State of the Household on a Monday

It’s been a couple of days now since I last blogged about the household and its general absorption of Hot Mess Monty, for no real reason than that I’ve had other stuff to do - and also, I suppose, that progress right now is rather incremental. Greyson is kind of “winning” the “who will befriend the kitty first” race - mostly by accident. He politely ignores Monty, or gets up and moves if he seems to be lounging someplace where Monty wants to be; otherwise, he just holds real still and pretends to be asleep when the cat approaches. This means he gets sniffed, investigated, and generally ignored in return. Greyson does not want to chase the kitty, or play with him, or steal his food. So as far as Monty is concerned: The old man dog is A-okay.

Lucy, on the other hand. Lucy is trying SO HARD you guys. So hard. She wants to be friends so bad, that she has a hard time… not chasing the kitty, or trying to play with him, or steal his food. But every day, she gets a leeeetle closer, and Monty reacts with a leeeetle more chill.

In the last 24 hours or so, Monty has begun to return some of Lucy’s interest in playing. He watches for her to come inside or come upstairs, and gets very excited about it - even reaching out a grabby-paw through the stair rails to try and engage her on the way up. These efforts would be better received if he had not bullied the crap out of her for the last week, but whatchagonnado. We’re all just figuring this out as we go.

Gray tabby missing a rear leg lounges insouciently on a blue loveseat, leaning against two pillows like the spoiled little man he is

As I think I already mentioned, Lucy and Monty both have a vet appointment on the 16th - Lucy is just getting booster shots, Monty will be checked out for a Getting To Know You visit, and I’m keeping a list of things to ask about. I’ve been taking pictures of the sore? scar? whatever it is, on the inside of his lip where the fang is missing, whenever I get the opportunity. I want to see if it’s something that’s healing, or something that’s stable, or something we need to address.

He also grooms himself to excess, and seems to be generally kind of itchy. Mind you, I know he got the big ringworm dip while he was in the shelter- and I’m sure it’s tough on the skin by design; but that would’ve been several weeks ago by now (I think?) and I wonder how long he’ll keep doing this. We have seen no sign of fleas - on him or the dogs, either - so we don’t think that’s it, and he hasn’t yet chewed any holes in himself, but I fear that we’re headed that direction. Maybe it’s a food allergy or something, and we’ll have to do some experimenting. Hm.

Or maybe it’s indirectly due to the amputation, since a lot of his licking/chewing happens on his joints, and in the spots where his muscles are probably adjusting to the new situation. It’s only been nine days since he arrived, and only 3-4 since he started getting a lot of exercise via playtime and climbing around the house, running up and down the stairs, etcetera. I’m sure he’s getting a little sore in unexpected places.

But in general, he seems to feel pretty darn great. He gets wild-ass zoomies on the regular, he climbs all over the place, and he’s a big fan of feather wands and mousies - as well as the larger “kick” toys that he wrestles into submission. He’s figured out that he can still go FAST even with three legs, and is really having a marvelous time with it. He also has a new scratcher.

Gray tabby lounging inside a cardboard scratcher with a tiny tongue-blep peeking out from between his teeth.

At night, after 45 minutes or so of FULL BLOWN PARTY ZOOMIES, he usually climbs into bed with me and my husband and zonks out, purring like a little engine. He’s a good little bedfellow: not too wiggly, mostly stays put, doesn’t get weird - dragging out his toys or trying to sleep on your face or anything. Two thumbs up. Excellent snuggler.

Anyway.

Since a couple of snarky commenters asked, yes I do have other things going on in my life right now - but none of those things are as cute and funny as this little dude conquering the household, so that’s what I’m blogging about for the moment. In the event of other developments - professional or personal - never fear, I’ll be sure to make note of those things, too; I mean, the world of social media is all but imploding, and it’s good to have my own space, even if it doesn’t get social media-level traffic. Besides, I have to post all these dog and cat pics somewhere, right?

May as well make it my own homepage, which is not for sale to any bananapants billionaires, or subject to their baffling whims.

Learning to live together

Last night I slept on the couch, as I was a little concerned about SOME cat’s wild-ass wee-hours zoomies attracting unwanted Lucy attention, but I need not have worried. When we all turned in for bedtime, Monty was snoozing on his cat tree by the window; but he woke up at some point in the middle of the night and forgot where he was, I suppose, and started crying. His most common vocalization is the softest little “meep,” it’ll break your heart, I swear.

So I called his name (who even knows if he recognizes it yet, probably not) and my voice was enough to lure him or remind him. He spent the rest of the night parked on top of me, purring and/or snoring his little face off.

Speaking of his little face, I’ve got one more thing to add to the tally of “stuff to ask the vet about.” He has some kind of…callous? sore? about half the size of a fingernail on the inside of his mouth - the inside of his lip, really, right where it ought to sit on top of that now-missing fang. I hope/suspect that it’s just a leftover scar or something from whatever cost him the tooth, but it’s very odd-looking. You can only see it when he rolls over and purrs, and his mouth falls open a little bit.

It doesn’t seem to hurt him, and he doesn’t protest too much when I lift his lip to take a look, so. Anyway, I’ll add it to the list.

A gray tabby cat sits on a banister, staring down at the world with big gold eyes.

Every morning, first thing we do is give each of the dogs a Dentastick and send them outside to chill until their walk. This is always a thunderous event, galloping big dogs stomping into the kitchen, thrilled for the morning treat (and maybe the chance to pee), and it used to send Quinnie scrambling for safety under the bistro table - even though it was a daily occurrence and she knew it was coming.

Not this little dude. This little dude came storming into the kitchen right along with them, ignoring them (and they barely noticed him), just wanting to know what all the excitement was about. Then he platformed his way up onto the kitchen island to wait for his own breakfast of gooshy food laced with antibiotics.

Tomorrow is his last day on meds for the time being, so after that, he won’t be getting so much wet food. (He loves dry food - even prefers it - so we’re happy to pare it down to dry-only, as long as it works for everyone.) I say "for the time being” because it wouldn’t shock me if he ends up needing another round of something or another. I haven’t heard him sneezing or sniffling in a couple of days, and his energy levels are um, very good.

