Larenti is the largest member of The Kids.  He also happens to be the most docile cat in the house, one who shrinks from most encounters and shuns confrontation.

I’ve always suspected his early years brought with them some kind of abuse given his fear of hands, and likewise I think the formative nature of growing up left him with a dread running through his every interaction and encounter with other creatures.  His size alone makes him a formidable presence; his personality strips away that advantage and replaces it with palpable cowardice.

Vazra, on the other hand, is a petite feline if one ignores the plush fur that doubles his size, yet he fears nothing.  With a devil-may-care attitude he does as he wishes sans any consideration for others, and he defends himself with vigilance and might.  Not that he’s violent, mind you, but he certainly puts up with no flack from anyone.

If he wants to lie somewhere, by golly he’s going to lie there no matter who he has to step on or smother in the process.  If he wants to get in my lap and it’s already occupied, he’ll gladly climb atop the current occupant in order to claim some bit of Daddy’s time and personal space.  Yet he has such a small frame that it’s easy to misjudge his weight when picking him up given that his hair makes him appear twice as large as he really is.  But he doesn’t let that get in the way of his confidence or demeanor.

al-Zill remains a kitten at heart.  Young of body and mind, his rambunctious spirit crashes through most every second of the day.  He gleefully romps about without any concern for others, tackling the first cat to walk by, chasing anything that moves (and quite a bit that doesn’t move), confronting others in the cat boxes, taking random swings at others hoping to induce play, and otherwise being what a child should be: a meddlesome, troublesome bundle of energy.

While physically he is a relatively small cat with a wee bit of extra padding around the middle, like any juvenile he fears nothing.  When surprised, he flees to a safe distance until he understands the situation, but mostly he sees everything and everyone as a toy, and he lives every moment as though enjoyment lost then can never be regained.  And damn the consequences!

The smallest fur person in the house, Kako most likely is the most powerful inhabitant of the xenogere homestead.  Being the lone female in a house full of boys means she has to make up with attitude what she lacks in size and strength.  And attitude she has in abundance.

Kako takes no crap from anyone, least of all me.  All I need do is point at her for doing something wrong and her ears go back as she takes a swing at my parental display (if not several swings).  If any of The Kids invade her space, she growls and howls and puts on a show that would make any reasonable person think she was being tortured.  When it comes to defending her own honor and safety, all of the cats know better than to mess with her.  Petite body notwithstanding, she’s a powerful force and a dangerous woman.  Besides, she also happens to be Daddy’s Girl, so she knows I’ll come to the rescue at the drop of a hat (not that I often need to, but she plays that card when necessary).

Kazon equals Larenti in size, except he doesn’t carry the extra weight.  He’s a lean jock, a large tom with a wide, powerful head that matches his considerable dimensions.  Although without a doubt the biggest baby in the house, my puppy who will never grown out of his childish mind, Kazon puts on the cloak of a big boy when the need arises.

I’m convinced he hasn’t a clue how big and powerful he is.  He still sometimes forgets about his own ass when he jumps up on furniture, leaving him hanging by his front claws while his back feet sway in the wind.  Nevertheless, he tries to assist with discipline from time to time and he dives into kitten-like mayhem without notice, and more often than not it’s his overwhelming size that wins the day.  (In most cases, he simply crashes on top of his playmate in order to win.)

Despite age and asthma, Loki remains a menacing feline.  While it goes without saying that he is physically powerful and agile, his dominance stems more from his mind than his body.  He is a plotter and planner, one who carefully and quickly thinks through every action to ensure he manipulates events to his liking.  Though not always the winner at play—or even getting the resting spot he wants most—Loki represents one of the most dangerous things in the universe: a predator with a sharp mind and the physical power to back it up.

Loki is a hazardous foe because he has the potent body of a true killer, but he is even more dangerous because he has the one tool that can win over brawn every single time: a developed intellect that is as keen as it is cunning.  Even as the years have begun slowing him down and even as acute asthma has made him want for breath in the midst of trouble, he wields forethought like a sword.  This has made him the true god of mischief.

My sickly baby.  Grendel has spent his entire life dealing with one ailment after another: arthritic bone spurs in his hips, acute asthma, stones in his kidneys and bladder, and an immune system that now attacks his own intestines.  From his first year he battled ailment after ailment, yet he remained the alpha of the clan.  Large enough to throw his weight around, thoughtful enough to know that one cannot rule by violence alone, strong enough to put his foot down when needed, and smart enough to let others have their way from time to time, Grendel epitomizes the best kind strength: the gentle kind.

