Clueless Goes to a Party

The lady who runs the cat shelter organization I do some volunteering for had a birthday on Sunday. The candles on her cake said “39”, but they were well-worn candles, with more than a hint of tradition about them The invitation specified we were to bring a cat. Therefore, Sunday found me with Clueless in tow, heading towards the great unknown.

The choice of cat was pretty easy to make. I could have taken the Warrior Princess, I suppose, but I’m not sure I could have afforded the miscellaneous and assorted veterinary bills that the other guests would have ended up submitting to me after the party ended, probably delivered by their lawyers’ hit men. The Grey Menace also received but a moment’s consideration; a quick tally of the potential damage she could inflict on an unsuspecting home during the course of a single afternoon was far larger than I could easily budget for the remainder of this year. Not that their house hasn’t been cat-proofed. They do have five cats, after all (and a dog of dubious origins). A cat-proofed house is not a Kitten-proofed house though. You’ll have to take my word for this.

So, as I was saying, I arrived only slightly late on Sunday, with a haltered and leashed Clueless Wonder in tow. No, I do not choose my words lightly, though to be honest Clueless towed me a bit more than I towed him. He was anxious to get out of the car and graze on the grass of an unknown lawn. I was just as anxious for my little herbivore to show a bit of discretion regarding what he put in his mouth. Mass overcame enthusiasm, and Clueless was brought to the front door in short order.

I had hoped that this would prove to be a chance for C.W. to meet some new friends under controlled conditions. Cats, being rather ornery and unpredictable critters, aren’t exactly considered the party animal types, but C.W. is social enough to pass for a poodle under most conditions. I’d never actually tried him out in someone else’s territory, but after about five minutes it made no never-mind. Clueless explored the entire downstairs, and staked out the living room, with its mass of plants and excellent view of a squirrel-infested front yard as his base of operations. From there he proceeded to nap, greeting those cats that deigned to come to him with an enthusiasm that was just a little too eager to pass for regal. He shared his window space, shared the catnip that brought out as a party treat, and shared the limelight, but refused to share the one potted plant he took a culinary liking to. THAT one earned him the spray bottle treatment, and put me in the position of having to apologize for my cat that had only moments before refused a treat of Hill’s ZD diet (which is what I’m supposed to be keeping him on for the time being).

Clueless made special friends with an eight months old tabby, a neutered male that has spent the last seven months at the shelter, waiting for someone to make him their very own. I know I swore no more cats, but I’m thinking that this little tabby might make a nice companion for him. I hope the tabby gets an offer for a home soonest, but I’m thinking that I might bring the little guy home for the occasional weekend visit, so long as it makes Clueless happy. Making Clueless happy has become a priority these days.

We still don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s continuing to refuse food, though I am getting about two-thirds of his maintenance amount down his throat most days. His coat still looks sleek and glossy. I can feel his ribs and backbone clearly through the fur now, though. Tonight he threw up his dinner, the second time this has happened in the last three or so days. The special ZD diet is supposed to be easier to digest, and less allergenic (in case his problem is related to food allergies). If he’s throwing up the ZD, though, I have to start taking other possibilities seriously.

Next Monday he goes into the vet’s so that a specialist can ultrasound him. This may not show anything, but if there are any masses, or changes in density in his liver, kidneys, or intestines, we should be able to pick up on it. That would not be a good sign, but at least I’d know what we were dealing with. There’s still a faint chance that we’re dealing with something Clueless swallowed that’s gotten stuck somewhere in his gut, and while his signs don’t really point to that, we can’t rule the possibility out. Ultrasound may be able to spot what a radiograph could not.

Meanwhile, since Clueless seems to enjoy outings (when they don’t involve people with white coats and nasty thermometers), I’m thinking about other outings he and I can make together. Several of the local pet stores encourage people to bring their pets. I might just take him to one of those, to see if he’d like checking out the cat aisle. In December there is Pictures with Pet Santa at one of the stores, and I may take him to that too.

Meanwhile, I’m sending a few early wishes to Santa for my Christmas present this year. I can only hope he’s listening, and of a mind to be generous.