This is Day #2 of him having full access to the household, and he is taking FULL ADVANTAGE. He’s been zooming up and down the stairs, darting under and over furniture, leaping onto windowsills, and treating the stair bannisters like his own personal catwalk. Which I guess they are, kind of. He’s also very excited to have a toy box, and is an absolute murderer of mousies and feather wands.

As for the dogs, things continue to progress. I want to say “slowly” but it’s all relative, right? They are trying very hard to be on their very best behavior, despite Monty’s bully behavior as he asserts his independence and need for space.

This morning, Greyson got a good head-whapping when he tried to get a drink of water - because I’m a dumbass who put the cat tree too close to it. The cat tree has now been adjusted so it sits farther away from the bowl, and post-walkies I’ll just have to pick Monty up and put him somewhere else, if he’s present. Otherwise Greyson will die of thirst, because now he won’t go near it if the cat is in the vicinity. ::sigh:: At least they have a bowl outside on the deck.

Then, after I did a video call with a classroom, Monty decided to join Greyson on the adjacent unoccupied dog bed - just like Quinnie used to do. They were actually fine; Greyson smiled and did the dog-polite thing of trying not to make direct eye contact, and Monty took a little bath.

Until I tried to sneak a picture.

Monty likes to try and head-butt the camera, and his sudden movement startled the poor pooch. But no harm, no foul. No dog-heads were whapped, and I got a hell of a shot out of it.

Gray tabby cat halfway through hopping off a dog bed, while the dog on the adjacent bed looks like he’s just seen Dracula.

Lucy is more proactive in her friendship efforts, which is unfortunate - because the cat is clearly more comfortable with Greyson due to his general deference and avoidance. But she’s getting there. This morning she actually did a play-bow and a soft “woof” and she was, shall we say, rebuffed. So she was forced to content herself with proximity, rather than party-time.

Thus far, the arc of their interactions has gone from Cat Hisses at Dog Overtures, to Cat Is Content to Ignore Dogs and Their Overtures, to Cat Gets Vaguely Curious about Dogs. Next up, if we’re lucky: Cat Decides Dogs are Generally Okay, and then on to Cat and Dogs are Friends.

But it’s only been six days, and this is only Monty’s second full day of household freedom. I know, I know. It’ll take a minute. While I’m eager to see him coexist with the dogs a little more amicably, the trajectory of their interactions seems pretty good so far, and I’m trying to be patient.

Anyway, at present everyone is napping - Greyson outside under the deck, Lucy downstairs in the basement bathroom (it’s her favorite place in the house, so cool and quiet), and Monty on the short cat tree by the window. I’m kind of keeping one eye on him, not because he’s acting like anything’s wrong, but because we moved his litterbox into the bathroom cabinet with the custom cubby last night… and I don’t think he’s used it yet. Since then he’s eaten like a little horse, consumed plenty of water, and both belched and farted post-breakfast - and I’m starting to worry that he’s picked someplace else in the house to use for his pottying needs. ::eyes all the corners with suspicion::

Tonight, husband and I will both sleep in our own damn bed, and I guess we will see how it goes with the zoomies. Monty has a number of places he can go to get away from the dogs, if he feels the need; he fits into a multitude of places where they don’t, and he now knows where those places are. He also knows that they will both obey his slappin’ paw (even sans claws), and, I do believe… he knows that he is home for good.

smug lil sumbitch kitty camps out on my husband’s legs while husband pokes around on an iPad

Anyway, so I guess he just lives here, now

Since yesterday, Monty has been increasingly antsy to leave the office and - as more than one or two folks have put it - “unlock the rest of the map.” He’d been around the main living level, and downstairs a few times, but not yet in our bedroom down there; it has the kinds of nooks and crannies (under the bed, under the furniture, buried in the walk-in closet, etc.) where one could actually lose track of a cat… and not have any good way to retrieve it. I wanted a better handle on Monty’s personality before we took it to that level.

Last night while he was roaming the scene, Lucy accidentally cornered him (not really, and not on purpose - but he thought she had him boxed in); he lunged for her, paws a’whapping, and the dog did something I’d never seen her do before: a full-tilt cartoon scramble backwards in retreat. She basically left a Lucy-shaped hole in the air as she vanished up the stairs in search of my husband.

We checked her snoot pretty thoroughly. If any contact was actually made, no claws were deployed.

Twenty minutes later, they had this little exchange and I held my breath the whole time, waiting for Lucy to get retaliatory (as she’s been known to do). But as you can see, she was a Very Good Girl.

I seriously don’t know what it is about this cat, that has Lucy on her heels. She seems to genuinely want his friendship, or attention, or general goodwill; I’ve just known her to be unpredictable before, and I’m watching for any sign of it now. I guess in a nutshell, I’m wary because this is new behavior for her. Even the dearly departed eldercat (::pours one out::) never lashed out at Lucy or held her hostage on the stairs, daring her to push past. It was never necessary. The eldercat was simply The Boss, and when Lucy was adopted onto The Boss’s home turf, she understood it immediately.

Now Lucy is The Boss, and it looks like we brought home… a Mini-Boss.

I worry, yes. But Mini-Boss will leave the dogs alone if they leave him alone, which I hope bodes well for general acceptance and maybe even affection, one day. Greyson whines at him, and approaches while he’s sleeping - then he stands over him like a sparkle vampire, grinning his face off, for as long as he dares… before wandering off to take a nap of his own. Lucy will follow him a little bit, at a distance, but she’s clearly doing her best to not surprise or upset him.

Since this morning, Monty has come within an inch or two of a mutual boop with each pooch, though no formal booping has taken place yet. We’re getting there.

However. Another awesome milestone did occur - and will wonders never cease, I got it on video. I don’t have a great means of embedding video here, but I will send you to this link right here: Monty and the Neighbor Cat meet at last. Readers, I nearly died of the tension and cuteness.

