be the case.  It’s not a judgment–it’s an observation.  I don’t love any of them less because of it, and in some cases, I think I might actually even love them more.  After all, how can I expect perfection of them when I am nowhere close to it myself?  Our buddies are all the more lovable because they all have these wonderful quirks that make them all the more…human.  Weird, but true.

Yesterday, I got Mister’s test results back from Dr. McKisson.  I guess I could say that they weren’t all bad.  As a matter of fact, most of them were very good.  The only tiny problem was that, per my worst nightmare, Mister’s kidneys aren’t functioning so well any more.  Lest I sound melodramatic and self-pitying about this, at least I can say that Mister is not, I repeat, not in kidney failure.  The technical term, if I am to understand it correctly, is pre-kidney failure.

Understandably, I am not entirely thrilled with this news.  

According to the vet, however, this is manageable.  We are to give him lots of wet food (which he’s not grumbling about) and make sure he gets enough fluids in general.  Conversely though, we are also to look out for excessive drinking and urinating, which could be signs of full-blown kidney failure.  

It’s kind of hard to understand what is to be considered a good outcome here.  

We’re not giving up on Mister (of course).  We will do everything in our power to make sure that he lives as long a life and as happy and comfortable a life as possible.  It’s just a really weird feeling coming face-to-face with the mortality of one of the Buddies.  It doesn’t seem possible, and I plan on resisting their mortality as long as possible.  The world will be a much sadder, darker place, when any one of them are not here.  

But for now, they are all here.  So I will spend each day loving them each relentlessly.  I will take the time to pet them and call them by name, even when I am clearly going to be a leetle bit late for work as a result.  Even when I am trying to meditate or do yoga, and they want to sit between my legs or rub up against my knees in the lotus position.  Because they are my Buddies, and I will love them to the ends of the Earth and beyond.  Maybe someday the Universe can have them, when they are too old to enjoy their lives anymore.

But I’m not giving them up without a fight.

We’ve waited for it.  We’ve talked about it incessantly.  We’ve watched it happening.  And now the day has finally arrived.  They got all the screen up and hung the front door.  It’s not completely closeable yet, so Sean had to guard it, but the perimeter was basically secure.

Today, the Buddies got to experience the Brand New Front Porch for the first time.  As per usual, all the personalities came out to play.  Otto was the first one out.  He was going where his Big Buddy was, by golly.  Elroy was right on his heels–of course.  Wanda joined the boys outside.  I had to call for Mister, but he eventually figured it out.  Finally, Reggie showed up, bringing up the rear.  It was only a matter of time before Mister started trying to figure out how to jump onto the chair rail to see the world.  He couldn’t figure it out at first, and wouldn’t let me help him, so I put Wanda up there instead so she could see out.  She was fascinated.

One of Wanda’s favorite things is motor vehicles–especially trucks.  She was thrilled to get to see the excitement from this great vantage point–almost like she was actually outside!  Once Mister figured out about where he needed to jump, he leaped up there like a pro.  Honestly, nobody who didn’t know him would believe he’s actually 14 years old.  He made kind of a banging noise with his back paws against the metal wall, but he was nonplussed.  He, like Wanda, was transfixed with the view.  

This is what we have been waiting for, and saving and scrimping for.  Just to see their reaction when they met with the big, bold (but safe) outdoors once again.  The looks on their sweet little faces made everything worth it.

Letting Mister out of the basement room was not as dramatic as I had anticipated it would be.  But it was a lot different than I thought it would be.  Basically, Mister acted like this was a brand-new house for him.  He spent a solid ten or 15 minutes just checking out the basement again.  Then later, when he made it upstairs, he slinked from room to room, sniffing everything there, entourage of feline watchers (read:  all the other boys) in tow.  A couple of times I had to keep him from marking, and a handful of times I had to deal with the aftermath of his marking, but it was still nice to have him back with the family.

In the meantime, we decided it was finally time to make sure that Elroy got his claws clipped, so he couldn’t make ribbons of Mister when it got to that point again.  The only way to do this with him is to throw a towel over his head.  We trapped him on the porch and took turns trying to get the towel over him.  Finally, I got it over his head and Sean scooped him up and got him situated on his lap.  I set to work clipping his razor-sharp nails.  Poor little guy had nails that were already shredding of their own accord, from lack of proper grooming by us.

And then, the unthinkable–I accidentally snipped one of his back claws too close and cut to his quick.  I could see the blood starting to form at the end.   This is, to my knowledge, the first time I’ve ever done that.  And it couldn’t have happened to a worse cat–the only one who doesn’t trust us to do this (Mango excluded of course–we just let the vet do hers).  So now, he didn’t trust us, and his back paw was hurting.  As I finished, I checked his face and his eyes were huge–wide open pupils, and not moving in any direction.  The poor cat was terrified.  