Illness and years have robbed him of much of his potency.  He lost enough weight such that he can no longer whip up on others to keep them in line.  But he tries, and many times he succeeds; but more often than not he prefers to stay out of the fray.  How I miss his casual enforcement of his rights, barely lifting from a resting position to knock away those who would steal his bed.  How I miss the confidence that once dripped from his every move.  Yet what disease and time have stolen from him I give back by proxy.  Grendel will be the alpha until he dies; the others know this and respect it, even if I have to make sure they don’t push him too far.

Sunset provided just the right light to capture the very soft, very lovable side of Kazon.

Kazon at sunset.

I tried to capture an out-of-focus image of him in warm light.  While I can always find room for improvement, I rather like the way it turned out.

A phone call dreaded.  An outcome feared.

Yet apprehension died after the word ‘hello’…

Kazon underwent his dental surgery today, a rushed schedule following the strong regimen of antibiotics and steroids that filled these past two weeks.

Despite the very real danger of yet another tantrum by his immune system, the doctor reassures me that all went well.

The recent outbreak of his white cells attacking his own body seems to have been in response to infection in the tooth.  It takes but the slightest hint of infection for his immune system to explode in a rage of self-destructive behavior.

He endured three full weeks of antibiotics, two of which included a powerful combination of two such medicines coupled with a systemic steroid, and that seems to have done the trick, at least for now.

A bit later this afternoon I shall venture out to fetch him and return him to his place of comfort: home.

My job is to keep a close eye on him to ensure no infection sets in and that his behavior and health remain normal.  Any signs to the contrary might indicate the unleashing of yet another attack by his own body, one intent on protecting itself from infection by killing the host.

What a frightening thought…

Yesterday evening as Kazon lay on the bed blanketed by the warm light of sunset, I watched him bathe for a short time before he curled up for a nap, and I realized then that today marks the end of his two-week regimen of medication.  His last steroids and antibiotics will be taken today, and I hope this defines his last struggle with the upset stomach they cause.

Our next course of action stems entirely from the results of more tests, more blood taken to see if his immune system has calmed down enough for him to be safe.  There’s also the question of his needed dental surgery, which of course can’t be addressed if we’re unable to reign in his immune system.

His weight stabilized after the first week, but it never recovered to its previous level and he now maintains a lightness that frightens me each time I pick him up.

Only time will tell where we go from here.

I’ve been asked why I subject myself to this variety of high-maintenance animals, many of whom have chronic health conditions.  That heralds entirely from rescuing unwanted and abandoned animals instead of seeking out kitten-mill produce and designer breeds.

Navel-gazing notwithstanding, saving a life to me is more important than effortless companionship by way of taking the safe route.

I would rather have a few short years of profound love with a sickly animal than many long years with a healthy one that I took in trade for knowing the loneliness and pain I left others to endure.

Had I not rescued Kazon when he was so young and so sick and so feeble, would anyone else have come along and provided him a good home with plenty of care and affection, provided him with safety and family without worrying for the cost his troubled childhood would bring later?

Perhaps.  Perhaps not.

Only my compassion drives me in these matters.

And when I am showered with such unbridled adoration and cared for with such heartfelt desire…  Well, to me that’s repayment well above and beyond whatever tribulations and trials we may face together.

Despite his worsening asthma, Loki remains a devilishly spry cat for his age.  Both he and Grendel will be twelve years old in February 2009.  That’s the human equivalent of being 65 years old.

I see age beginning to slow down The Great Satan, however, and I see asthma taking its toll as well.  His plotting, scheming, conniving ways have been subdued of late, less vile than they were some years ago.  He still conspires to perpetrate evil at every opportunity, mind you, but his body no longer can support the near constant malevolence he once visited upon the world.

Kazon remains on a powerful regimen of antibiotics and steroids in an attempt to subdue his out-of-control immune system that seems intent on harming his own body.  As ill as he was when I rescued him in the first few months of his life, it now appears that the terrible childhood he suffered has finally come back to haunt him.