As I previously mentioned, Monty came from a stray colony in Hawaii, so obviously he’s familiar with other cats; and there was a note in his file about him seeming to get along with them in general - though he had no known history with dogs. Even so, indoor tomcat meeting outdoor tomcat with nothing but a screen between them… well, it could’ve gone south, real loudly and violently. I’m so glad it went this way, instead.

This morning, my husband just left the baby gate open when he got up and around (it was his turn to stay upstairs last night) - so the little dude has been zipping around the house all day, to zero problems and no small measure of hilarity. Being a tripod is not much of a disability if you ask him. Hell, it’s barely a disadvantage - and I suspect that once the rest of his muscles learn to compensate, it’ll be absolutely meaningless, as far as he’s concerned.

That said, he’s been licking at his hip, his elbows, and his shoulders a lot, as his muscles and joints are beginning to adjust to his new 3-legged gait. This is the most room he’s had to roam, having been in the kitty hospital or the shelter since the operation, so I’m sure he’s a little sore in odd places. I mean, whomst among us, right? When we do some weird new exercise, or try out a new dance move, we all get a little achy; so I ordered him some of the same joint supplement that Quinnie took for the last half of her life, as it really did seem to help her. It’s called Dasuquin, you can get it without a prescription at Amazon, and comes in powder capsules or a tasty chewy. Hopefully, it’ll provide some support while his body rebuilds itself around this new shape.

(Note: it’s the kind of thing that takes a few weeks to really take full effect.)

A tripod gray tabby cat stands proudly atop a bistro table with two MCM chairs tucked underneath it.

As you can see, missing 1/4 of his limbs is not slowing him down. He’s also been on top of the kitchen island (platformed off the trash can), up in every window, all over the back of the couch and loveseat, and on top of the bannisters you see behind him in this shot.

[Since someone asks literally every time I post a picture with those chairs in them - yes, I know what they are; no, I’m not looking to sell them.]

At any rate, since he was doing so well, and the dogs were behaving so nicely, I said “to hell with it” and started moving his stuff to its more formal and permanent positions. Litterbox went in the bathroom closet we had customized to hold such things; food is now over in the corner between the couch and the loveseat where the dogs can’t reach it. He seemed fine with these changes, so I put away the murphy bed, too. Then I spent a ridiculous amount of time cleaning my office. I’d spilled some of his liquid meds, and there was kitty litter everywhere, and he’d made a little mess with the wet food, etc.

He does not miss the bed or anything else in there. When he hasn’t been running around, investigating every nook and cranny of his new home, he’s been sitting in his new cat-seat by one of the kitchen windows.

A tripod gray tabby makes himself very comfortable in a small gray cat tree with a round seat on top, set at the perfect level for him to stare out the window and watch the bird-feeders.

That’s where Quinnie’s little “haunted castle” from Target’s Halloween collection used to be. It was several years old and utterly trashed, so we threw it away once she was gone…but it’s a great little nook between the stairs and the dog stuff, with a perfect view of the bird-feeders, so I had a feeling that any cat might appreciate the view. I’m glad I was right. I’m glad he seems happy. I’m glad the dogs are behaving themselves, despite their intense and pitiful desire to be his friend. I’m glad the Neighbor Cat has been deemed “acceptable” so far as visitors go, and I’m glad we fell in love with the most raggedy-ass kitty at the Humane Society.

He finished one of his antibiotics yesterday, and will finish the other on Saturday. Earlier this week he would sometimes do a little bit of wheezing after zoomies, and he snores a tad, and once in awhile he sounds slightly phlegmy when he purrs, but I think he’s going to be just fine. The missing leg is a non-issue. Ditto the missing tooth, the janky toe, and all the rest.

And he’s going to be a real stunner when his coat grows back in and his shoulders/hips aren’t quite so pointy, I tell you what.

Getting to know aaalllll about yoooou

So far as introductions between dogs and cat go… progress is proceeding suspiciously well. Yesterday Monty decided that he was NOT content to hang out in my office behind the baby gate so I let him take a look around while the dogs were in the back yard; once liberated, he investigated the house from top to bottom while I followed him around, making sure he didn’t vanish into any weird cubbyholes or anything.

He did not, in fact, vanish into any cubbies. He explored as long as he felt like it, then retreated back upstairs to my office, where he crashed out on the bed. And speaking of stairs, despite my husband’s reservations about Monty being a tripod, I assure you that the kitty got the hang of them immediately.

He’s also getting the hang of being Boss of Dogs, which surprises no one more than yours truly - at least when it comes to Lucy. Greyson is a sweetheart and a pushover, a chicken on his best days. Lucy has never shown deference to any other carbon-based lifeform in this world… except for our dearly departed eldercat (who we lost in 2019). Lucy loved that tiny, geriatric revenant of a feline - and would have never crossed her in a million years. She’s literally the only entity who ever successfully told Lucy to BACK TF OFF, to the best of my knowledge.

Or she was. Until Monty.

She is actually giving him a respectful berth, coming as close as she dares up to the moment she sees him start to raise a paw of “no thank you.” Then she immediately retreats, often to me or my husband because she needs to be comforted after this vicious spate of feline bullying.

Last night, Monty decided to go for a little roam while the dogs were indoors, much as it worried me; he pushed past me at the baby gate and beelined for my husband’s office - where he hopped up onto the desk chair seat and made himself at home. Lucy was delighted! Here he was, right at face-level! It was time to greet! Yes?

Yes. At first. They hung out peacefully until Monty hopped down off the seat and Lucy tried to follow him, but she got too close and caught a paw (no claws) upside the head, along with a hiss. The dog toppled backwards as if she’d been hit with a log, then buried her head in my lap like the world was surely ending. It was truly tragic. And kind of funny.

Only kind of, though, because there’s always a chance that Lucy will remember she’s The Boss and start asserting herself. But we are going out of our way to give her BIG PRAISE for calmly tolerating the kitty, and MANY SNUGGLES when she starts looking jelly, or when she successfully interacts with him by either retreating as he prefers, or without causing him any gentle paw-lifts of warning.