We put some antibiotic on the hurt toe and then he went scurrying off to the basement to hide.  I know I cut him to the quick, but it cut me to the quick too that I’d actually hurt poor little sweet Elroy.

I am happy to report that he had forgiven us by the evening and was back to head-bunting and cuddling.  Nonetheless, I may never have the courage to cut his nails again.  It was way too traumatic for us all…

That’s right–tomorrow, Mister gets to rejoin the family.  I’m imagining the heartwarming reunion now…

(Cue the swirly “dream sequence” visual with the magical harp music:)

Mister:  Hey guys!  Did ya miss me?

Wanda:  Did we ever!  I kept thinking I heard you, but figured it was just the catnip talking.

Otto:  Finally, someone fun to chase around and beat up again!  Elroy was so boring–he just head-bunted me and licked me when I beat him up.

Mango:  (wetly) Hssssssssssssss!  Oh.  Hey, Mister.

Elroy:  Finally, someone fun to chase around and beat up again!  I got tired of Otto beating me up while you were gone.

Reggie:  Finally, someone fun to chase around and beat up again!  Could you walk like prey again?  Just for old-times’ sake?  Never leave me again, Mister! 

Mister:  Aw, guys…You’re the best!

<Sigh.>  I can hardly wait. 

So yesterday, after scooping Mister’s corn-encrusted nuggets, Sean mentioned to me that he could hear that the pump seemed to still be running.  I went downstairs to check, and sure enough, every few minutes I’d hear a solitary RRRRRR.  We talked about it and decided that maybe we should just unplug the pump.  What we didn’t do, and probably should have done, was question why the pump was continuing to make the RRRRR sound in the first place.

They say hindsight is 20/20.  In this case, they would be right.

We had a very full day of errands and strolling the neighborhood and chores, and when I got back from my last chore, I decided to go peek in on Mister.  I really wish I had done that a little sooner.

I expected to see Mister curled up on the cat tree by the window, sound asleep.  Instead, I walked in to find Mister standing in the middle of the floor in one of the last dry patches left.  He looked up at me plaintively and gave a small, desperate meow.  At first, I only noticed a little water.  As we had gotten Mango out of the room earlier in the day (she was having some difficulty using the new litter in the litter box), I was puzzled as to why Mister was peeing on the floor.  Then, it hit me.  There was no way that ten cats could have produced that much liquid in that short a period of time.  

The basement was flooding.  From the toilet.  Whose pump had been turned off, without us first investigating the cause of the frequent pumping.  Turns out that there was a tiny little trickle that never quite quit.  It was all well and good while the pump was still pumping, but when it wasn’t…

I called Sean down for some backup.  He tried to reassure me that at least the water coming out was clean.  Unfortunately, wrong again.  When I had checked the bowl earlier, there was a lone piece of poop floating at the top of the water, which had apparently been hiding out in the bottom of the bowl and never made it down on the last flush.  Oh, joy.  

I had been planning to go for a run after my errands, but instead, we spent the next hour or so mopping, vacuuming, and sopping up the wet basement.  Poor Mister didn’t know what to think.  He was probably already  plotting his escape to the high ground, and trying to figure out if he could scratch his way through a window.  He was not amused by Sean’s use of the Wet/Dry Shop Vac.  Sean was right–it did get the water up faster than anything, but we found it was filling up approximately every four minutes and having to be emptied.  I couldn’t even tell you how many times we emptied that thing before we were done.  

Mister, meanwhile, had actually made it to higher ground.  At one point, I went looking for him and couldn’t find him.  I called to him, and he didn’t respond.  Finally, I saw that he had taken one of the ginormous leaps for which he is famous and landed in one of the built-in bookcases, which is extremely deep.  He was hunkered down in there, a little over my eye level, from a vantage point that probably would have been very pleasant if it hadn’t, just this one time, been so terrifying.  I hoped he would someday forgive us for his near drowning followed by near destruction by Shop Vac.  

We left the room with all four windows cracked just a few inches and all three fans going full blast.  And of course, our trusty dehumidifier working overtime.  I was dirty, wet, sweaty and my feet hurt.  Definitely running was out, since we had dinner plans in less than two hours.  So, I did the only logical thing to do when your feet hurt and your jangled nerves clearly need a bit of soothing.

I got a pedicure.  It felt good.  And Mister did eventually forgive us–right about the time we got home from our dinner plans.  All seemed right in the world again.