The Amazing Life of Cats (15 page)
Fortunately the vet check the next day gave him a clean bill of health. As I lifted him off the table at the surgery, our vet told me he was a Burmese cat about eighteen months old, the same age as Mowey. I had not owned a Burmese before; when I explained to her how vocal he had been she told me to get used to it.
Knowing how painful it would be for someone to lose their pet I put an ad in the paper. No one claimed him, so we named him Bebop, and Mowey and Bebop became inseparable. They slept together, played together and ate together, Tina always looking over them with her big soft eyes as if they were her children. When they became too carried away while playing, as young cats do, Tina would step in and separate them.
I expect you’re still wondering about the cat that used the internet. As it happened, several months later, Eddie’s musician friend told him of a Burmese in his neighbourhood who had no home and was fleeing from door to door begging to be invited in. Steve explained to Eddie that no one would take the cat in—the poor unfortunate puss was out in the weather and being chased by dogs. That day Eddie arrived home with a huge female Burmese in his arms. She was a white cat with seal points and just as vocal as Bebop. We called her Lula, and even as her feet hit the ground she was the boss, snubbing the friendly greeting offered by the welcoming committee. Our three looked at each other and then at us in surprise, and we all followed her into the kitchen where she took her place next to the food bowls and sounded out a strong meow. Little Mowey ran to me, asking to be picked up. Lula ate her meal and then took what she thought was her rightful place, on my lap.
Lula was a truly beautiful cat and once she had established her rightful place she became very friendly, particularly with our dog Tina. In fact, she took it upon herself to be Tina’s protector. One time when an unleashed male dog bounded down the side of our house towards Tina, barking aggressively, Lula flew out of the house all puffed up, hissing, striking the dog’s hind legs with her claws extended as she chased him back up the driveway and onto the footpath. She watched the yelping dog fleeing down the street, satisfied with her efforts, then turned, did her ‘I am the queen’ walk back to Tina, purring as she did a figure of eight through and around Tina’s legs with her tail straight up in the air.
But all was not as well in Camelot as one could have wished. Lula began displaying signs of intense jealousy. Not towards Tina or Bebop but our beautiful, gentle Tamla Motown. At first it was the occasional hiss from Lula, and then it escalated. Sadly, we had to find her another home to be fair to our little Mowey, who simply could not understand why Lula hated her so much. Lula needed a home where she could be number one and would be lavished with love and affection.
We were very fond of Lula but Lula knew where she needed to be. I found a site on the internet where you could find animals a home. After many responses and much screening I began communications with Christine, a delightful lady from Goulburn; even my honest accounts of Lula’s behaviour and the travel distance from Goulburn to Sydney didn’t deter her from wanting to give Lula a loving home. Christine had loved one Burmese cat to the end of her companion’s life and was keen to have another.
We waited nervously for her arrival; when a knock sounded at the door my tummy went into a tight knot. Everyone hurried down the hallway, Lula out in front to meet her new companion. We opened the door to Christine’s beautiful smile. She recognised Lula straightaway, and Lula displayed all the characteristics of the perfect cat, even being gracious towards Mowey. Christine put her cat carrier down on the kitchen floor and enjoyed a well-deserved cup of tea and sandwiches after her long journey.
It was love at first sight for Lula; she purred around Christine’s feet and legs with genuine affection, and asked politely to sit on her knee. Soon she settled herself in the cat carrier, ready to leave her temporary family. I had a tear trickling down my cheek, but Lula looked at me as if to say, ‘Well, it’s been great and thanks for the fish.’ She did come out briefly to say her goodbyes to each of us, even little Mowey, and then promptly returned to her carry basket.
Every Christmas for the next few years I received a card made from a photo of Lula in the centre of Christmas decorations with words of thanks from Christine. We received photos showing Lula on her new couch, Lula on her new ironing board, Lula in her garden.
That was a long time ago. The cards have stopped now. It’s funny how our animals stay with us in our thoughts and hearts, just as all our loved ones do who have passed over. You see them in memory and photos and sometimes just out of the corner of your eye and when you look they are gone. When the time comes, perhaps they will be there to meet us. I believe Lula’s life with Christine was just as she hoped it would be, and she was the centre of attention, lavished with love.
She found her rightful place in life through the ether of the internet.
Maxine Prain
If a fish is the movement of water
embodied, given shape, then a cat is a
diagram and pattern of subtle air.
Doris Lessing
In my life’s chain of events, nothing was accidental.
Everything happened according to an inner need.
Hannah Senesh
T
atianna had always been a healthy, vibrant cat. I had long envisioned her having the constitution to easily live fifteen to twenty years. Her routine veterinary visits included annual check-ups, vaccinations and teeth cleanings. Once, she had an infected paw, and she was troubled by an allergy—usually in the spring. She was accustomed to spending time in the clinic kennel when I was away. She became good friends with Pat, the veterinary technician, and Bob, the animal groomer.
So when Tatianna became ill at age twelve, I was stunned. I took her to the clinic on Monday, 17 June 1998. Her behaviour had changed in the preceding days. She was listless, vomiting, and drinking a lot of water. She went to her food bowl and looked at the food, but was unable to eat. And Tatianna loved to eat, so I knew there was a serious problem. The veterinarian drew blood samples and said the results would be available on Tuesday morning. Tatianna was a little dehydrated, so they administered some fluids, and then I took her home.