Greyson, we aren’t worried about. But we’re giving him lots of love and reassurance, too, on general principle.

Last night I stayed upstairs with Monty and we left the office door open - but the baby gate stayed closed. The dogs didn’t even bother to come check him out all night, and he stayed put. The gate is mostly there as an Official Boundary at this point, and a test of how well everyone can respect such things - since literally any of them could get over, around, or through it at any time.

This afternoon while the dogs were outside, I let him loose to roam the house again - and when the dogs knocked on the back door with a request to come back in, Monty decided that he did NOT wish to return to his safety room. No, he’d rather stare at the dogs through the storm door (we have one at both the front and rear), and DOUBLE DOG DARE THEM to come at him, bro.

So I let the dogs inside.

If you click the link above re: Greyson, you’ll see how that went. Lucy was good, too - she approached softly, tail wagging slowly, good body language… and when Monty alllllmost lifted his slappin’ paw, she retreated before it was necessary. That was about two hours ago. The baby gate is still open, the dogs and cat all hung out together in the living area for a little bit; and now me, Monty, and Lucy are back in my office. Monty’s beside me on the bed. Lucy is on the floor nearest to Monty, intermittently napping and sighing dramatically. Greyson is in my husband’s office, staying out of any potential drama.

After the dogs get their afternoon walk, and once everyone has had some dinner/settled in for the evening… we’ll open the baby gate again and let the little dude roam the house while we watch TV. The dogs will be coming and going. We will keep an eye on Lucy, and make sure she’s not trying to chase him or anything like that. Monty is a little wary of being “cornered,” and since Lucy isn’t good with personal space…and this is a small old house with many corners…it’s just something we’re trying to stay aware of.

Depending on how that goes, tonight we might leave the baby gate open and let him roam alone. He could use a little unsupervised time in the house - I mean, hell, it’ll happen eventually.

That said, we won’t be leaving the crew alone together without people present in the house anytime soon. I have a second litterbox coming, and for a couple of weeks (I suspect) if we leave, he gets shut alone in my office - like it or not. I don’t really want a litter box in here any longer than necessary, mind you, but that’s okay. It’s only temporary, and I am all about the ol’ “abundance of caution” until everyone is very well acquainted, and very comfortable coexisting.

In other news, Monty has a “new patient” exam on June 16th. Lucy’s getting her booster shots anyway, and the vet said it was fine to add Monty to the appointment, so that’s what we’re doing.

The phone call was funny, though. The nice receptionist lady asked if there was anything in particular she should note, re: any questions or concerns about or new family member, so I gave her the litany, and she laughed her ass off - but apparently she only has so many characters she can enter on the appointment form, so she told me to pick something. I went with “upper respiratory infection follow-up.”

At present, sans the UR infection, he stands at: one missing tooth, one jacked-up toe, one missing hind limb, and one iffy eye. The sad/patchy fur situation will resolve on its own, but I do feel like he’s grooming himself a lot. Not to the point of bald patches or rashes, so hell, maybe he knows what he’s doing, who can say. We know he was exposed to ringworm at some point semi-recently, and while the shelter didn’t know if he’d actually contracted it or not, the folks there gave him a preemptive dip…and the volunteer implied he’d uh, had more hair before that event, so God knows.

He’s a little itchy, and has a number of small, healing scabs here and there (apart from the veritable constellation of small white scars). That’ll probably sort itself out too, but I’ll bring it up on doctor day.

Anyway. For now this is my “office” set-up, though in my defense, when the (queen-sized) murphy bed is in play, that takes up about 80% of the room. (It’s only about 10x10 feet. This is an old house, remember? Small rooms.) But hey, I’m not complaining.

No I will not be shutting up about this cat anytime soon, sorry not sorry

It’s been 48 hours and if I did not know better, I would swear this is not the same cat we took home from the Humane Society. He’s such a happy little guy, and so funny - with serious snuggle-gravity. If you come into my office and hold still long enough, you WILL have a cat head purring on your arm/leg/hand/foot/leg/what have you, really. He doesn’t necessarily want to be in your lap, but he very much enjoys a good cuddle and he will NOT BE DENIED.

Since yesterday’s post, we have added a new exciting item to the list of Stuff That’s Wrong With This Cat: in addition to the upper respiratory infection, the tiny white scars, the missing leg, the gimpy toe, and the questionable eye… this dude is also missing a fang. Because of course he is. ::throws hands in the air::

Also, that’s not your imagination. He uh, does not look like a neutered male. He just looks…male. He has the little blue dot tattoo that says he’s been fixed and everything, but they sure did leave him with enough to flash obscenely, I tell you what. (Honestly it’s just hilarious, and we do not care.)

To date, he has correctly concluded that Greyson is harmless and cowardly, and that Lucy is The Boss. He’s still deciding what to do with this information, but he and Lucy are making good progress. No one has been hissed at or swatted since yesterday, despite the fact that we’ve left the office door open all day - with the baby-gate shut - and while the dogs have done little drive-by visits, they seem to be adjusting to the idea that this is the new guy, and he lives here now, and it’s really not that exciting overall.

Yet.

He’ll be holding Greyson snuggle-hostage in no time flat; today they came within about 2 inches of a nose-boop through the gate before Greyson chickened out and ran off. But Lucy… hm. Lucy wants to play with him. And he wants to play with Lucy, specifically her tail. This little guy plays gently with people, but roughly with toys. Lucy plays gently with people, but roughly with toys - and other animals. There will be a period of negotiation here, and we will (a). have to let them sort that out for themselves, while (b). keeping a close eye on it.

But for now, all’s well. Husband spent the first night upstairs, I did it last night, and we’re swapping out again tonight. We’ll do another closed door overnight, then leave it open (but closed baby gate) all day tomorrow, too. If everything continues on its presently chill trajectory… then we’ll leave the door open overnight (baby gate closed) and see what happens. The cat could through the gate if he wanted to; maybe he’ll enjoy checking out the scenery a little while it’s nice and quiet. Lucy sleeps downstairs in the basement bathroom. She wouldn’t hear him for awhile. Greyson is half deaf these days, and probably wouldn’t hear him at all.

