Hieronymus’ Neighborhood

Another post that is past due....there's another cat at home now.  Juliet came to live with Jesse and me last September.  She and Jesse never buddied up but they at least tolerated each other after an initial period of avoiding each other.

Juliet is 10 years old.  She and another cat had been left behind when their elderly guardian passed away in February, 2008.  The two cats were left in the cellar, clean but unfurnished, while the guardian's two sons fixed up her house to sell and tried to rehome the pair.  They were not neglected: they had visitors several times a day for feedings and play times,but it was not a great life for two previously pampered senior cats.  I found out about this situation in August and said it might be good to have another cat to keep Jesse company.  Eventually that led to my taking Juliet home with me.

She's a sweet grey shorthaired cat.  She was a bit chubby when I took her in and has gotten fat now.  I had to leave food out for Jesse and she ate more than her share then.  Plus I think she sees food as a reassurance thing and after her stint of living in the cellar for seven months, I try to reduce stress, not aggravate it.  But I'm trying to get her weight down.  She likes to play with feathers and have me hide them under covers where she will "dig" them out.  She gives me kisses, licking my face and hands, and now she sleeps with me each night.

One thing that disturbs me is that Juliet was declawed.  Every time I see her walking it breaks my heart.  She clearly had to adjust to it and I expect she will have arthritis from it and I feel so bad for her.   In the meantime we just share our home and affection.

I haven't kept this up, I know.  Sorry.  It was painful to even visit the site, because losing Toby was very, very hard for me.  And this post, which I should have done months ago, is also painful:  Jesse is also gone.  He died on March 19, three months ago today.

Jesse lost a bit of weight last fall, but it seemed to go with some adjustment issues and not eating well.  I concentrated on making sure he ate more and in a month he had gained back a few ounces.  I continued to encourage him to eat more.  But then February, he started eating less again and also started to have a problem with at least one tooth.  A dental was a risk due to his CRF and hyperthyroid, so first antibiotics were tried, in case there was infection.  That wasn't so good: the antibiotic made him eat even less.  Appetite stimulants got us past that setback, but it was clear there was still an issue with his mouth.  He started getting scared of pill times and tried to hide.  He even wanted to hide when feeding time came as I was pushing him to eat more.  Then I discovered some kind of sore below his tongue ; the vet said it was a mass of some kind.  She wanted to xray it but he needed to fast and be under anaesthesia to keep the mouth immobile.  So after a fast, he went back for the xray and possible dental procedure.

It was hoped he just had a bad tooth, so the xray would be followed by a dental procedure.  But it wasn't so: the xray revealed cancer in his mouth, probably bone cancer, as his jaw was pitted and had possibly been fractured at one point.  When our vet saw the xray, she called me and said it was very advanced and she thought he'd never eat again.  So rather than let him suffer in pain and starve, a friend drove me over and we helped him pass.  I worry that I was premature but I know how much he had been suffering at mealtimes and worse when I gave him the pills that kept his hyperT at bay.

Losing Jesse hurt more than ever.  He and Toby were different but both were very loving and close to me.  Jesse was my pillow buddy and he had a loud wonderful purr and huge polydactyl paws.  I think of them both all the time and I ache often missing them.  I have another cat now (I'll do another post to introduce Juliet; she joined Jesse and me in September).  But she doesn't take away the loss. I know this is how it goes.  I just don't like it.

Last night the Red Sox came back from the short side of a 7-0 score to beat the Tampa Bay Rays and stave off elimination in the ALCS for one more game, at least.  With that hanging in the air, I again came across a classic description of baseball from Mark Twain's book "Letters from the Earth."  In this book there are, among other things, excerpts from purported translations of diaries of Biblical figures.  Twain used this device to present a perspective on human history by assuming the viewpoint of a character who lived long and could observe much,
to to present a satirical view that human experience is cyclic.  Here's a bit from
Methuselah's Diary (all typos are mine, as I entered it from the book -- about 15 years ago!) that never fails to amuse me.