Now a full ten years old in human terms, his own species would equate that age with being in his mid to late fifties.  I see how growing older brings old ghosts out of the shadows and into focus.  Yet he remains my Baby Boy, my Puppy, the one member of The Kids who I know could not survive without me.  His emotional attachment to me is of such profound energy that it becomes palpable each and every day.

My high-maintenance cat, Grendel has suffered throughout his life with one ailment after another.  From bone spurs in his hips to acute asthma to inflammatory bowel disorder (an immune system dysfunction) to kidney and bladder stones, Sponge always has made it through a difficult life with the grandest composure and perseverance.  He remains to this day a proud, capable, fearless companion.

Yet as I always discuss with the vets, time proves over and over again that the next shoe will eventually fall, and we saw that next problem begin just a few months ago.  With alarming weight loss and the onset of tremors, a lifetime of steroid use appears to have finally caught up with him.  All examinations and tests indicate his shaking stems from neurological damage; one vet likened it to the appearance of Alzheimer’s disease.  His age will not help this latest affliction, nor will his waning strength allow him to adjust as easily.  Even today I saw him struggle to leap from the cat castle to the desk where he might enjoy a refreshing bit of ice water from my glass.  The hesitation he now shows breaks my heart.

More than twelve human years old, placing him near 70 feline years old, Vazra recovered from near death and shows a youthful exuberance for life that dwarfs the survival instinct of many humans.  His poor dental health two years ago spelled certain doom for him, what with it keeping him from eating and drinking and grooming, yet removing seven teeth gave him a new lease on life.  He took his rescue in stride, quickly making himself at home with The Kids as a member of the family, and he demonstrates an unequaled ability to disregard hardship in favor of getting through just one more day.

As the oldest member of the family, I look at him now compared to when I rescued him and think about what might have happened had I not intervened.  More importantly, I wonder about his health as he grows older.  But those concerns aside, this Persian offers unconditional love and gratitude at every opportunity, and his newfound health and vitality bring joy to my heart every time I look at him and remember what might have been.

My Lion.  Only six human years/40 feline years old, Larenti lives in a perpetual state of discovery, fear and timidity.  He is the largest cat in the house, yet he also is the most afraid.  Slowly he has shown increasing comfort; nevertheless, the unending reservoir from which he draws fright at even the smallest surprise continually worries me.  Some horrific tragedy befell this poor soul before I rescued him.  I only hope he remains on this path to overcoming that anxiety.

Larenti’s young age and juvenile spirit lend themselves to a good deal of energy and mischief.  I laugh heartily when I see him play, when I see him stir up trouble by stalking someone in one of the litter boxes, or when I recognize his purring request for attention each night as he leaps atop the bed to join us for a spot of sleep.  I trust he has many years left to travel, many days of quality and joy and comfort.

al-Zill is a child.  Scarcely more than two years old, his feline age of 24 means he remains immature, rambunctious, meddlesome.  I affectionately chastise him continuously for getting into trouble, whether it be destroying an entire package of toilet paper under the bathroom counter or endlessly trying to engage one of the other children in rough horseplay.  Yet such things are to be expected from someone so young, especially someone with neurological damage as severe as his.

There are times when I forget about al-Zill’s mental incapacity; he leaps and runs and plays with rugged determination.  Then there are times when that now invisible head wound becomes apparent: he still shows instability when I pick him up and set him down, his body convulses from time to time when he tries to run or leap or scratch a difficult-to-reach spot, and a simple shake of his head can throw him to the ground as though struck by some invisible force.  However, he’s young enough to adapt, something he’s doing quite well already, and a full life stretches out before him so long as he remains in a safe place that can accommodate his special needs.

Like her brother Kazon, Kako has reached her mid to late fifties in terms of feline years, although her bad health early in life does not seem to have affected her quite so severely.  Sure, she has a perpetual problem with her ears due to the mite infestation she had way back then, but medication every month or two clears that up and leaves her ready to tackle the world.  And tackle the world she does.