Or that’s the plan for now, though we’ll adjust as needed. At the moment we’re taking our time and letting him acclimate to the rhythm of the household - our routines, the new sounds he’s likely to hear, the ups and downs of the dogs coming and going, etc.

He’s getting quite comfortable, as you can see.

In this picture, you can really get a look at the sad state of his fur. Everything except for his head, legs, and tail is so terribly threadbare - it’s pure undercoat, as soft as down, and petting him is not very different from petting a hairless cat, if you’ve ever met one of those. He feels like a suede hot water bottle with a little peach fuzz. And yes, his tail looks fluffy here, but even that is half naked, too - the hair is longer, but very thin and patchy.

Anyway, I say all that to say this: there’s a much floofier cat inside this little fellow than we’d initially suspected.

While I’m discussing the state of the cat, I should note that he’s also been getting more exercise than he’s likely had since his amputation. It only happened about a month ago, and since then, he’s been either in the veterinary hospital or a shelter; he hasn’t had any room to run/jump/climb or test his abilities with three legs rather than four, but he’s gaining some confidence leaping up and down off the bed, the windowsill, the cabinet, my desk, etc.

I’ve ordered him a window seat like the one Quinnie had. It’ll be here in a day or two. I suspect that it will be a big hit.

Oh, and I suppose I should close out with the Official Name of Record. Ahem.

Behold, I give you “Monty.”

For Montague, because he’s a lover; for Montgomery, because “Monty Got a Raw Deal” (if you GenXers were REM fans, and if you remember that one). Bonus: due to the missing limb, he flashes the full Monty 100% of the time, like it or not, better get used to it. And extra bonus: our long-time vet’s name is Montgomery, so yes, we basically named this cat with a word cloud.

And what of it. It suits the little gentleman perfectly.

A handsome little gent indeed

The kitty (still formally unnamed) had a good first night upstairs in my office, where my husband reports that he was a snuggly and chill little bedfellow. I heard some zoomies going down around 7:00 a.m., as well as some litterbox kicky-feets, (The master bedroom, where I stayed, is immediately underneath my office/guest room. I can hear things.)

We set up a baby gate across the office door, but we are leaving the main door shut unless we are physically present to keep an eye on things. Lucy could jump the gate in a heartbeat, and in a similar heartbeat, the cat could get past it/through it if he really wanted to. But it’s made things a little easier, re: the “letting them work it out for themselves” part of the socializing; the dogs creep closer and closer, but if they shove a snoot through the bars, they’ll get a hiss and a swat - no claws, just a “please don’t.” Greyson takes the "no” as intended and leaves. Lucy keeps swinging until I gently but firmly send her away, but so far the cat hasn’t tried to hurt her, either.

As I said before, we aren’t worried about Greyson; he’s vastly more afraid of the cat than the reverse, and has never hurt a soul in his life. But Lucy has been known to retaliate in kind, when growled at/smacked/etc., - or to put it another way, she’s prone to returning whatever energy she receives from other animals. So for now we are very glad that she seems to be reading the cat as “anxious” rather than “aggro.”

You guys, she is trying so, so hard to be good, and to make friends. But being chill and letting others have their space does not come naturally to her, so it’s a struggle. An adorable, ridiculous struggle.

For his part, the cat is mostly curious about the dogs - curious enough to come to the gate if the door’s open and they approach - but he holds back and watches, and will hiss softly if he thinks they’re getting too excited. He doesn’t scream or run and hide, and doesn’t go on the offensive trying to chase them away. He just seems… wary. We’re hoping that as he becomes more comfortable with us, and our household, and the dogs - and likely his amputation, which only happened 3-4 weeks ago…he will decide that the resident canines are suitable roommates after all.

But for now, everyone is supervised and separated, but able to sniff and visit under controlled conditions. Fingers crossed, eh? We would very much love for this absurd little snuggler to become a formally integrated member of the pack.

We do have a name on deck, but are waiting to commit to it. We’re still testing it out, seeing how it suits him. Will report back when something sticks ::salutes::

The Best-Laid Plans

It’s been not quite a month since we lost Quinnie, and for the last few days, the husband and I had been talking about maybe starting to look for a new resident feline - since we do have an opening in the good home department, and so many homes are so desperately needed, after all.

We poked our digital heads in at a few regional rescues, but ultimately decided to do our first walk-in at the Seattle Humane Society, which is all the way out in the ass-end of Bellevue for some reason (but it’s a grand facility, I do admit). When we sat down with one of the coordinators, we talked about how we were open to a wide range of cat experiences, really, and the only hard “no” would be an indoor/outdoor (or former barn-type) cat. This is because (a). we live within a few blocks of two fairly busy roads, and (b). the vast and overwhelming majority of domestic cats should be kept indoors regardless, don’t fucking @-me, as the kids say.

Anyway.

I also told the nice lady that so far as cats went, we’d had half a dozen years of pretty intensive feline medical stuff going on - that is, the dearly departed eldercat, then Quinnie. The last several years of the eldercat’s life, she was on fluids 2-3 times a week, 2 different meds, and she had a vet visit every 8-10 weeks to drain a sebaceous cyst on her lower lip (or else it would grow too large, and she would have trouble eating). Then there was the World’s Most Expensive Free Kitten, who - even before the cancer - had cost us a boatload of money over the years. She had digestive problems from the get-go, developed a degenerative joint condition requiring several rounds of pricey therapy and many meds for the last half of her life - and then came the cancer, of course. Four meds daily, two vet visits weekly (one almost an hour away) and and and and… and.

So I said that I hoped they understood that we would really love someone a little…lower touch this time, perhaps. I’m all about the less-adoptable critters, don’t get me wrong - but maybe, this once, we could at least start out with a healthy young animal. No FIV/FIP, no diabetics, no one who needs fluids, etc. If that would be okay. Likewise, a tiny kitten would be more adventure than we were looking for. Preferably, we were seeking a healthy adult animal who is already familiar with dogs - though obviously, the dog thing wouldn’t be a deal-breaker. We understand that shelters don’t always have a lot of background on their residents, and even cats who’ve never lived with dogs can often acclimate happily thereunto.

