that fat cat

There is a spring in my step today. My world seems a little brighter. Things seem a little better. Why, you ask? I know this sounds just ridiculous, but it is because the cat we were fostering is now back in his real home. Praise heaven.


But really, you ask, how can you be so pleased with the departure of a cat? Let me tell you the tale...

• It all started in April 2010 when a friend of my dad's, who was living in Utah, was getting divorced. She needed to travel the country (and world, evidently) to "find herself" and figure out where she wanted to land. Would we be a home for her cat while she tried to work things out? I didn't think it would be that big of a deal, so we said sure. She even had a job opportunity in Seattle so she'd be driving up here to chase it and could drop the cat off. That worked out well.
  
  
• When we agreed to take Stidean (we got him the first weekend in May), we understood it was temporary "with the possibility" of being permanent if either parties desired it. That seemed fine. We didn't really want a second cat, but maybe it would be fun? Getting used to everything was tough at first. He barfed a lot. He hissed and swatted at Gabby. She got over him way before he got over her. They finally became friends maybe 3 months later?
  
  
  
• Our first sign of trouble was at the end of the summer, in August, when he started itching and scratching... a lot. He had four or five open oozing bloody wounds on his head and neck. It was disgusting and weird! His owner had him on a "vet plan" at a nationwide vet (Banfield at PetsMart), so we took him in. He needed an antibiotic shot, some funky cream for the wounds, and a "cone of shame." I don't know what was worse: the cream or the cone. The cream was gross, and applying it to his wounds twice a day (with gloves on) wasn't fun, and the whole area was oozy and sticky so I ended up taking an ACE bandage and wrapping it around his neck under the cone for a week. The cone itself was awful, because we had to take the lid off our litter box for him to use it. And he'd get all disoriented and basically scoop up mounds of litter in the cone (like a shovel) and get it EVERYWHERE. I found poop turds on the floor. He'd step in his own poo. And then he couldn't clean himself (the cone was intended to keep his paws away from his face so he couldn't scratch, with the side effect that it kept his tongue away from everything as well), so I had to use some waterless shampoo and clean him twice a week. And he hated that, too. Believe me, I didn't particularly enjoy it either.
  
  
  
• The wounds got better, but not 100%. The vets kept trying "different things" to see what was causing them. In one visit, they convinced me to put him on hypoallergenic food (because the scratching was a symptom of an allergic reaction). That meant I had to wean him completely off the food we were using, buy some expensive food and get him to eat it, and keep him separated from Gabby so he did not eat a single morsel of her food thereby defeating the entire purpose of having him eat hypoallergenic. In another visit, they told me I needed to clean his ears once a week. They demonstrated. I did it once at home. Not pretty. They convinced me to keep flea meds on him all the time (even though he nor Gabby had fleas, but maybe a flea jumped on him, bit, and jumped off). I had to make a habit of clipping his toenails. When his hygiene got really bad, I gave him a bath. Even his owner said she had never ever given him a bath. I did. And I won. Although he put up a good fight.
  
  
• In all, I had been to the vet at least 4 or 5 times so far. Then I decided the cone was just more trouble than it was worth, so I tried some kitty booties. The vet had suggested them once. I got a pair made for tiny dogs, with rubber soles and Velcro that wrapped above the "knee." Oh boy did Stid hate the booties. He managed to get one of them off a couple times, and he chewed them both up so badly I had to hold them together with duct tape. I got them both on his hind legs pretty tight and stabilized. His head wounds were no match for rubber booties! We kept them on him for one week. And in that week he sulked and he barely walked and he was mad. He whined. Shane was the one who convinced me to take the booties off and that the emotional turmoil wasn't worth it. I'm glad I listened. One of his back paws had swollen up to about three times the size of a normal paw. It was red and super icky looking. I took him to the vet and demanded an emergency visit (my worst fear was I'd cut off circulation so much that the paw would need to be amputated!). Luckily the paw was warm, and the vet said it would be fine. They gave him prednisone for swelling and another antibiotic shot. And told me to put the cone on him again, since he wasn't supposed to lick his swollen leg. It seems I cannot get rid of that cursed cone.
  