-mm-

Tenth Day-- It taketh but short space to craze men of indifferent
understanding with a new thing.  Behold, 'tis now but two years gone
that a certain ancient game, played with a ball, hath come up again,
yet already are mouths filled with the phrases that describe its parts
and movement; insomuch, indeed, that the ears of the sober and such as
would busy themselves with weightier matters are racked with the clack
of the same till they do ache with anguish.  If a man deceive his
neighbor with a shrewd trick that doth advantage himself to his
neighbor's hurt, the vulgar say of the sufferer that he was Caught out
on a Foul.  If one accomplisheth a great and sudden triumph of any
sort soever, 'tis said of him that he hath Made a Three-Base Hit.  If
one fail utterly in an enterprise of pith and moment, you shall hear
this said concerning him: "Hashbat-kakolath."  [footnote: this was not
translatable into English, but it is about equivalent to "Lo, he is
whitewashed."]  Thus has this vile deformity of speech entered with
familiar insolance into the very warp and woof of the language, and
made ugly that which before was shapely and beautiful.  Today, by
command of my father, was this game contested in a great court of his
palace after the manner of the playing of it three centuries gone by.
Nine men that had their calves clothed in red did strive against other
nine that had blue hose upon their calves.  Certain of those in blue
stood at distances, one from another, stooping, each with his palms
upon his knees, watching; these called they Basemen and Fielders --
wherefore, God knoweth.  It concerneth me not to know, neither to
care.  One with red legs stood wagging a club about his head, which
from time to time he struck upon the ground, then wagged he it again.
Behind him bent one with blue legs that did spit much upon his hands,
and was called a Catcher.  Beside him bent one called Umpire, clothed
in the common fashion of the time, who marked upon the ground with a
stick, yet accomplished nothing by it that I could make out.  Saith
this one, "Low Ball."  Whereat one with blue legs did deliver a ball
with vicious force straight at him that bore the club, but failed to
bring him down, through some blemish of his aim.  At once did all that
are called Basemen and Fielders spit upon their hands and stoop and
watch again.  He that bore the club did suffer the ball to be flung at
him divers times, but did always bend in his body or bend it out and
so save himself, whilst the others spat upon their hands, he at the
same instant endeavoring to destroy the Umpire with his bludgeon, yet
not succeeding, through grievous awkwardness.  But in the fullness of
time he was more fortunate, and did lay the Umpire dead, which
mightily pleased me, yet fell himself, he failing to avoid the ball,
which this time cracked his skull, to my deep gratitude and
satisfaction.  Conceiving this to be the end, I did crave my father's
leave to go, and got it, though all beside me did remain, to see the
rest disabled.  Yet had I seen a sufficiency, and shall visit this sport
no more, forasmuch as the successful hits come too laggingly,
wherefore the game doth lack excitement.  Moreover was Jebel there,
windy of scorn of these modern players, and boastful of certain mighty
Nines he knew three hundred years gone by -- dead, now, and rotten,
praise God, who doeth all things well.

My house has well water, and I have an underground leak in the pipe that
feeds the house from the well.

That pipe doesn't go directly from the well to the house.  I have a
typical small house with a typical driveway on one side of it, more or
less centered on just over an acre of land.  Originally there was a well
across the driveway from the house, and there's a pipe going from there
under the driveway over to a far corner of the house.  At some point
that well must have been abandoned (perhaps right from the start, I have
no way of knowing), for now there's another well about 75 feet farther
from the driveway and farther from the street, i.e.  on a diagonal line
from the driveway away from the house.  An underground pipe connects the
new well to the old well, spliced there to the pipe to the house.

The leak is near the new well.  I can tell because the water is
being pumped out of the ground in one spot at a pretty good rate; it's
burbling like a geyser ready to pop.  I've been keeping the pump turned
off, only running it for a few minutes a couple of times a day.  Today a
well guy came out to look at the situation.  I said to him that he must
see a lot of dirty people.  He said it was funny how people handle water
issues; some immediately pack up and move to a motel, some do what I'm
doing, and some pretend that they are camping.  That got me to thinking
a little.

My immediate ancestors, one and two generations back, came from deep
parts of Maine and Vermont.  I think WWII helped to scatter much of my
parents' generation into more populated areas, but that's another
tangent.  When I was a child, visiting relatives and friends Down East,
outhouses were common.  Not everyone we visited had indoor plumbing, and
if they did, it might consist entirely of a hand pump in the kitchen.
Life with outhouses, chamberpots, and outdoor wells is somewhat within
my memory, and from not that long ago.  Maybe deep down I have a
repressed opinion of indoor water as something optional.  Combine that
with the stream of problems I've had with plumbing throughout my adult
life, and I guess I don't get too fazed when the system breaks down.

- your geezer-in-training, rambling along

It's been a while again. Jesse is doing okay.  When I saw a copy of the bloodwork in July, I saw that his T4 value was actually below normal.  So I worked out a trial with the vet and reduced his hyperT med for a month and then retested the T4.  I did this more to help the kidneys, but also because he did seem less energetic (I had assumed that was due to his missing Toby).  After a month, his T4 tested up in the normal range, though in the lower half of the range, and I'm continuing the reduced dosage for now.  He did lose a few ounces in that time, though, so I'm thinking the dose might go up again after his next testing which will mostly be of the CRF values but will include T4.

Jesse might be adjusting to being a solo cat finally though he still howls at times.  He does enjoy the extra after dinner tour around the house looking for frogs.  And he likes the extra attention in bed.  But I think he'd enjoy company during  the day, too, and I might be taking in another cat soon.

jesse

Jesse and I are still feeling the gap left by Toby, but we are both continuing to adjust.  And now we will have more to distract us, while still reminding us (or me, at least) of our lost buddy.

Jesse had his annual checkup Monday, which includes bloodwork.  His hyperthyroid is doing okay; my vet was very pleased with how his heart sounds and his slight weight gain (unusual for hypert cats, in her experience).

Then yesterday came the "but"...his bloodwork came back.  Now Jesse is showing early CRF numbers.  He's in a lot better shape than Toby was when he first got that diagnosis, but it is a progressive disease (as is hypert).  We will be balancing the two from now on, though my vet leans toward controlling the hypert as the most urgent.  At this point, Jesse is no longer a good candidate for radioactive iodine treatment but I wasn't really leaning toward doing it anyway.