And what did we fall in love with? Literally the first cat we sat down with, just like when we adopted the elder cat, all those years ago.

We sat down with a 2-year old boy cat from a managed stray/feral colony in Hawaii. He was ultimately trapped and sent here to the continent when he turned up with a badly injured back leg - which eventually had to be amputated; then somewhere along the way he picked up an upper-respiratory infection and an eye infection, so he came with a full set of meds and syringes and special food.

Because of course he did.

Look, he’s kind of a raggedy little fellow, I won’t lie. His coat is bunny-soft but very thin and patchy, and his amputation point is nicely healed - but still half-bald, as the surgery only occurred a few weeks ago. He was badly flea-bitten, and though he’s since been treated, he’s still scratching at scabs all of the place, bless his heart. He has one weird claw on his front right foot that I suspect will need some kind of attention at some point, as he can’t retract it and it sticks up funny. (Looks like maybe he broke a toe once upon a time? Hard to say - but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all.)

By which I mean: He’s basically perfect, and he’s presently holed up in my office to decompress.

His name at the shelter was [::sigh::] “Hodor.” Apparently the person who was keeping an eye on the cat colony dubbed him that, as a Game of Thrones fan - plus, this little dude is about 11 pounds even though he’s rail thin and missing a quarter of the usual limbs. Compared to Quinnie he seems positively petite, but he was described as “large” in the paperwork. Therefore… “Hodor.” But we will not be keeping that name.

So far, we haven’t settled on anything new. We’re taking a little time to get to know him first.

They sent us home with a copy of his existing (appallingly extensive) medical history, and at every stop someone noted his temperament as “So sweet!” “Gentle giant!” etc. - always with an exclamation mark, which tracks, because he’s about the snuggliest sonofabitch I ever met. I mean this cat LOVES people. Purrs like a mofo, and you can hear him across the room. And he’ll be finished with the last of his meds in another six days, so. Not a big deal. He takes them in his food. No pilling necessary. (And he’s already done with the eyedrops.)

And now to answer the question on everyone’s minds: What about the dogs? Well, the intro went about as well as could be expected, considering.

We brought the little dude inside the house via the carrier, and we let the dogs give it a good sniff. This elicited a couple of warning hisses that were not too serious (no swiping, no efforts to grab or bite through the bars); then we set him up in my office to chill for a bit, while the dogs whined piteously about the situation. There was a CAT. In our HOUSE. And they were not being allowed to LICK ITS BUTT or SNIFF ITS EARS. Clearly, this was some kind of OVERSIGHT that MUST BE CORRECTED.

Lucy eventually lost interest. Greyson is still guarding the office door.

At one point, Greyson eagerly shoved past me to get closer to the cat than I meant for him to. This earned him a face-full of whappity paws, which concerned me at first - then I realized that no claws had been deployed whatsoever. The little dude realized that the dog meant him no harm; he just didn’t want a strange dog in his face, thanks.

Later, because the kitty seemed cautiously amenable to the situation, I let Greyson come into the office with me. He whined gently, but had learned his lesson - and he kept a respectful distance. He circled the room, collected some sniffs, and received one more idle hiss of suspicion before he took the hint and left of his own accord. The cat never even bothered to get up and swipe at him - much less run off and hide.

Those two will be pals in no time, I’m pretty sure, but Lucy will be a little trickier. Let me put it this way: Lucy has never harmed a cat, but she has offended a few.

Much like Quinnie, this cat has juuuuuuust a tiny touch of the ol’ YOU KNOW WHAT, FUCK YOU about him, and he might need a little space. Lucy isn’t always great about hearing a “no” or giving someone their requested space.

Lucy always viewed Spain - and then Quinnie - as The Cat, Who Is the Boss. But we adopted Lucy into a cat household, while this sweet little gent was brought onto Lucy’s dog turf instead. Here, now, Lucy is the boss. There’s always a chance that she’ll be like, YOU KNOW WHAT FUCK YOU ALSO in return to some slight, and scare the kitty badly enough that he rejects the household like a transplanted organ. Or maybe he’ll erroneously decide that even gentle old Greyson is Bad News. Misunderstandings happen.

Should anything like that occur, yes, we will seek other placement for this very fine young man. We want what’s best for him and what’s best for the dogs, too, and if that means they can’t and won’t live together peacefully, well. Sometimes that’s how it goes.

But we are patient, and we know our dogs very, very well. As I said, we’ve temporarily installed the kitty alone in my office, where the dogs otherwise spend more time than I do (to be frank) - so he’ll get a good familiarizing dose of their scent without their presence. Conveniently, that’s also where the murphy bed is; so my husband and I will be switching out sleeping upstairs for a few days, and gradually giving the little man greater access to the house as he feels more comfortable - with us, with the space, and with the dogs.

So that’s the big news over here! We have a new resident, and things will be strange for a bit, but it’s a good thing overall. Keep an eye on my Twitter and/or BlueSky (if you’re over there) for regular pics. He’s a handsome little guy and I, for one, cannot get enough of him.

<3

State of the Household

Here in the aftermath of suddenly having no cat, things are strange but generally all right. I spent the last few days cleaning the hell out of the house and disposing of Quinn’s things - her scratchers and toys I mostly threw away, but her meds are being divvied up among rescues and friends, and her leftover food will be going to the Seattle Humane Society whenever I have time to drive out to Bellevue. I sent her favorite rattly mouse (a gift from her auntie Suzanne) along with her, as I was told that it was okay. It will return to us along with Quinn’s ashes, in a little box that we’ll put beside the urn that holds Spain the Cat.

These are not acts of erasure, but acts of closure. The business of death, if you will.

