Anxiety to Rhythm

Read this at your own risk; it could be a ramble and, worse, a ramble without pictures.

I've noticed that with every medication change for Glenwood, I feel overwhelmed and anxious about how I'll get it all done. Within about 36 hours, the new regimen is folded into my mornings and evenings and I wonder what all my fuss was about. I need to itemize my coming-home ritual as it's evolved to, because I am proud.

1. Feed Timmy, and pet him while he eats, which I've learned all cats love.
2. Make my first visit to Glenwood (who is meowing). Bring half a can of cat food and a syringe for her nutritional supplement.
3. Enter the bathroom and feed the beast. Clean up strewn litter and toys, as well as unpleasant stains, while she eats. Pet her. Coo. Give her the supplement. Comb her. She loves the comb.
4. Leave the bathroom with her empty bowl. Mix a drink and put in a baked potato. Pet Timmy so he eats. Chop up two vitamins and mix into more food.
5. Return to bathroom with drink (I know; yuck), syringe with her oral antibiotic (which must stay in the fridge), empty syringe for ear antibiotic (kept in bathroom), and food. Give her everything except the ear med and my drink.
6. Leave bathroom to get ringworm med #1 (kept in fridge). Leave drink behind as I'll be back soon.
7. Return to bathroom and put her ear meds in. This went exceptionally well tonight, as I was able to hold her ear closed for more than a nanosecond before she shook it all out. Put on surgical glove and apply ringworm med #1 to all lesions. Get her agitated enough to claw me. Sip on drink.
8. Return to kitchen and make a salad. Get the laser light and play with Timmy. Mix a second drink. Acknowledge the urge to make this list.

I've been home since 7.15; it's 9.00 now. Timmy is beside me on his pillow, quiet (for now). Glenwood is also quiet (for now). Next: ringworm lotion and immune system supplement. Play with this beautiful, loving kitten. Have dinner.

There's more, but I really need to go. Thanks for checking in.

Angel to Devil Kitty

Here's Glenwood last night, having recovered from the veterinary adventures of the day. Looks pretty good, eh?

Well, here she is this morning, having turned the lamp shade I finally got onto her into a tutu. Glenwood, one; Liz, zero.

Glenwood Weighs In

Glenwood has tripled her body weight since October 2! Dr. Ryan, who kindly provided the graphic below, said, "She's almost caught up weight-wise. She's 97% there, except for the ringworm." I don't know what percentage drop the ringworm might contribute, but it's about quality-of-life not life-or-death. I do know it means Glenwood's world will remain the bathroom for awhile. She's got several lesions; some are improving (new hair), some are the same, and the ones on her head are held back by her scratching. So now she has a soft collar to wear after I treat her. That should go over very well.

Other than that, she was incredibly quiet and patient while Nelson, Anna, and Dr. Ryan cleaned her up, took her temp (normal), and poked at her. Dr. Ryan dug four pounds of black goo out of her left ear, but at least it's not the stinky Pseudomonas now. Her meds are changed.

When we got home, she went to her safe place beside the tub. On my last visit, she was back in her paper-bag-bed. (A stroke of genius on my part: I cut a Whole Foods double bag down into a room of her own. She caught on immediately. Two geniuses in one apartment.) Dr. Ryan gave her a tennis ball, which is bigger than her head and should make the midnight hockey game even more boisterous. I'll post some new photos soon. Thanks for checking in.

Welcome Home, October 23, 8.35 pm

Glenwood's energy is increasing daily, as her passionate relationship with the paper towels makes clear. Her self-awareness is also on the rise, judging by the guilty position she assumed behind the toilet. She'd also discovered the syringe stockpile and dispersed it freely. I now have to hide anything she could throw.

Still, I'm worried because there was a yucky smell that reminded me of the infection-smell from three weeks ago. She looks disheveled because of the ringworm meds, too. Of course I hope this is par for the course in her recovery, and the smell is gone this morning, but I'm glad we're going to see Dr. Ryan today.