The next morning, Dr Wright called me at work. ‘You have a very sick kitty. You need to bring her to the clinic as soon as possible.’
I hurried home to get Tatianna. I took her back to the clinic, where she stayed until Saturday morning. I was devastated when I heard the diagnosis: acute kidney failure. Dr Wright asked me about any changes to circumstances or any poisons that Tatianna may have ingested. I could not think of a single thing that could have affected her like this. The diagnostic work indicated highly elevated BUN (blood urea nitrogen) and creatinine levels. These tests are used to evaluate kidney function. She was in serious trouble. The elevated numbers indicated that urea nitrogen, a waste product of protein, was building up in the bloodstream rather than being cleared out. Tatianna was hooked up to an intravenous line and received a slow drip of many hundred millilitres of lactated fluids over the next several days.
I returned to visit her later on Tuesday afternoon after she had got settled in and the vet had ministered to her for the day. As I climbed the stairs to the surgical and kennel unit, I recalled the thousands of times I had gone up and down these steps when I was the owner of vet clinic Pet Apothecary. But that day was different. I was not assisting on a routine or emergency surgery. I was not there to feed the animals or walk the dogs. One of my own was there.
Tatianna was in a kennel at the end of the surgery room. This was a separate room from the usual boarders and other sick animals. It was also much quieter. Despite my thirteen years of veterinary experience, I was unprepared for what I saw. Tatianna was in the bottom kennel. An IV bottle hung on the cage door, and the drip line was taped to her front left leg. A slow drip of fluids was currently being given. Tatianna was very quiet and looked so unlike herself. Her body seemed to have broken down tremendously in just a few hours. I dropped to my knees in front of the kennel and carefully opened the door. I began softly talking to her and stroking her.
‘Oh, my sweet Tattie, I’m so sorry this has happened to you. I love you so much.’
She responded with a deep moan, and I knew she understood me.
Dr Wright came and explained to me what was happening. ‘Tatianna’s kidneys are not functioning properly, and toxins are building up in her body. This causes her to refuse food or to vomit when she does try to eat or drink. She also tries to drink more water to help alleviate her problem. By giving her fluids, we’re attempting to help flush out the toxins and ultimately bring down her blood-work numbers. There could be severe and permanent damage with such elevated numbers. We’ll recheck the blood in a few days to determine what progress is being made.’
I was devastated and could do little but cry. I went home alone and sat and held my other cat, Katarina, or Katie. The little cat could sense that something was terribly wrong. Over the next few days, Katie cried a lot, too. She wandered aimlessly around the house looking for Tatianna. I also wandered aimlessly. I prayed to God to help heal Tatianna and to keep her safe. Long, sleepless nights of despair stretched ahead of me. I prayed for morning to come quickly, so I could go visit her.
I returned to the clinic on Wednesday morning. I sat on the floor with Tattie’s cage door opened, and I talked to her and lightly brushed her.
‘Oh, Tattie, it’s so wonderful to see you. The house just is not the same without you there. Katie misses you so much. Don’t worry, you’re going to feel better day by day.’
Her coat was straggly as she was not grooming herself because she was sick. She looked at me with that penetrating gaze, and we connected as kindred spirits. We shared the oceans of love and pain with just one look.
The routine of visiting her every morning and afternoon continued. Then, on Friday morning, the clinic drew another blood sample to check her progress. The vet promised to call me on Saturday morning to let me know the results. I slept very little on Friday night because I was so anxious. I got up early to be alert for the call. Several hours went by, and I didn’t hear anything. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer, and I called the clinic. The news was not encouraging.
‘Although there’s been a slight drop in the numbers, it was not as much as we had hoped. Why not take her home for the weekend? She’ll probably be more comfortable in familiar surroundings and with her creature comforts,’ Dr Wright said.
‘Yes, I agree,’ I said.
‘Do you want to try to administer fluids subcutaneously?’ she asked. ‘Whatever I need to do, I will,’ I responded.
Right before noon, my then partner Joe drove me to the clinic. I was upset, yet so glad Tatianna could come home—at least temporarily. I had no idea what the weekend would hold.
We went upstairs to the room where Tatianna had been hospitalised since Monday. Dr Wright put her on the surgery table and removed the catheter for the IV. What happened next is an image indelibly etched in my mind and treasured in my heart. When the doctor finished the procedure, Tatianna rose up on her own accord and jumped into my arms. I embraced her. It felt so good to hold her close and feel the warmth of her fur. Gazing into her glistening blue eyes, I understood that the almost five-day separation had been just as excruciating for Tattie as it had been for me. It was a blessed moment.
Joe drove us home. Katie was so happy to see Tatianna. She rubbed and kissed her. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I had slept very little for days. So I placed Tatianna and Katarina in bed with me in the downstairs guest room, and we took an afternoon nap. Later in the afternoon, we went upstairs to the living room. I went out to the backyard to get some fresh air.
A few moments later, Joe hollered, ‘Tatianna has just vomited!’
Frightened, I called Dr Wright. She recommended that I increase the amount of fluids I was going to give Tatianna. We had been invited to a party that night, but I called and cancelled. There was no way we were going to leave Tatianna alone on her first day back home.