  
• The whole experience was awful, but one positive thing came out of it: prednisone. I have had some awful allergy issues and I know prednisone is a wonderful miracle drug. Evidently it is for cats, too. The basic diagnosis after all of this was that Stidean's skin didn't like Seattle weather and was inflamed. Prednisone counteracted the inflammation and made him not need to scratch as much. So yes, for the last 6 months the cat has received a crushed up prednisone in his food at least once a week. The only solution was to put the cat on drugs. I basically kept an eye on him, and whenever he'd scratch his head a lot or I'd see some red on his forehead, I gave him a pill and he chilled right out.
  
  
• Meanwhile, Stidean was eating us out of house and home. The hypoallergenic stuff didn't help, so he was back to eating my cat's food. And basically he'd finish his food (wolf it down) and then he'd butt Gabby off her food and eat it, too. (She's a grazer. She lost out.) In the 9-10 months he was with us, he went from 12 pounds to 19-20 pounds (gulp!) and Gabby went from 18 pounds to 13 pounds. Wow, what a diet for her!
  
  (he had a much harder time getting up there after he gained 50% of his body weight)
  
  
• So if you can imagine this. Every time we went to vet, I'd lug this HUGE cat in his carrier down our three flights of stairs and put him in the car. At the vet's office, I'd put Wesley in his umbrella stroller, grab the carrier, push the stroller with my stomach and use my entire body weight to counteract the weight of the cat just to get to the lobby counter. I'm sure I was a sight to be seen. Sorry no pictures. Then, I'd come home and lug him back up three flights of stairs.
  
  
• As soon as the head issues were resolved, things were OK. He still was kind of a crazy cat, but we were fond of him. At one point, despite my best judgment, I talked it over with Shane and emailed his owner and said maybe we'd be interested in keeping him for good. She said she had to think about it. I didn't hear from her in awhile.
  
  
  
• He got a routine physical in December and a dental teeth cleaning. At the appointment he had a couple lab items still available for his yearly plan, so they asked if I wanted to do them, you know, just for routine analysis to use them up before the year expired. Sure, whatever.
  
  
• Well, that was a mistake. In January things got funny. He was in and out of the litter box a lot. At first, we thought he was just doing it to tick off Shane. See, our litter box is in a bathroom so every time a cat hops out of it, some litter gets on the floor. We keep a broom at the doorway and we sweep before we head into the bathroom to do our business or take a bath or do the laundry or brush our teeth. It was getting bad. Stidean was in there every 5 minutes. I exercised one Monday morning and in the 30 minutes I was doing pilates he was in the bathroom seven times... dig dig dig. With nothing really to show for it. When I was first married I had had a urinary tract infection or two, so I knew what was happening when I saw it. We'd shut the door of the bathroom (hoping "out of sight out of mind" would work), and he'd just whine and whine. Yep, the cat was sick.
  
  
• What's the worst part about a cat in and out of the box a lot? HUGE MESSES. Litter everywhere. You could sweep the bathroom floor for five minutes and STILL there would be litter you didn't get. Plus, there is just something about this cat, he drags the litter all over the house. Litter on our bed, on our couch, on our dresser (he'd jump up there), on our kitchen chairs, every single place this cat was there was litter. It was unnerving. Shane told me I had to vacuum the house at least twice a day and I had to oblige. He was right. It was gross. We have a toddler for heaven's sake.
  
  
  
• This was the first time I had spoken to his owner since my email "saying we'd like to keep him," and when she said on the phone that no, she definitely wanted him back, well, I have to say I was very relieved. We cannot handle this high maintenance cat. She gave me the go-ahead to take him to the vet.
  
  
• Back to the story. Since the vet had already used up the last of the lab work for a non-emergency reason (back when he had his checkup), it wasn't covered when I took him in this time and I really needed it. SO LAME. I had to pay full price for a urinalysis. He had peed in his carrier and they analyzed it and found some bacteria. They gave him yet another antibiotic shot and sent me home with some pills, tramadol. I figured I'd just crush them up in his food like the prednisone. Umm no. He would not TOUCH his food. He didn't eat for days. I tried everything I could -- drowned the food in tuna juice -- and he would not eat anything with the pain pills in it. I tried to shove it down his throat, but I don't know what the heck I'm doing. It was an unpleasant experience and basically I destroyed five pills (having them melt in my hands) just trying to get him to eat one. And the litter box problems didn't go away. It was still just as terrible. At the very worse moment he jumped into our laundry basket and I am pretty sure he peed on our clothes. That was not acceptable. We were so frustrated. Shane wanted to throw the cat off the balcony. I was going to let him.
  