Glenwood's Inner Kitten

Glenwood is starting to look and act like the 15-week-old she is. She'll be weighed Saturday. The three weeks of care are paying off: her inner kitten is out. Now bathroom chores are made more exciting by her wrapping herself around my ankles, bouncing her toys underfoot, batting at my feet, tumbling out of her bed, and rearranging her dishware. She is quite taken with the reflections on the tiles and the scoop I use to clean her box.

She's also starting to realize there's life outside the bathroom, which I'm trying to squelch. We have weeks to go, and they'll be hellish if she's as intent on getting out as Timmy is on seeing in. She got a glimpse of him and hissed. She's started to meow for me (tiny and plaintive!) and made small moves to escape. I slither in and out as thinly and quietly as I can. Timmy senses her growing awareness; he seems purely curious.

Health-wise, her left eye isn't fully healed; her ear looks clean; both antibiotics continue. She's OK with her ringworm wipes and lotion (though looks Phyllis Diller-ish by the time I finish); I didn't realize how many lesions she has, but most look a little better. The bathroom regimen of bleach every other day means it's cleaner for her than I ever kept it for myself.

Life in the Bathroom

Alas, Glenwood has ringworm. Today added another regimen that'll last a month or longer, all destined to keep her (and me) (and her fungi) in the bathroom. Her part is easy: a wipe and lotion twice a day (plus the ear and oral antibiotics and vitamins). Mine means giving her the wipe and lotion (and antibiotics and vitamins), bleaching the bathroom every couple of days, doing more laundry than I was ever destined for, washing my hands raw, and building my relationship with this loving little kitten when it seems every time I come at her it's with a loaded syringe.

I just left her, having purposefully gone in with no agenda but to pet and comb her, and chat. She loves it!!! She rolls onto her back, purrs, and bats the comb with her paws. She is starting to play in earnest now, with me and without me. I love it.

And she's clearly confident enough in her endless food supply to disdain the Trader Joe's Tuna for Cats this morning. When she was 1.2 pounds it was fine, and now it's not good enough for Little Miss Glenwood. Meanwhile, it's all Timmy will eat, so they have separate menus. Here's Timmy channeling Riley, who is in my thoughts every day.

Update

I drove by Glenwood's old house and looked up the driveway to where I used to feed the cats. For the first time since I found Glenwood there alone two weeks ago, there was one cat. It looked like a grown-up Glenwood. It was almost as spooky as not seeing any cats there.

At Glenwood's new house, today I saw her poke at her toy for the first time, on the edge of playing.

Her left ear and eye are improving; she starts a new med tonight. I'm anxious for the ringworm results, which should come in soon. She still rattles when she breathes sometimes, but less.

She's a loving, funny little girl. I make her bed every morning and evening, only to find it remade her way at my next visit. And she's so much bigger!

Timmy remains enthralled with his tail. You can see Riley's dog-toy in the background. It was one of her favorite spots to hang out.

Peel Me a Grape. It's Columbus Day.

Glenwood has taken such a leap in her comfort level that this photo must be shared. I moved her bed over by the heat pipe (duh). Is that a smile? She now curls onto her back so I can rub her tummy.

Threes

They (whoever "they" are) say things come in threes. I mentioned that my vets' practice had two friends' dogs die on Saturday. I learned yesterday that Anna, the vet tech who has been so enormously helpful to Glenwood and me, lost her dog Saturday night. Please send Anna a thought.

Return to Purr

This morning was like old times. Glenwood was settled behind the toilet next to the heat pipe when I came into the bathroom; the heat came on just this morning. She's no fool.

I put her in my lap and got her to full purr; I pet her, put goo in her ear, scritched her ear to coax the goo down, gave her her nutritional supplement, combed her, gave her her Clavamox, cooed at her. I saw no fleas. She ate a ton, pooped and peed up a storm, and is back by the heat pipe, now with a little cloth lest she have to lie on the hard tile.

