Freya’s debut… and of course she had to do it in the most leisurely fashion, now that she has the luxury of doing so.
Lovely tummy though, don’t you agree ?
Other glorious fluffy tummies can be admired at LisaViolet’s Dairy.
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”.
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.
Isegrim is surely hogging the ultimate spotlight again. That is, the Sun. But oh, how he deserves the attention !! And how he revels in it !!!
Other feline stomach fluff can be admired over at LisaViolet’s Dairy.
Oh my. Oh dear. The whole year the river runs empty and suddenly there’s a deluge. Scarcely had Freya and Isegrim wormed themselves into the House and Hearts of Chaos, then there are more feline kitties coming a’knocking. A whole tribe no less.
It seems that Not-Franky and Almost-Franky (or maybe Frankemie) have been breeding, and their brood consists of at least 2 lovely more-white-than-black kittens. And somehow Rataplan Frankenstein The Mobile Disaster Area must have left his mark upon the local feline population as well before his sudden, unfortunate and ultimately fatal confrontation with Mr. Electricity several years ago, because a young tomcat -looking very much like him- is roaming the neighbourhood now. And for some unfathomable reason the youngsters all converged in the Garden of Chaos, and played and frolicked here.
Which makes Hrimnir ecstatic with joy: so many playmates, so many interesting games. And none of the new kitties bigger than he is so that easy victory is ever ensured. He lost no time at all and started to caper around with the young ones. Clearly the Peacemaker has not lost his magic touch !
But it leaves The Mistress with a hopeless task, for she is wont to name each and every kitty in the neighbourhood, and the sudden influx of no less than 3 new kittens doth sorely stress her creative abilities. Oh well. And thus the naming begins…
We don’t know the gender yet of the two siblings, so neutral names are called for. I’d settle for Dash and Flash, because these kitties are rather swift when spooked. But the brown tabby tomcat… hmmm… Conkers should do. After all, he clearly has two of them, and the name sounds like “conquers”, which he surely attempts.
So suddenly the Garden of Chaos resembled a big flea-circus (and I’m -alas- not speaking metaphorically here) with all them kitties a-dashing and a-smashing. There was lots of incredible pounces to be admired, and many a cunning plan being executed. Fur flying everywhere. Not to mention bits and pieces of kitty. But none of it in anger, to be sure. Only when Bean Sidhe tried to join the fun did the little ones hiss and cringe, for in their eyes he resembles a giant and they don’t yet know he’s gentle.
How gentle ? Freya found out the same day. She’s ever anxious when that huge cat approaches her only-begotten son, but on that day she only had to sit back and enjoy the scenery because Bean Sidhe has discovered a kitten-safe method of play: Obsidian’s armour.
Obsidian is a Fighting Robot that we’re repairing and rebuilding. We took the armour off, which looks like a big black shell, put it on the ground in the Garden of Chaos, and the feline friends have noticed that this can play an excellent role in their games. Bean Sidhe hides within the shell, and in front of it little Isegrim will sit ready. Then Bannikins will reach with a paw underneath the shell and Isegrim will cheerfully attack it. No harm possible, and the concerned dam really did have the leisure to sit back and enjoy the view.
The keen observer of feline activity surely knows this: kittens can play without so much as a sound. They don’t screech, they don’t yap at each other like woofies do. They stalk and creep and pounce in a hunter’s silence and the only part of them that shouts “AHA !” when they do spring an attack is the body. And after that they jump and bounce and roll. They disperse again, go lie in hiding, and the game begins anew.
It’s restful to observe kittens at play. They spend so much energy..
Picture below: Conkers joins the fun but Isegrim has his doubts.
Isegrim discovers The Hidden Paw, you can see it too… slightly to the left above his left ear !
Weekend again ? My… time does fly doesn’t it ? We’re happy to see our furriends again over at the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats hosted by Life From A Cat’s Perspective, Weekend Cat Blogging at Cat’s In Maryland, and the Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos done by Diamond’s Lair.
Frankette showing off her assets in a daring exhibition of the fine art of Pole-Dancing.
Or so she said.