Yet being a bitch is not all this Lady has to hold on to; she is, after all, Daddy’s Girl, and she claims that which only she can claim: being the sole female in the house.  When I’m not home, she spends a great deal of time with Grendel, her man, but she’s all mine if I’m available.  I see age taking from her little by little the energy she once had.  This has in no way stopped her from ruling the roost.  She proffers horrific cries when someone invades her personal space even if they don’t come within arm’s length of her; she defends her gentlemen (Grendel and I) with a fierceness unrivaled by great white sharks on the hunt; and she embodies the universal truth of no home needing more than one female cat, no kingdom requiring more than One Queen to Rule Them All.  I think it’s her female superiority that keeps her from showing her age more than she does.  I wonder how long she can keep up that dichotomy…

— — — — — — — — — —

Henry lived almost 22 human years—104 feline years—before his body stopped living up to his spirit’s expectations.  Only in the last months of his life did age catch up with the immortal soul of a god that dwelled within his flesh.

Very much unlike the current members of The Kids, I did not bathe Henry in perpetual health care for every little infirmity, every little hiccup in the natural order of things.  Instead, I focused on his happiness, watched him closely and did what I thought best for each problem as it cropped up, and in the end I found myself justified in the approach that favored quality over quantity without delving endlessly into unneeded, unnecessary, unjustified meddling by veterinary professionals.

Looking back on life at this moment, I question my present methodology with regards to my children…

Methinks the time has come for a serious examination of care, an unquestioned scrutiny of how I deal with The Kids and their well-being.  Although I would dare not second-guess myself with regards to critical action in a time of need, I’m left wondering if my efforts, like so much human health-care that lends itself to more suffering and hardship, have made life more difficult for these cats who look to me for wisdom in cases where they cannot offer as much.

Mr. Man.  Kazon.  My baby.

Black like midnight.  Loving as though his life depended on it.  Companionship incarnate.

It’s the Mr. Man Show…
…starring Mr. Man!

Derek said those words all the time, amazed at how no one could take my place in Kazon’s world, sometimes hurt and sometimes amused by Panther Kitty’s ability to stand at the door and lament my absence with such brutality that it made Derek cry.  No matter how much he called out to him, Kazon would sit at the door and weep his longing upon the altar of desire with heartfelt calls begging me to return.

Nothing has changed in that regard.  Kazon was, is, and always will be my Baby, my Puppy, the child who needs me desperately if he is to survive.

He’s a Kazon man…
He’s so alive…
He ain’t got no boundaries…
He don’t compromise…

Sung to the stupid Ford truck commercial, that’s my own dimwitted greeting for Kazon from time to time, something I believe most people do when it comes to the animals who share their lives: take a song or jingle and modify it in the name of a loved one.

Kazon doesn’t care though, for he recognizes the salutation and responds to it.

While I think it unlikely, I fear for his well-being should he outlive me.  No one has ever been able to fill that place in his heart that belongs to me.  What would happen to him if I could no longer be his Daddy, his bed and cushion, his savior and buddy?

I wonder.

Grendel

Loki

Kako

Kazon

Vazra

Larenti

al-Zill

Collectively taking their leave…

Because Saturday went so well having al-Zill out and about for most of the day, yesterday I decided to leave him out as long as the situation warranted.  From the moment I awoke, he scurried and scampered in a continuing investigation of his new home and family.

The occasional hiss from one of the other cats in response to an invasion of personal space did little to worry me.

Generally speaking, al-Zill has done marvelously under the circumstances.  He knows to give Kako a wide berth; nevertheless, he continuously pushes her buttons in attempts to be friendly.

In that regard, he offers head butts and rubs to all of The Kids if he gets close enough.  Sometimes these are accepted graciously; other times, they are rebutted with hisses and even a few swats.

No significant violence has ensued, however, and that’s a good thing.

While stripping the bed yesterday as part of my effort to complete chores, I had all the help I could ever want—including the newcomer.

Clockwise from left, that’s al-Zill, Kazon, Larenti, Vazra and Loki.  You can see how much assistance I received with retrieving the sheets for washing.

I believe it took all but a few minutes outside the bathroom for al-Zill to realize the bed wasn’t off limits.  And you know how cats love comfy beds…

As expected, he has spent some time pondering the patio from this new perspective.  That has been his home for quite some time, so he, like Larenti before him and Vazra before that, sees the outside world as the home he left, the place where food and water and shelter and safety came unflaggingly, where affection and attention never failed to deliver.

In due time, like the others, those memories will give way as the longing to return to that world diminishes in light of new joys in a new home.

His antics are endearing.  As a young cat, he’s as playful as he is charming—and mischievous.  One consideration I must keep in mind stems from his neurological damage.  Yesterday while dashing up and down the cat castle, hanging from it like a child on monkey bars, he slipped and fell.  Any other feline would have caught a grip on the way down, but al-Zill’s limbs chose that time to become erratic…so down he plummeted.

