Maz has been giving us a scare this past week when we noticed a decline in activity and slight weight loss combined with a case of the runs. Dehydration = weight loss, evidently.
The good news is he is perking up and is now giving birth to healthy cat turds, after being administered some anti-diarrhea medicine and liquids (tuna-flavored water).
Most likely, the weather turning warmer for the next couple days will also help.
The thing is, his metabolism is such that we have to remain on constant alert for any change: another cat may take days longer to exhibit signs of distress, but Maz could crash overnight if the problem is serious.
“Take mah pulse… I know it stinks, idiot, I just buried my leavings! I say, TAKE MAH PULSE!”
In this instance we think the recent change in diet did not sit well with his Formula One car metabolism. As much research as can be done in terms of pet diets, a lot of it is empirical, with forum posts and advice columns taking you down conflicting paths. In other words it’s still kind of an art, especially when the patient can’t talk.
Well, perhaps he can’t talk, but Maz can unfortunately get on the interwebs. After receiving strange e-mails, we had to block payment on bookings he had obviously made for air fare and hotel accommodations in Cuba. He had found a clinic catering to dictators, specializing in eating disorders in the Vedado district of Havana.
Naked bastard… He’s still dropping them outside the box.
The night of Thursday into Friday the 13th, a night of celestial mayhem, turned out to bring Tito and I ever closer…
A storm was moving through the Bay Area, with lightning strikes precise enough to hit not only the Bay bridge but a plane in flight. The plane had to dump fuel and returned safely to the airport.
At home, as we turned off the computer and prepared to do the same with the TV, I caught something strange from the corner of my eye: a rug shimmying straight for the kitchen. A second look showed Tito hugging the floor and running for a kitchen cupboard to hide in.
Maz, while none too pleased, was comfortably wrapped in a heavy blanket on the bed and didn’t budge. Jenny herself was sitting on the bed with a bit more nervous discomfort than he and watched Tito darting away.
While I don’t particularly fear that the sky will ever fall, like my ancestors the Gauls, Tito seems to be afraid of it for the both of us. The only spot he considers a refuge is the lower cupboard in the kitchen next to the stove top and behind a crock pot.
This storm kept on moving through, fortunately, and Jenny helped Tito recover with tender grooming and copious amounts of catnip she shared… Tito the Gaul. Wow. We are kin!
We’ve seen worse, but recent days have seen the thermometer dip to about 40 at night and it takes longer for the sun to warm everything up in the morning.
I took this picture a few weeks ago at about 7 a.m.
That means more cuddling time for Miss Jenny, Marshal Tito and the f****g fascist depicted in the banner, pardon my French…. It also means more noms for calories and Maz has now taught Jenny to wake mommy up for them. Lots of pawing, standing on hips, face-licks with hellish breath, etc…
Tito is the only one not begging for food anymore…
Every so often, I do forget and leave food unattended. Maz never forgets.
Wonder what they dream of… The cat version of “the King and I”? Complete with coo’s and chirrups?
Or maybe they dream of centipede bunnies crapping skittles. Who knows?
Naturally in the real world, cats would devour the bunnies, resulting in… Well, just watch.
All four of our kittoons here have needed a bit of socializing right from the start. It might seem that Maz Whang didn’t, but his universe was turned upside down when we adopted him, as he’d grown up a full year with Sphynx siblings, and a couple other cats and dog.
To be wrenched from his home was traumatic, and the poor beastie gacked and crapped all over himself in the cat carrier on the way to his new digs.
We had to stop, clean him up and comfort him as best we could before driving on.
Sphynxes are social, but on their own terms, which aren’t always easy to decipher. They really are driven by the two related needs of warmth and sustenance, with much playtime in between.
Just like you test the warmth of a baby bottle prior to feeding, you have to ensure your hands are warm enough before petting Maz or he’ll recoil and dart away in shock and horror. I call this “ghosting” because that’s what his reaction makes me think of. We’ve said he’s been very good for Tito (and vice versa), drawing Tito out of his ‘goth’ period following Boober’s passing.
Finally, Tito was able to chase and play to his heart’s content with the streaker, losing excess weight in the process, and bonding with, well, an alien. Even Miss Jenny finds Mazuzu irresistible: both want to nom on Maz, who’ll leap straight up a couple feet in the air and maybe growl if a tooth racks his spine. Mmmmh. Baby back ribs…
Given Tito and Jenny’s “affection” for shoes, I suspect they enjoy Maz’ gym locker smell when it’s time to give him a bath. That’s usually a signal for us to drag him into the tub, but then they love the new cat smell just as much and are all over him again.
Affection? They have it. Tito tricks us into feeding him and leaves the food for Maz, knowing the alien always needs more. Smart Tito…
Maz grooms both Tito and Jenny when he beds down with either in the basket atop the computer desk, later gacking hairballs and meowing his discontent, but what can you do..? Jenny also grooms both, focusing on Maz’ ears in particular, an unexpected boon for us since Maz and Q-tips don’t mix well.
One of the biggest changes is something Maz started and Jenny continues: helping Tito find his voice. Because he never was very vocal at all, this watchful little thing which grew into a big cat. He now trills and coos and meows, although always in the higher pitch of a kitten. And it may be early yet to tell, but I think Jenny’s going to be the same. They both will always sound like kittens.
This may sound like a sign of arrested development but I prefer to think of it as a display of happiness, along with Tito’s joy at being picked up and carried from room to room for a few minutes, purring and discovering a new perspective on his world with wide eyes, rubbing his chin on our cheek as we do so. And Jenny’s happiness at going to sleep hugging my hand to her head, like a pillow.
Our two little feral rescues no longer have to survive on mean streets, they only have to romp and warm each other and their “cousin” from outer space.
Love is in the air and scarcely displaced by Maz and Jenny’s farts. It’s all good.
I have a thing for feral cats, and Rudha-an has one for kittens. Feral kittens, therefore, are our favorites. We’ll never know exactly where they came from, what they went through, why they are so scared of shoes, think of nothing but murder, and yet are so hungry for affection.
Each one has a story but they’ll never tell even if they could, we just wonder as they teach us to live in the moment.
This week, here are some of my favorite photos of our pointy eared people, followed by a clip of very funny story telling. About a sloth. Enjoy.
And now, enjoy this very funny sloth story from Kristen Bell on the “Ellen” show.
The space between drape and window
The magic fluffy blanket sent by Flumptytail
Bach at low volume
Light playing on the ceiling
Being carried around
Shoes with feets in ’em
Food. Preferably stolen
Wearing light fabric shirts loose at the pits
Laying turds astride the edge of the box
Chasing red dots
Hamming it up for pics
Soaking up photons
Hiss of the soda bottle when the cap is popped
Miss Jenny likes:
Farting on Daddy
Chasing the boyz
Grooming the boyz
Chin rubs from Daddy
Chewing on shoes
Daddy talking gibberish
Snuggling with Daddy
Shoes with feets in ’em
Being picked up
Daddy going to work
Friday Night Cats Blogging is now Caturday. It’s a schedule that should work better for us. This way, we can escape the city on a weekday and enjoy the trails without a crowd and we don’t have to worry about missing a post.
Tito was his normal polite self.
The other two were something else. Kitsy woke me at 3:30 am begging for noms. Miss Jenny was egging him on. He doesn’t just yell. I sleep on my side and I wake up to find him standing on my arm and ribcage. He’s a bloody velvet wrapped mace. Miss Jenny helps by standing on my hip. She’s a lot lighter than Kitsy. They did NOT get their noms until 6am. I didn’t get any sleep, but I didn’t give in either.