Welcome, Give Us Paws!

So what would it take to fill the need for a column about pets? I wondered. The chance to tack up the “writer” sign beside my name again was tempting. When I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in writing at age 21, I heard my professors from freshman year on down repeating, “Write about what you know!”

But right after graduation, I found I had nothing much to write about. I worked in a bookstore. I wrote advertising copy and news releases. I edited technical copy for a computer software manual. But every bit of wordsmithery I turned out was part of my work and not filled with much personality.

When I finally considered writing about pets, I opened the door to my heart. What I offer is my insight of nearly 20 years of having pets of one kind or another.

I live in a household of pet foibles: with six cats and an active teenager, my husband and I have weathered some incredible animal events. Between us, we have had mice, hamsters, gerbils, rats, a pigeon, hermit crabs, a dog, snakes, a squirrel, a parakeet, several frogs, a rabbit, salamanders, a chicken, turtles, and plenty of patience.

And whatever pet I haven’t had personally, I’ve read about, or known someone who has had one.

I’m no expert, and I won’t pretend to be one. I’ll share what I know and point you in the direction of more information whenever possible.

Give Us Paws arose from a blessing, a suggestion to “give pause” to an idea. In my mind, that instantly became an image of pet’s feet: just thinking about them makes me grin. Pets can have a positive effect on people in many ways.

My aim is to help you connect with and care for animals well-suited to your lifestyle and living conditions. Remember you’re dealing with living creatures. If you treat them well, you’re likely to find that adopting a pet is a rewarding experience.

20051004

Sweet breathing

It comes in short spasms, ending with a feeble whoosh like the ending gasp of an expiring, withered balloon. It’s the nightmare that I’ve feared would happen: my cat Spencer is experiencing an asthma crisis, and I’m not prepared.

No one knows how long Spencer has had breathing difficulties. Most of the time he seemed to have hairballs that refused to come up. He’d eat and a short while later his food would be found, marginally digested, somewhere around the house: on a chair, under the table, in dark corners of the basement.

He has lost weight, his coat looks a mess, and he’s lethargic most of the time. If not for an X-ray, the vet might not have noticed that his airways are constricted.

Suddenly it makes sense that the little gasps I’ve been hearing are Spencer wheezing. And that cute little snoring noise he makes might not be from a stuffy nose after all.

Cats are good at hiding their medical woes. My cats are certainly no exception. But with four cats over the age of 12, I could be more attentive to possible age-related problems.

The Aerokat mask I picked up yesterday at the vet’s office doesn’t look complicated. The mask must be carefully taken apart following the manufacturer’s instructions, then washed in a lukewarm solution of water and dish detergent and left to soak for 15 minutes.

A thorough rinse in clean water and then shake excess moisture from the parts and let them air dry.

Reassemble the parts when it is fully dry. Then it can be used for the first time.

I should mention the shock that the prescription costs gave me. Is big pharma in such dire straits that it requires two week’s wages from me to continue to thrive? Or do they depend on the fact that pet owners like me will likely go without groceries before they can watch a beloved pet turn blue and pass out from near-asphyxia?

The next part I haven’t figured out yet: getting Spencer to accept the Aerokat mask and breathe in his meds. I’m thinking of suggesting a catnip-scented formula already. Hopefully I will have some time to get him used to it before he has a full-blown crisis.

How have you been able to treat your pet’s asthma?

Chasing Marbles

For fifteen years our household has been under the constant watch of a calico cat named Marbles. From the beginning, she took on the role of caretaker of “the boy.” Now that he’s moved to a college town where he continues his studies, the door no longer opens to Marbles’ meows. Her hiding spot in his dresser is still lined with cat hair, evidence that she hid here. (By slipping underneath and climbing into the drawer from behind, a tiny wedge of an opening would appear in the front of the dresser, where a flashlight’s beam might reveal two glowing eyes.) Long ago, after searching for her under the prickly pines in our yard for hours, the boy discovered her here in the drawer. She had it good here, why would she leave?

Sometimes a cat just needs some chasing after chipmunks, chewing on some grass, feeling the dirt under her toes.

Her failing kidneys made the days weigh heavy. She made the windowsill her vantage point, retiring to watch the world from afar.

But still she tested me with her mischief. She ate more than three feet of string. She climbed across the living room on the tops of the curtain rods. She slept on the top of the kitchen cabinets. She ate a bag’s worth of little craft pompoms. She chased my bare feet whenever I walked by the dining room table. She helped drive away the monsters under the sheets while I made the beds. She begged to lick the butter knife from the dining room table.

When I was recovering from surgery last year, she was my nurse, climbing up to rest her head under my chin. I looked forward to the warmth we shared. I knew her time was limited.

So we gave her lots of love. And the butter knife to lick.

She snuggled four times with me in the morning of her last day. This time I couldn’t help her feel better for long. Later at the vet’s office, it was confirmed – the tumor under her arm would take her down before her kidneys did. We opted to spare her that long decline, despite wanting to just hold her close forever.

Now there is no Marbles pulling tissues out of the box to drop on my pillow. No patting coins off the dresser to clink on the floor. No leap from the dresser to my pillow to wake me in the morning. No climbing under the blankets to snuggle against my side and get warm before the day begins.

The other cats have noticed her absence. Since Marbles is gone, all of us here – like Robert Frost wrote in his poem “The Oven Bird” – every day we’re learning “what to make of a diminished thing.”

Risks of rural living

The pungent odor of skunk awakens me. The realization that one cat is possibly outdoors, experiencing the stench firsthand, gives me a sinking feeling. Sure enough, a miserable looking creature wanders into view, dripping with some type of goo on his fur. He’s not very cheerful about having to be patted down with puppy training pads, but because his eyes are barely two slits and nothing more, he’s not capable of putting up much of an argument.
Mind you, this is better than the time this cat got skunked right on the front step. Before we started his curfew, bringing him indoors at night, he got sprayed right at the door. And so the door got sprayed too … the spots are still there on the door, even after hours of scrubbing the vinyl and years of exposure to the sun, wind, rain and snow.
So what’s a human to do when a pet startles one of the Le P-U family? I’ve read that tomato sauce is a good remedy, but the idea of drenching the cat in tonight’s dinner doesn’t appeal to me. (Ever given a cat a bath in plain old water? Then you can imagine trying to do the same with one of the greatest stain-makers known to man, the tomato.)
There is a recipe or remedy solution available, reportedly the brainchild of a chemist (whose pet has about as much sense as our repeat-skunk-offender). Just search for “skunk odor cure” or something similar. The ingredients call for a quantity of 3-percent hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and a small amount of dish soap, and lots of water. Sounds very effervescent, so proceed with caution. (I’d check it out with a veterinarian beforehand. I haven’t tried it on my pet, so I can’t vouch for its effectiveness nor its safety.)
Anything your pet has touched while in this condition will need to be deodorized too. In our case, kitty’s outdoor house was still faintly stinky for months, until warmer weather allowed for a good scrubbing with baking soda and water and a long day lying in the sun — one of the greatest odor eliminators.
Fortunately the skunks seem to have dug up all the Japanese beetle grubs they once came to our yard for, and we have kept kitty indoors at night, so no repeat offenses have occurred.
But the memory of the pure “skunked” look on that feline face is still enough to bring real tears to my eyes.