This Stress

It was déjà vu all over again: the Mistress enjoying a quiet meal at her computer, and suddenly one of the Feline Denizens enters the House of Chaos whilst emitting plaintive and clearly distressed yowls and meows at the top of his lungs. It was the same sound Zorro called out just hours before his death. But this time it was his black brother Loup-Garou. Who was swaying on his feet and panting visibly. Not a good sign that. Not a good sign at all.

It being Saturday morning and the usual market taking place on the square where the Man In White has his office and home, it was impossible to drive the poor kitty there. The Mistress wrestled Loup-Garou into the travel-basket, put on her shoes and coat, grabbed her purse, and set off a-foot. Now, walking through the streets with a howling basket is not something you will enjoy on any morning, but on a Saturday morning, when many simians are still trying to sleep off the result from the previous night’s reveling, it does not exactly make you popular. Still, it had to be endured. And to make matters even more interesting: The Mistress suffers from ME and Fibromyalgia. Carrying loads -especially a 5-kilo load of distressed kitty- is not easily done when your muscles scream out in searing agony after just 30 seconds. The walk would take 10 minutes.

We did arrive safely and timely at the MIW’s office though. But we had to wait there at first. He had been called away on an emergency himself and because of the ongoing market the poor man had to go on foot too. But when he came back, arms and hands covered with fresh scratches, his immediate and undivided attention was all Loup-Garou’s. Who was still howling and panting. Which made the Man In White grab for his stethoscope. “Panting,” he said, “is usually the sign of a heart condition”.

He listened.
And listened.
Then listened some more.
But the slow onset of a relieved smile on his face was enough for The Mistress to start breathing again. No, the heart did sound well and good. No sign of a valve-failure which he had dreaded. No fluttering or rustling. Just the normal thumpity-thumpity heart-beat of a cat stressed out by this impromptu outing. But the swaying and panting had to come from somewhere, and Loup-Garou was still howling as if the world was coming to an end and the very Heavens would come crashing down on his little bewhiskered head. There had to be a reason for this strange behaviour. “Does he make that sound often ?” No, it was the first time I heard it coming from him. “Clearly a distress-call. But for what ?”

Upon closer examination the feline’s inner and outer systems seemed to be in fine working order. The mouth was opened (which provoked a silent warning from one paw showing a formidable array of claws – but a warning only, a trait all of my furry babies seem to develop and which endears them enormously to our MIW), the eyes were examined, the temperature was taken… everything normal. There was -though- a bloodied scratch on his nose-bridge. A clear sign that he had been fighting again. The Mistress is used to that. Loup-Garou has them all the time. But to the Man In White the story became more clear now: “He has been fighting. The other must have surprised him somehow, and caused a huge adrenaline-rush. His body can’t cope with that. And so he panics. Pants. Howls. It’s just stress.”
Hyperventilation, feline style.

With a smile, because he loves kitties who don’t try to gouge his eyes out or disembowel him when he’s administering tender care, the MIW reached for a syringe and deftly jabbed something into the black cat’s buttocks. “That will do for a week, that stuff,” he grinned. It turned out to be some kind of a mild tranquilizer. It did put an immediate stop to the howling, which was a great relief. But then we had to wrestle Loup-Garou back into the travel-cage, no mean feat with a 10-year-old feline who knows all the tricks and how to use his body-mass. Fortunately the Man In White is an experienced veterinarian, he has his own tricks too.

Loup-Garou was meowing during our walk back home. But this sound was clearly just a complaint, the big cat whining about the unfamiliar confinement, and no longer the horrifying howl of utter terror.

And now The Mistress is aching all over. The price a ME/Fibro-mite pays for sudden and gross physical excertion and stress.
But would you let the kitty who softly snores on top of your head during the night possibly die on you ?
Hellooooo pain…. old friend….

Picture below: sauntering by, at ease… more or less…

Is it weekend again ? Wow.

That means we’re having an appointment again over at the Friday Ark, and The Carnival of the Cats hosted by Cats in Maryland, Weekend Cat Blogging done by CatSynth and the Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos which takes place over at the Pet’s Garden Blog.