In time, we will either adopt again or somekitty will undoubtedly fall into our lap, like Quinnie did. But whoever comes next deserves their own stuff, or that’s my feeling about it.

People keep asking about the dogs, how are the dogs taking it, are the dogs all right, and the answers are difficult to know with any certainty but here’s my best effort: at the routine events where Quinn was typically present - meals, bedtimes, first thing in the morning, etc. - sometimes they sniff around like something’s missing, something isn’t right. Sometimes they don’t. If you forced me to ask, I’d say they’re a little confused and maybe a touch bummed, but generally okay.

She was part of the pack, but a peculiar part who occasionally drove them both bananas. (She was always a bit of a weirdo, if I’m honest. Even so far as cats go.) The dogs knew she was sick. They knew the vets came for her. They know her litterbox is gone, and so is her food. Even if they don’t fully understand what happened, I think they know she won’t be back.

Neighbor cat still comes by every morning. I still give him treats, and will continue to do so. He still keeps me company while I do yard work, and hangs out on the porch - but not for as long as he used to.

Things are settling into routine again. It’s a much simpler routine, and the weather is beginning to turn for the better so I’m distracting myself with cleaning up the yard, planting and transplanting last year’s survivors, cutting new beds, tending to the early starters, and generally turning my attention to the business of life.

The seasons don’t stop for one lost cat, and they will leave me running behind, struggling to catch up, if I don’t roll with them. (There’s always a new season, for the rest of us, while we’re here.) So while we continue to decompress and adjust to the idea of a cat-shaped hole in our days, we also start a new week tomorrow. (There’s always a new week.)

Tomorrow I’ll resume the daily dog pics on social media, and I’ll get back to work on my projects-in-progress. It beats just sitting here. Right?

Quinn the Magnificent: July 2015 - May 4, 2023

She was born somewhere in Chattanooga, probably, and came to us as an engine block kitten - found by some old friends when they popped the car’s hood to find out what, exactly, was making that weird racket all the way home. Immediately adored by Pyr-mix Greyson and grudgingly tolerated by the late Spain the Cat, Quinn was eventually treated fondly by Lucy, as well - when our husky/shepherd mix joined the family about a year later.

Quinn semi-famously became The World’s Most Expensive Free Kitten because oh, she had issues. Besides the usual kitten/cat stuff, she developed a degenerative joint condition that required daily meds - plus a kidney/bladder problem that called for pricey prescription food. Then, of course, came the cancer. A couple of months and six thousand dollars later, I think we (me, plus you folks who were kind enough to chip in for the GoFundMe) bought her maybe one more month that she might not have had otherwise. All I can do about that is sigh and appreciate that extra time. It was good time. Up until 2-3 days ago, she was very much herself.

The downturn came suddenly. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that it wasn’t the way she stopped eating, or the way she moved more and more slowly; it was the way she was too weak and nauseous to greet the neighbor cat at the storm door (as she’s done daily for years now). That’s when we knew it was time.

I made the call. We made the appointment for here, at home. Now the vet has come and gone, and so too has momma’s little monster - Her Royal Highness Harley Quinn Greasemonkey Stinkfoot the First.

I hope she enjoyed her time with us, as much as we enjoyed having her in our lives.

Hey, you want to hear a ghost story?

I realize this sounds like a violent rhetorical transition, but please, bear with me. I’ve told this story before, at least the first part of it - so I know some of you have already heard about The Ghost Cat.

But now there’s more to tell, so here’s the whole thing.

Right. So. My husband has never believed in ghosts. Indeed, he’s long considered himself a paranormal EMP, short-circuiting anything unusual so that nothing unexplained ever happens in his presence. But then we lost Spainy (the ancient eldercat) a few years ago - right before we moved into our present house… at which point, he was forced to reconsider.

Let me explain.

See, for the first year we lived here, my husband’s job sent him out of town for a week every month, leaving me alone with the animals a lot; and since the other human in the household wasn’t present, it was very easy for me to notice - and not write off to a husband’s wiggling - that something small-cat-sized was climbing into bed with me at night.

The visitor definitely wasn’t Quinnie. Quinnie was practically dog-sized, for one thing*; and for another, she was usually present and ensconced before the unseen bed-thief arrived.

One night in particular, I was still awake with the nightstand light on - lounging around late, reading on my phone. Quinn was out cold beside me, snoring away, when I felt the then-familiar “thump” of something landing on the foot of the bed. It stomped around to the side where Quinnie snoozed..

Quinnie shot awake like something had startled her.

She whipped around to deliver a sharply pissy hiss, made eye contact with something otherwise unseen… and suddenly relaxed like, “Oh, it’s just you.” She yawned, stretched, purred… then went smugly back to sleep in the spot that had belonged exclusively to the dearly departed eldercat for almost two decades.

After a few months of these visitations, I finally told my husband about what was going on in his absence - and the dear fellow lost his shit because it’d been happening to him, too. He’d been steadfastly reassuring himself that it was just his imagination, or me doing some weird kicking in my sleep, or Quinn on tip-toes. But no.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Quinn. And it definitely wasn’t either of the 80+ pound dogs who never bother to get on the bed, anyway. (The House Bears both get too hot for snuggles with blankets.)

After a year or so, the mystery visits petered out - and until a few months ago, I’d just assumed that the ghost cat had moved on, or gotten bored with us, or respawned elsewhere - who knows. But then early in March, I think - after we’d realized something was wrong with Quinn, but before we knew what it was - the ghost cat came back.

I realize it kind of sounds nuts, but that’s why - even at my most elated and optimistic! - I never fully trusted the vet’s assessment of “remission” despite the good bloodwork and the vanished (initial) mass. Because the ghost cat was back.

And therefore, when we found out that the lymphoma had abandoned Quinn’s stomach but infested her intestines/kidneys…well, I understood why our spooky little friend had returned.

(For a relative value of “understanding” and/or suspension of belief, I guess.)

I said at the top of this post that our late senior feline “grudgingly tolerated” Quinn, and that’s both true and misleading. Spain the Cat never gave a damn for other animals in general, but over time she and Quinnie achieved a companionable (even friendly) relationship.