Please visit LisaViolet’s Dairy for other glorious tummies to admire…
Isegrim seemed a bit under the weather. He was too calm, too much sleeping in his cushion-basket. Not playing enough with his huge playmate Hrimnir, or for that matter, with his dam Freya. He even stopped suckling when she pushed him away, giving up without protest or persevering. And when in the past days there have been crusts around his eyes, now it seemed that a liquid was slowly seeping through his closed lids. It did not go away. And that meant trouble.
A couple of days ago The Mistress noticed that it had become thick oozing liquid, green of colour, clearly coming from the eyes who had gone red to boot. There was no other alternative, and thus a visit to the Man In White was put into effect. Little Isegrim had never travelled in the travel-cage before, and he didn’t like it one bit. In the waiting room he kept meowing his little head off. The charming effect it had on the other visitors was devastating to say the least. No simian can sit undisturbed when a tiny kitty is in distress ! Fortunately we didn’t have to wait long.
The Man In White was instantly charmed too. It was love at first sight, but unilateral to say the least. Isegrim was scared, terrified, and very alone-feeling, the poor tyke. But one glance from the MIW was enough, he pronounced the verdict immediately: “That looks like a herpes-infection, conjunctivitis, not a doubt about it.” It appears to be quite common amongst kitty-cats, they get infected mostly at birth, by their dams. And if not, they will acquire the virus later, through contact with other cats. It is not unlike the herpes-virus many simians suffer from, but different enough that it cannot jump species.
The virus, as is also the case with simians, is wont to manifest its nefarious presence whenever the carrier is weakened by something. Feral kittens and older felines are affected the most, but adult cats can succumb to it too – especially in times of stress. In many cases it manifests itself as conjunctivitis, an inflammation in the eyes. If you do not treat it then secondary bacterial infections may join the party and wreak terrible havoc on your kitty, ending with blinding him or her permanently.
So, swift and good treatment is paramount. In the case of Isegrim this meant eye-drops – which he allowed the MIW to apply without a fuss – and anti-biotics. The latter to make sure any secondary infections are dealt with, trampled, and kept down real hard. The jab in his buttocks didn’t distress him too much either, although he did make a dash for the travel-cage immediately afterwards. But what really, really, REALLY upset him was the thermometer.
You see, whereas simians might have their temperature taken by putting that pesky thing in the mouth or in an armpit, for kitties there is only one possible orifice and that is where the sun don’t shine. The MIW was so kind as to apply a generous dose of lubricant before inserting the offending item but little Isegrim was offended nevertheless. Not to say enraged, furious, and utterly mad. His howls were impressive. His squirming only made matters worse, prolonging the ordeal because a temp had to be taken at any cost. But eventually the device beeped and we discovered that the tyke did have a slight fever. Which happens to be common for his type of infection.
But all the way back to home did he complain on top of his tiny lungs. And he didn’t stop complaining either when we arrived at the House of Chaos and I set him free from the travel-cage. He immediately made a bee-line towards his dam, howling all the way, turned around, and offered the violated orifice up to her for inspection and subsequent tender motherly care whilst continuing to give voice to his complaints, scare and pain. Yet, to his utter disappointment Freya was not inclined to apply her raspy tongue to the invaded site. The lubricant was Vaseline, and Vaseline is definitely not yummy ! She only checked whether he was all-right and then turned away, leaving her thoroughly dejected offspring to tend to himself. There are just things that even Mom won’t do…
The eye-drops the Man In White had applied worked miracles: in just a few hours the yucky ooze was gone and his tiny little orbs were shiny as if brand-new. I did have to administer some kind of eye-gel and oral anti-biotics to him for a week afterwards though, but Isegrim has recovered really fast and is again his old boisterous and hungry self. Much to Freya’s chagrin, because that meant he started suckling again. And he won’t take a no for an answer that little one. Not this time.
Picture below: Isegrim, with the onset of his conjunctivitis. Note the stuff leaking from his eyes.
Aaahh… a glorious weekend. When friends join with friends and have a great old time. Like, at the Friday Ark, or the Carnival of the Cats over at My Big Fat Orange Cat’s, or Weekend Cat Blogging done by Paulchens Foodblog, or the Bad Kitty Festival Cats of Chaos hosted by Meezer Tails.