No harm done, though.  He rebounded and raced into the bedroom without a backward glance.

With one tipped ear and one torn ear, and scars from the tip of his nose to the base of his neck, he constantly sings testament to the dangers he faced and the certain death that awaited him.  With such an amiable personality and delightful countenance, I sometimes weep for what might have been had I left him to his fate.

He still seeks comfort and rest in the cat carrier I’ve left in the bathroom.  When he’s serious about taking a nap, that’s where he goes.  But still he joined us in bed overnight for several hours of dreamy sleep.

Several times he woke me with investigative trouble, whether by clearing the bathroom counter (as he’s still figuring out mirrors…) or trying to climb the office blinds (another learning experience…).  Then there was the crying, the touching call that echoed through the house as he moved about trying to find his place in the dark, trying to figure out precisely what to make of this new world.  His voice remains childlike, a lamentable sound reminiscent of a moaning toddler too lonely to survive.  I think his voice will never change following the brain damage he suffered (which marked its most dramatic transition from raspy feline to tearful baby).

He’s already found a new bed: the round, soft feline furniture next to the window in the bedroom.  He’s played there, napped there, rested there.  I’ve seen him in it many times just in the last 24 hours.  His adaptation progresses as his ease grows.

Having been free to roam all day and all night, and given the lack of mayhem that ensued, I’m leaving the bathroom door open and allowing him to acclimate as he sees fit.  I interfere only when he gets into trouble.  So long as there are no major problems today, I’ll leave him out tomorrow while I go to the office.  That will be the first true test.

Kako abhorred enjoyed her annual visit with the vet today for her exam and vaccinations.  In truth, her unpleasantness was subdued compared to most visits.  Sometimes we should be grateful for what age can bring…

She did try several times to climb into the cabinets above the examination counter.  At home she enjoys the cupboards above the refrigerator, beneath the kitchen counters and below the bathroom sink, so this came as no surprise.  She was unfortunately denied this escape in the doctor’s office, and that meant she instead cuddled in my arms for shelter.  Oh darn!

Although her overall health and condition are good, she does have yeast infections in her ears.  That means medication for two weeks.

Given that both she and Kazon had terrible mite infestations in their ears when they were young, this comes as no surprise.  Neither of them can properly address ear cleanliness since both suffer from oversensitivity.

I need to do a better job with the Oticalm from now on to keep this from recurring.  Or so I hope…

While speaking with the doctor, she brought up Grendel.  You see, this is the same doctor who has spent a great deal of time helping him through his various health issues, from hip surgery to asthma to bladder and kidney stones to inflammatory bowel issues.

She mentioned, like Kazon, that Grendel can never again have vaccinations.  His intestinal disease is caused by an overzealous immune system.  Since vaccinations activate the immune system and heighten its sensitivity, giving him any vaccination would only aggravate the problem.

That means two of The Kids will forgo vaccinations.  So be it.

Finally, al-Zill is in the bathroom, captured earlier today and awaiting his chance to visit the doctor tomorrow before becoming the latest member of The Kids.  His reaction to being caught has been less than disruptive, more like reserved curiosity than uninhibited panic.  I find that a good sign.

Of him I know this: he needs tapeworm treatment, upper respiratory and rabies vaccinations, and flea and tick treatment (along with heartworm and other preventative medicines, the same as The Kids get on a monthly basis).  Once he returns from the vet tomorrow, I will begin the integration process just as I did with Vazra and Larenti.

Despite worries to the contrary, seven is not a terrible number, and it certainly doesn’t make me some bizarre feline fetishist who intends to grow a home full of cats until it becomes a health hazard.  I cannot rescue more, cannot fathom the weight of such an idea.

But I also know that, despite all those who have reminded me that we—I—can’t save every animal in need, I remain adamant with my response: “Why not try?”  Too many feel that self-imposed prerequisite burden is enough of a reason to abstain from attempt.  I feel no such limits.  Only my self-control and logical outlook tell me I can’t rescue more, can’t provide safe home and hearth for additional lives.

Nevertheless, he will no longer be an outside cat, no longer be a homeless vagabond living on my patio and, given his neurological damage and physical limitations, hoping to get through another day without suffering an unspeakable fate.