And me? I feel like I can go take a walk in the park and get some groceries without excess worry. Oh, and drop off a poop sample at the vet. She's never far from my mind, but my mind is sure relieved, for now. And Timmy? He keeps watch at the bathroom door.

Yes and Yes

It's confirmed: Glenwood's hiding and hissing is a good sign. It shows she's feeling well enough to recall her feral roots. Still, she's not out of the woods. The news:

• This kitty weighs 2.2 pounds. She gained a pound in eight days!
• Her right eye and right ear infections have cleared, and her nose doesn't run.
• However, her respiratory infection seems to have settled in her lung, causing the rattle in her breathing. We're upping the Clavamox (now that she's a fat cat).
• Her fleas are bad. But she's strong enough for treatment, so she got a pill at the vet and a dusting at home. Timmy is getting a preventive treatment.
• There's about a fifty-fifty chance she has ringworm. She does have roundworm, and she'll get her second treatment Tuesday.
• Her left ear remains pus-y. Her left eye is swollen, the third lid doesn't always retract, and the pupil is smaller than the right eye. Dr. Ryan's concerned there's an infectious process that's causing both. Glenwood has new ear goo.

All told, it seems OK to feel relieved for now. Both times I've taken Glenwood to the vet I've feared I'd leave without her. Today, Anna (the vet tech) said she thinks Glenwood will get better. Dr. Ryan seems cautiously optimistic.

On a sad note, two dogs died today - pets of the vets' friends - and so the place had an aura of sadness. A woman was crying so hard I started too. I don't know how animal care-givers cope. I'm so grateful to have found these people - for Riley, for Timmy, and now for little Glenwood.

Setback? Progress?

Yesterday morning Glenwood was off - low energy, disheveled, unfriendly, sickly. When I got home last night she was worse. She's spent a lot of time between the tub and sink looking panicky. Sometimes she hisses at me (not new), but she also lets me reach in and pet her. I even gave her her oral and ear meds in there this morning, no fuss. There's a rumble in her breathing sometimes that scares the hell out of me; her nose isn't running. One eye looks good while the other looks damaged.

Overall, I can't tell whether she feels worse, or feels better enough to know she's scared and somewhere new. Her moods are unpredictable, and mine follow hers.

We have a 12.30 appointment with Dr. Ryan today. I'll write again when there's news.

Screw You. I'll Bathe Myself.

When I open the bathroom door now, Glenwood usually hisses at me. This tiny, tiny hiss. My mature self understands; the rest of me worries, Is she really afraid of me? What did I do? The hissiness fades immediately and seems more like a reflex than a thought-out statement.

I'm getting good with the meds and vitamins. I put her in my lap, where she curls up, and comb her in between syringes, drops, and ointments. She loves the comb and purrs like a little machine. Last night's bath showed how incredibly soft and long her fur is (though she's still scratching too much).

What I didn't write last night (too upsetting) is how nothing she is wet. Nothing.

After the pharmaceuticals she started to bathe. I've seen her do a little housekeeping, but this was the real thing. I feared she hadn't learned that skill (and I mean feared), but apparently she just needed to find the energy. She was completely involved. That's a good sign!

My worries are the scratching, a little wheeziness in her breathing (occasionally), and her left eye. Part of the inside lid doesn't retract when her eyes are open. I'm eager for Saturday's visit with Dr. Ryan, but I'm thinking Glenwood isn't.

The Bath

I've been concerned about Glenwood's scratching - her ears are raw and I've seen two live fleas. Some research turned up various home remedies, and my vet OK'd a bath in a little Dawn liquid. Dr. Ryan advised me to put cotton in her ears to keep water out and to put her eye medication in to protect her eyes from the soap. Here she is prebath with cotton balls in her ears and gooey eyes. She didn't seem to mind the cotton until I put her into the water, then she shook them out in a nanosecond.

The bath didn't go over too well. Her little heart was beating so fast, and with her fur wet she looked a little scary. She enjoyed the postbath rubdown on my lap, however. She's such a lap cat! Curls right up and plops down without any niceties.