  
• I called Stidean's owner again and suggested I take him back to the vet. She said, "no, this vet hasn't been right about anything so far. Take him to YOUR vet." So I took him to Gabby's vet. He said it could be a urinary tract infection but although they are more common in male cats then female, they still aren't that common. Mostly, cats who behave in a way like they have a UTI are simply super stressed. Were things in our house stressful? Ummm how about there was a leak in our roof and all our furniture was rearranged and Wesley was sleeping in our room and we were all stressed out? Yes. And the vet said that can do it to a cat. Stidean may not have had a true UTI, but he definitely needed help. He gave me another type of pain med, an oral liquid (he said tramadol is a nasty little drug and he never prescribes it for cats!). Thank goodness; I could squeeze the miracle elixir in his mouth with a syringe. They put him on special wet food (to get him more water). They told me to spray this stuff around the house that helps cats to "chill out." They said above all, we needed to help him not be stressed (so locking him on the balcony with his own litter box wasn't a good idea. We did that a couple times.) Lastly, the worse case scenario is that this was just an anxious cat and he'd have to go on kitty Prozac. I am not lying.
  
  
• The liquid meds worked great. Things got better. The box issues were bad but not as bad. I started emailing my friend more about her "plans." She just found a place to live (in MAINE) and was pretty stressed with moving in and taking some certification courses for her new job (or something). I tried to play cool.
  
  
• THEN the "UTI" issues came back. More digging in the box. We had had enough. I wrote her a kindly but strongly worded email saying we were done. We were too stressed out, and the vet was saying us being stressed out was stressing him out, and it wasn't doing anyone any good. In fact, when I had him on this special "urinary tract" food, I'd have to lock him in the bathroom so he'd eat his food and not Gabby's food and I bet that was stressful. He hated that. He'd race out and eat her food anyway and I'd yell at him. Gosh it was awful.
  
  
• Well, that got the wheels turning. She found someone on UShip.com who is a personal traveler for breeders all over the country. Wow. This woman takes animals on planes and hand delivers them where they need to go. She had a job that was taking her to Denver, so she just hopped up to Seattle and got Stidean. I met her at the airport last Sunday night. She was definitely a pro at traveling with animals and had all the right equipment (like food bowls for the trip, pee pads, soft carrier, the works!), and then it was over. He was home.
  

Shane told me this was the best Valentine's Day gift I could have gotten him.

In the last week, I am completely astounded at how little litter Gabby tracks all over the house. She is such a dainty cat. Also, since he is gone, she whines a lot more for food or attention. I think he intimidated her so she kept quiet. Now, she rules the roost so she's waking us up at 5 am for food. That I did not miss. I hadn't realized the effect Stid had on her.

I think the hardest part of all of this is that I like cats, and I like the idea of having more cats in our lives, but the fact is you never know what kinda cat you're going to get. Gabby is an angel, and we have been so lucky with her. Stidean was a nightmare, but who would have known? And if we get another cat someday, who is to say which camp that cat would fall into? It's scary territory.

Well, that is my story. If you're keeping track at home, the total vet bill (not counting food and litter) for this guest cat was $393. That's right. Almost 400 bucks. His owner wanted to pay us back (and she might), but we had told her if she took the cat back expeditiously she could keep the money. And the cat was gone within a week. YAHOO!


But I guess I really don't want to end on a sour note. Kitty was full of personality. When things were fun, they were fun. He was much more adventurous than Gabby. He loved toys she hadn't played with in years. We even got the kitties Christmas presents which he loved (this catnip scratching thing that you hang on a doorknob). We pushed him around the house in this cardboard box (which was funny!). He was so good with Wesley, and as crazy as Wesley was Stidean never EVER took a swipe at him. We could always get him purring with a good belly rub. He always licked Gabby which we thought was funny (one of my friends told me that cats licking other cats is a sign of dominance -- interesting!). We'd call him "Stiddy the kitty" and hearing Wesley say his name was just precious. Things weren't all bad.


His owner was completely thrilled when he came home. She posted all sorts of happy things on Facebook and her friends were all happy for her. Um, he evidently has his own Facebook page and yes, I befriended him. I guess that's how you feel when you've lived with someone for 10 months. I heard the flight went wonderfully.

So, here's to you Stidean. Best wishes for the future. I am loving not sweeping the bathroom every 10 seconds.