I find Larenti to be an extremely photogenic cat. His earth-tone coat accents those large, magical eyes that teeter between green and yellow, and he tends to not overreact when I grab the camera and start moving around trying to get the right angle, the right shot.
Yet it’s when he opens his eyes to their fullest extent that his otherwise lion-like face takes on a whole new dimension, one of great surprise or shock that has little to do with reality. That’s just the way he looks.
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.
I may have little to say this weekend.
Or at least little ability to say it.
Hurricane Ike is on a path to reach North Texas at least as a tropical storm. Warnings and watches for the area already have been issued, but the precise impact won’t be known until it reaches us.
If we’re on the dirty side of the storm (the east side), it will be very bad.
If we’re on the west side of the storm, it will be less bad but still problematic.
Based on how quickly it gets here, it should weaken to a tropical storm before it arrives. Hopefully.
Anyway, here’s what NOAA says at present:
THE STORM IS EXPECTED TO WEAKEN TO TROPICAL STORM STRENGTH AS IT MOVES INTO NORTH TEXAS BUT HIGH WINDS…HEAVY RAIN…AND TORNADOES WILL ALL BE POSSIBLE. FLASH FLOODING WILL ALSO BE A THREAT AS SEVERAL INCHES OF RAIN ARE EXPECTED TO FALL IN PARTS OF NORTH TEXAS.
For now, we’re under a Tropical Storm Wind Watch with anticipated power outages and structural damage to go along with the flooding and tornado potential.
It all boils down to this: Where will it actually go and how quickly will it get there? If the storm moves a bit faster than anticipated or strengthens more than predicted right now, it could reach North Texas as a hurricane. If the track shifts a wee bit to the west (as some models are now indicating), we might find ourselves on the dirty side of a rather large and nasty storm.
Only time will tell.
Meanwhile, I’m making a trip to the store in an hour or so to gather a few essentials to help me make it through the weekend in case something bad does happen. Since I’ll be prepared and didn’t bother to wash the car, though, the storm will miss us entirely (that’s how these things work, right?).
This coin has another side.
Unless Ike takes a drastic turn somewhere and misses the current track entirely, either DFW will get the smackdown or the family farm will. I can’t win for losing in this case.
I’ll be checking in with my parents to make sure they’re prepared, and then I’ll be staying in touch with them throughout the weekend to make sure they’re okay. A trip to East Texas is not out of the question based on Ike’s impact.
And finally, to add insult to an already injurious weekend, Kazon is having dental surgery today.
He will need company and care during the weekend no matter what happens with the weather. If there are complications, that situation could become critical without warning.
The vets and I have concerns relating to his immune system and his previous reaction to anesthesia; nevertheless, this had to be done. He has a cavity at the base of one of his canines. If it’s not extracted, it could cause the tooth to break off at the base.
Needless to say, this is shaping up to be a wicked weekend around the xenogere homestead. One more bite of drama on my plate and I may well try to drown myself in a teaspoon…
[Update] We’ve been upgraded to a Tropical Storm Wind Warning and a Flash Flood Watch. Ike’s track seems to be shifting to the west and more in our direction. This could be interesting.
Also, I’ve spoken with my father and they’re as prepared as you can be. I’ll keep in touch with them throughout the weekend as this situation develops.
[Update 2] Kazon has been sent home without the surgery. His condition deteriorated too much. He had a significant inflammatory response and developed an acute fever in the few short hours he was there (due to stress). His CBC is all over the place and shows what we feared most: his already overzealous immune system is attacking his own body in response to an infection. The tooth cavity appears to be a symptom of that. He’s on strong antibiotics and steroids for two weeks, after which he needs more testing. And that assumes his condition doesn’t continue to go downhill (he lost 3/4 of a pound [1/3 of a kilogram] just since he visited the vet three weeks ago for his annual exam).
Too much to do and too little time.
Loki and Kazon had their annual visits last weekend.
Not so good.
Loki’s asthma has grown so acute that they won’t even do a simple dental procedure to clean up a bit of tartar on his teeth. Several of the vets agree that the anesthesia would likely kill him.
So instead of teeth cleaning, they’ll attempt to do some general scraping each time they see him. They also recommend Feline Greenies on a regular basis.
I was thrilled to hear that. Greenies happen to be one of The Kids‘s favorite treats. They get them regularly.
Kazon’s visit was more problematic. He has bacterial and yeast infections in both ears. That can be treated. Ear drops do not agree with him, of course, and I must pay the toll with extra lovin’ and extra goodies.
He also has a cavity. That requires a tooth extraction.
He goes in for dental surgery next Friday. Next weekend won’t be happy around the xenogere household. Hell, next weekend will likely encompass a certain amount of pandering on my part and demanding on their part simply because Kazon had a bad day.
And I will give in to the demanding.
Add to that a simple truth: This is the first time Kazon has been anesthetized. I don’t know how that will go (although I do know he’s such a baby that I will spend months paying the emotional bill for this).
Grendel and Vazra both go in this weekend for their annual exams. I hope that goes well and doesn’t add to the growing burden of malfunctions already in play amongst these felines.
Then comes me being on call this weekend. That never goes well, always demanding too much time and giving so little in return. And it results in working 12 days straight before seeing any respite in the melee.
Something else popping up on the ol’ radar is a trip to the family farm. Dad’s health has been problematic at best; Mom’s job has been overly demanding; my siblings offer no support whatsoever. It behooves me to get out there as soon as possible, even if for nothing more important than a visit, an opportunity to sit a spell with the folks.
Although I’ve finally completed the outline for “The Kingswell Chronicle” as a whole—something I’m thrilled about both as an accomplishment and as a voluminous tale eager to be told, Dreamdarkers needs additional work so I can begin on End of the Warm Season. Then Centralia. Then whatever comes next.
Yet I still need to deal with relocating coupled with finding a new job, neither of which can be seen as simple in the current economy. It seems many companies persist in their hunts for candidates without actually engaging any new employees, a practice with which I’m quite familiar given my many years in management.
That makes finding a new job all the more difficult, however, and relocation on top of that becomes a challenge beyond measure.
I go on, though, go on looking, go on writing, go on caring for my children and my parents, go on going on in a hostile environment assaulting me on all sides.
Things cannot always be this way.