She went from the photo below into a clean bed. That's pretty much where I'm headed. Between the activity of caring for her and the emotional stress, I'm exhausted. I hope Dr. Ryan will find she's progressing well at Saturday's check-up.

October 4, 2009

Glenwood Eats on Her Own

The forced feeding was tough. Glenwood wasn't interested and it was slow going. Thankfully, it didn't last long ...

Sunday, Sherri and I were with her; I spend a lot of time in the bathroom now, even socializing. She was climbing up Sherri's jeans to get to her lap and just enjoying our attention, when she walked to her bowl and started eating. And eating. And eating. Sherri and I shushed each other and I almost cried. She hasn't stopped eating since. It's rather amazing what her little body can take in (and excrete).

She's a champ about her meds - an oral antibiotic, ear goo, eye goo, a nutritional supplement, an immune system booster, the vaporizer, and lip balm (yup). Twice a day. She purrs, loves to be held, petted, and combed, and asks to come into my lap. She is willful and sweet, and I'm very hopeful. She's starting to bathe, too, which is a relief.

Timmy

Timmy has become excruciatingly curious about who's in the bathroom. He's gotten glimpses of Glenwood, but it's torture for him when I'm with her and he's outside. TORTURE. And he makes sure I know it, with his endless king-size meows.

As for me, I'm guilty about whichever cat I'm not with and look forward to opening my bathroom door for the meet-and-greet.

The Beginning

Glenwood
Rescued 10.1.09

Since Riley died on July 10, I've been feeding a cat colony in the driveway of an abandoned house on Glenwood Avenue that I pass on my way to the subway. I'd counted up to 11 cats and kittens. I met another feeder, a Russian woman with a cocker spaniel. We thanked each other every time we happened to meet.

On Tuesday morning they were gone but for one cat. It was chilling. I stayed away; it was upsetting and felt permanent. But on Thursday, a dinner date was postponed and I decided to leave food on my way home just in case. There was the same sense of goneness but for one dark shape. It was so still and the light was fading, but it was a kitten.

Before they disappeared, these cats never meowed, never approached; they hid, ran, held back, then would come eat as I walked away. But this little guy meowed at me and stayed put. Oh no, I thought. I held out my hand and it came to me. Oh no. I realized I had no choice and picked it up; it let me; it weighed nothing. It purred the whole way home, all bones and long black fur, never having been touched.

When I got home I buzzed a friend to help me in. She looked at its face and, teary, said "This is a very sick cat." When I saw the kitten's face in the light, I was horrified. It was so caked with filth we could barely make out its features. I began cleaning it, gently using cotton balls and a toothbrush to loosen the dirt. It let me. Its eyes were infected, its nose running, its breathing wheezy, and it stank like you wouldn't believe. It spent the night in my bathroom and still stunk up my whole apartment. I knew it might not live, but I could give it some comfort, touch, and dignity.

At the vet yesterday, Dr. Ryan looked at it and looked at me and said, "This is going to require a lot of work. But I told you the next cat would find you." (She helped care for Riley.) So.

Glenwood is a she, weighs 1.2 pounds, is about three months old, is emaciated and dehydrated, and has infections in her eyes, nose, and ears. Antibiotics and food are the priorities. On the positive side, her lungs are clear, she tested negative for feline leukemia (so far), we only found a couple of fleas (though a lot of flea poop), and she shows remarkable spunk, playing with her teensy IV line. When she purred, all four of us working on her shouted it out. "She's purring!" When she ate a little on her own, the same. "She's eating!" She's a trooper and I think we all fell in love.

So Glenwood and I came home. In the car, she tore out of her carrybag and insisted on my lap. By the time I parked she was sound asleep. I brought her upstairs and began the next chapter in my cat life. I have a kitten living in my bathroom for the forseeable future.

Timmy, my 20-pound big boy, has been incredible. He knows she's in there and isn't making any fuss. I'm making sure to give him tons of attention. Once she can come out, I think the transition will be smooth.

Wish us well.