So now we go back to trying to make a renal diet palatable and eventually dealing with all the other effects of CRF.  Toby did not live long enough to have to have sub-cutaneous fluids so there will be more to learn.  But I am better informed now and better armed and I still have some of Toby's meds and foods to start with.  My vet feels very strongly that the best thing I can do is get Jesse to accept a renal diet.  Not so sure how that's going to work out.  But if he won't, then I still have more things we can try.

So here we go....unfortunately, Jesse didn't really want the renal diet food I offered this morning (and he had been eating it some before, sigh).

Jesse is still looking for Toby some of the time.  I don't know if every time he calls out, it's for his brother, because he used to do that some of the time anyway (though some of that would be calling me and some if it was calling Toby even then).  But I know sometimes it is for Toby.  We are both adjusting to the changes.

There are a lot of things that are just a little changed: I don't have to put out two bowls for the two boys to eat at mealtime (well, I do put out two bowls eventually, since they always split two courses/flavors of cat food each meal, but now I put out one bowl for Jesse to start and then just use a clean bowl for the second course).  There's less to cleanup in the litter boxes and that feels very weird.  There was a lot less litter to take to the dump today, which makes sense, but felt strange.

There's also the bigger changes.  Now there's a lot of "free" time in terms of the basic care routines: feeding, litterbox cleanup, medications.  I spent a lot of time after the CRF diagnosis on meds for Toby and encouraging him to eat.  Jesse's hypert is a serious disease, but his treatment right now is simple: half a pill twice a day.  His appetite is pretty good and he doesn't refuse food unless he doesn't like it (which is another difference for me: there were foods that Toby liked and Jesse doesn't like and now I can't use them...I've started giving some of that away).  I also have less shopping to do to keep the larder full.

Jesse hasn't started clinging to me but he has had some nice petting and scritching sessions, probably longer than they used to be because I also spent time doing the same for Toby.  He also has gotten to revisit a ritual that was abandoned a few years back: a walk in the wooded section of my lot.  I stopped that when the plots at the back end of the lot were built up and I felt I couldn't rein in both guys to stay out of the new houses' land.  I can manage that with one guy, and Jesse needs nice times, so we've done that a couple times now.

So I guess we are coping okay.  But we both still have a big big hole in our lives.

Toby's battle is over.  He threw a blood clot the other night and was paralyzed in his back legs and howling.  We went to the emergency clinic. They said he had congestive heart failure and counseled me to let him go.  It happened so fast.  I wanted to take him home for a few days for a less stressful goodbye, but he was in so much pain, that I had to let him go.  His passing was quick, though not totally peaceful (his eyes wouldn't close and his tongue stuck out).  But his pain and illnesses are gone now. I hope he is whole and at peace.  If his soul is out there, I hope he knows how much I love and miss him, and that he needs to watch over Jesse now.

Jesse seems to be figuring out that Toby isn't coming home.  He looks around when he's out in the yard and he called for someone this morning (it could have been me, but it might have been for Toby).  They are brothers and they were together at home for just shy of 15 years.  There were only a few times one was home alone, when one had a solo medical treatment.  While they didn't always hang out together at home, they sometimes did, and they ate together and I know  things are not the same now for Jesse.  I hope he can adjust okay.

And I hope the pain inside me will dull.  It's way too harsh when I don't push it down and distract myself.  I've had to be at work each day, despite this.  Maybe the weekend will help me work this out.  I dug out my photos last night, the old ones, on paper, not the online ones that I already was viewing.  He was a cute tiny kitten at first, and then a gorgeous teenager kitty, and an absolutely magnificent adult in his prime.  The world is a sadder place now.

My fish posting is starting to stink, so here's a random list.

A list

• when its on the lose, you can loose it's value
  
• vagueness might get you something
  
• 285,114
  
• it looks good on you, though
  
• two words
  
• much as any noun can be verbed, most any song can be waltzed
  
• Lee J. Cobb does not look Siamese
  
• three more words
  
• I like fish
  

So Toby has had his ups and downs this month.  After being on the Pepcid for a bit over a week and the Azodyl for five days, he took a bad turn.  Got sick, stopped eating.  Off the meds and had one dose each of anti-nausea med and then an appetite stimulator, plus I started using giving him Slippery Elm Bark (herbal digestive remedy).  All that worked and he started eating again.  Since then I've just been giving him Slippery Elm Bark, and his prednisone for asthma.  I offer him food a lot...some cat food, some baby food.  He's eating more now, though little bits at a time, and hasn't been really sick again.  I should probably try the Azodyl again, but I'm gunshy.
The seem to be five brands of canned feline renal diets out there, and at this point I've tried 4 of them, with the last one in the wings to try later this week.  Toby has only really refused one, but he won't eat a whole lot of any of them, not as a total diet.  Still, some is better than none.
Jesse is probably feeling a little neglected and certainly misses out on all the feedings.  But he gets his own special treats when he gets his evening pill.  And I try to give him attention, too.