When Spain died, Quinnie surprised us all by taking it the hardest.

My husband and I talked for awhile about adopting another cat-friend for her, but having four animals in a small house had been frankly a lot (especially with the eldercare routines of fluids and meds and cyst drainage)… and we felt like a little breathing room would be okay - not least of all because I was still alone for a week every month, and Quinnie had her dogs. She seemed content to lean on them.

At present, her dogs seem a bit confused, but they’ll be okay.

As far as silver linings go, Greyson will be far better off without Quinn… than Quinn would have been, if we’d lost him first. He dearly loved His Kitten - but here in his senior years, His Cat has annoyed the bejeezus out of him with her Menacing Affection and Bitey Demands for Attention.

After the vet left, he sniffed around a bit and went outside to nap on the deck.

Lucy joined him shortly thereafter. She liked Quinn just fine, but they were never especially close. Honestly (and a little oddly, but sweetly) she always liked the little old lady cat best. As a friend once put it: Boss bitch recognize boss bitch, and Spain was the bossiest and bitchiest of them all. Lucy gleefully, instantly bent the knee the moment they met, without a second’s hesitation.

If you know Lucy now, that probably cracks you up. She’s uh, not the sort to defer to anyone or anything else.

Anyway, as you’re probably aware (if you’re here, reading this), I tell stories for a living - so here’s the one I’m telling myself today: Spain the Cat spent 20 years in our company, and she’s been halfway keeping one eye on the household ever since she left us in 2019. When she saw that her bratty little sister was headed for that bright white light which awaits us all… she rolled her eyes, sighed, and swung back around to pick her up.

It’s a nice story. For all I know, it’s even true.

So hail, little travelers - and lead on, dearly departed eldercat. Show Quinnie the ropes, will you? Feel free to bring her around for a little visit, every now and again. We’ll save you both a spot on the bed.

________________________________________

• The dearly departed eldercat was 20+ years old and down to about six pounds by the time we acquired Quinn - though she’d shrunk down to < 5 by the time we lost her. Quinn was still nearly 15 pounds when she passed. There was never any mistaking the two for one another.

Updates of the Cancer Cat Variety

For the last couple of weeks (the last few weeks, really) Quinn has been doing really fantastic - very much “herself” again, like she was before she started getting sick. It’s been marvelous, even though I’m still pilling her once a day (with just the steroid). That said, her appetite has been kind of all over the place; it’s to be expected, after a month or more on antiemetics and appetite stimulants - but in the last few days it’d taken a strong downturn, and she’d started vomiting again. Not bad “every twenty minutes for a couple of hours” vomiting like before she started treatment, but it still worried me. I mentioned it in a couple of private internet spots, but left this info off Twitter - where so many of Quinn’s fans hang out - because I didn’t want to needlessly worry anyone.

And lucky for us, she was scheduled for a followup ultrasound and bloodwork today. We set it up before we left last time and it was hypothetically routine, but with cancer…nothing is really routine, so I’ve been pretty anxious about it.

I got halfway to Tacoma before I realized I’d forgotten deodorant. That kind of anxious.

At any rate, I dropped her off in accordance with clinic procedure, filled out my paperwork, paid a deposit estimate* of $1200 (thanks again, GoFundMe supporters, I’m serious)… and indulged my usual “routine” when I’m here: I went to a nearby McDonald’s for breakfast, then parked myself at a Starbucks down the street to wait for the phone call.

The phone call took about six hours to arrive, and it was not what we’d hoped for. It wasn’t even what I’d feared, it was something altogether differently terrible: the mass in her stomach remains low-key/virtually gone, but the lymphoma is more aggressive than anticipated - as it sometimes goes. This one has sprouted several fresh masses, and more pressingly, it’s spread swiftly and furiously to her kidneys and they are beginning to falter. That’s why she started throwing up a few days ago. Her white blood cell count - which was “terrific” on her last visit - has dropped so low that they couldn’t even give her the oral chemo, in an effort to bat cleanup or buy a little more good time. Her system isn’t strong enough for it.

To say that we are crushed is something of an understatement.

Especially given the outpouring of support through the GoFundMe, I feel both miserably sad and frankly guilty - it was a lot of money! And for… not nothing, but not what we’d hoped. She’s had an excellent month, we’ve done a lot of playing and she’s eaten a whole menu of weird foods we’d never thought to give her before, even though she’s begged in the past.

At the moment, she’s scarfing down some dinner after yowling for treats upon returning home. We aren’t sure how long this little reprieve will hold, but we have steroids and antiemetic, as well as her traditional gabapentin for her janky little joints.

So today was officially The End of the Road so far as chemo or aggressive treatment goes. The cancer is more aggressive than the available medicine, and the fact is, it’s gonna win. Sooner rather than later, if we understand correctly.

I set the GoFundMe goal high enough to cover up through today’s ultrasound, and I actually calculated pretty closely - within ten bucks, once they refunded me a little (since she couldn’t have the oral chemo). But she will still have another vet visit or two (or more?) to check her blood and keep her in comfort meds, and then, much as it pains us, a final appointment.

We will have her cremated, like we did the dearly departed eldercat. They can go back to hanging out butt-to-butt, but this time on a little memorial shelf.

Until then, we will do our level best to keep her happy and comfortable and spoiled just plain silly.

I wish I had something else useful or eloquent to say here, but I don’t. I tried. That’s all, I guess: I tried. I did literally everything that could be done (with loads of help from my husband and you readers) and it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it’s like that, I know. That doesn’t make it any easier.

Anyway. That’s what happened. That’s where we are.

I need to go call her local vet now, and then go walk the dogs.

Thanks again, everyone. It’s been a hard year, but it would’ve been harder if I’d tried to do this alone.

___________________________________

[*] They stated upfront that she might also be dosed with a further round of oral chemo, depending on what they find, thus the “estimate.” The oral chemo isn’t very expensive tho, relatively speaking. It’s the ultrasound itself that costs the big bucks on this visit.