Month: Jun 2015

Le Roi s’en fiche: vive Le Roi!

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Louis Catorze is pretty unconcerned about all the fuss and furore caused by his test results. Here he is, displaying his best “pretty unconcerned” look:


However, he’s also looking super-healthy, with glossy fur, virtually no scabs or broken skin, and bald patches that are slowly filling in. And he’s chatty, chirpy, swishy-tailed and full of energy. Something we’re doing is working for him right now; let’s hope it continues to do so for as long as possible.

We’ve had no news as yet from the vet about the skin scraping, so I’ve been looking into other possibilities. Some very kind friends recommended a bioenergetics company who analyse animal hair samples and prescribe a toxin-free remedy, so I’ve been in touch with them and requested a testing kit. The best thing about the remedy is that it can be dropped into Louis Catorze’s drinking water or onto his skin, as opposed to being syringed into his mouth after terrifying the life out of him with a surprise attack. Sometimes it’s all about the delivery: the best cure in the world is no good to me if violence and bloodshed are involved.

At £100 this remedy is not cheap but it has to be worth a go, just in case the western medicine route sends us down another dead end. I’m not sure if Cat Daddy will agree as he thinks alternative therapies are for hippy-dippy airheads who eat fairy dust and pink sparkles; that said, he never reads this, so I might just try it anyway and see how long it takes him to find out.

Les résultats 

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Louis Catorze’s allergy test results are in, and I could weep with frustration because they stated the one thing that I really, really didn’t want: inconclusive. I am in utter disbelief, especially after the veterinary nurse told me that she’d never seen an inconclusive result IN HER LIFE. Not only have I wasted time in implementing all the dust mite murder measures, but I feel I put poor Louis Catorze through the trauma of the blood test for nothing.

He registered a little sensitivity to some substances, but not enough to determine an allergy; apparently he needed to score at least 150 on the scale to be able to confirm that substance as the source of his allergic symptoms. For anyone who’s interested, I’ve summarised Louis Catorze’s readings below – and, as you will see, his numbers are some way off 150:

  • Various mites including dust mites: up to 30 
  • Various tree pollens: up to 30
  • Various grass pollens: up to 18
  • Fungus: 0
  • Food: 0 

This was so unexpected that I didn’t have a Plan B, but I’ve been forced to think of one. The next step, according to the vet, is a skin scraping analysis to ensure that it’s not a bug infestation or an inherent skin condition, but the problem is that we’re moving house next week, then in August he has his yearly vaccinations (which can’t be done at the local vet: we have to schlep across London to his ex-rescue centre’s vet, because he needs a particular specialised version that won’t interfere with his meds). After he reacted so savagely to the first blood sample attempt, I am very reluctant to subject him to three disruptions – skin scraping, house move and vaccination – in the space of a month and a bit. 

So what I intend to do is move him, give him a few weeks to settle into Le Château, then take him to the rescue centre vet in August where, hopefully, they will be able to do the skin scraping AND the vaccination in one go. I’ve emailed them to ask if it will be possible, and I hope beyond hope that they will say yes. 

J’adore la lavande

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Our cat-hating neighbour – an elderly lady who ignored our friendly attempts at neighbourliness for 4 years, but has decided to be nice to us now that we’re leaving – came round yesterday evening, concerned about foxes in the area and asking if we’d seen them around. Had I let Cat Daddy do all the talking, he would probably have said something embarrassing like, “Never seen any, but we know they’re around because their noisy sex sessions keep us awake at night,” so I hurriedly spoke over him and just said no. 

“They use my garden as a lavatory, you know,” our neighbour snarled. “Bloody awful things. I was looking out of my kitchen window one evening and I saw this huge black lump, squatting over my lavender.”

Of course, Louis Catorze chose that very moment, having spent all day in La Cage, to come out and meow at her. Then he rolled at her feet, stretched out and put his claws into her shoes.

Awkward silence. 

“Erm … it was definitely a huge black lump and not a small one, right?” asked Cat Daddy. 

Another awkward silence. Louis Catorze then sniffed her shoes and nuzzled them. Then he rolled over, defiantly displaying his arse as if to say, “Oui, and there’s more where that came from, salope!”

“Isn’t it funny how cats always go the person who isn’t a cat person?” said Cat Daddy. 

Yet another icy silence, and a look from our neighbour which suggested a distinct lack of amusement. Crickets chirped, tumbleweed blew past.

“Anyway,” I said, hastily. “Your roses are looking nice.”

Où sont les résultats?

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Cat Daddy keeps telling me how pointless it is to worry about Louis Catorze’s test results until they’re in. I know he’s right, but wasting time on pointless shit is my speciality. In fact, I sometimes tell others, as a joke, that I was born with a brain abnormality that makes me press on with stupid decisions and acts despite knowing full well how stupid they are, and it’s shocking how many people don’t appear that surprised.

My cat mamma instincts tell me that Louis Catorze is allergic to some, or all, of the following substances, in order of severity and with the most severe first:

  1. Dust mites
  2. Pollen of some sort (most likely grass)
  3. Feathers (from pillows and duvets as opposed to birds – Louis Catorze couldn’t and wouldn’t catch a bird even if you dipped him in bird seed and flung him into an aviary)
  4. Me
  5. Water
  6. Air
  7. Cheap, highly-scented, mass-produced skincare products
  8. The paper on which they print tabloid newspapers and tone-lowering gossip magazines
  9. Himself (in the same way that bodies reject donor organs)
  10. Food (all types ever created, natural and processed, meat- and plant-based, raw and cooked, feline and human)

Having spent a Roi’s ransom on dust mite murder weapons, I’m kind of hoping for no.1. But, having convinced Cat Daddy that I absolutely have to buy posh, scent-free skincare products “to act as a control and help monitor the flare-ups” I’m also hoping for rank outsider no.7, simply because it will require me to make no changes whatsoever and to continue buying Dermalogica products in the name of being a loving cat mamma. (“Why, yes, Cat Daddy, that price is perfectly normal for such a highly-specialised product. Do you want our boy to get better or not?”)

I am desperate to find out whether one of my 10 suspects will be guilty as charged, or whether the culprit will be something else entirely. I can’t believe that, soon, the wondering and speculating will be over!

Le Roi va mieux: vive Le Roi!

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Things are improving! Hurrah! The liquid Piriton seems to be having a positive physical effect on Louis Catorze, and his bald, itchy bits are slowly healing. Administering it, however, is the worst thing in the world, and there’s no way of doing it apart from a stealth attack and an undignified neck scruff. 

Whilst I love the taste of Piriton, to the point where I’ve considered using it as a crème de menthe substitute in a Sub Zero cocktail shot, I don’t think Louis Catorze agrees. His face after tasting suggests that he finds it rather like that concoction your hilarious university friends made on your birthday, when they put a shot of everything from the optics bar into one glass and made you drink it. It also doesn’t help matters that, despite not being the brightest, Louis Catorze knows when I’m loading the syringe, even if I go outdoors to do it; when I come back into the room/house, he’s already shifted into Battle Cat mode and is poised, ready to tear my soul out and send it to hell. This happens even if I don’t have the syringe on me, having hidden it elsewhere for later use AND washed my hands.

Offering treats as a bribe: he doesn’t like food, so no. 

Mixing medication into food: as above. In fact, when I once created some cute little tuna patties laced with Atopica, he gave me the resigned “Go home – you’re embarrassing yourself” look. 

Is this too much to hope for: a day when I no longer have to put him through this? Hurry up, test results! 

Le Roi est de retour!

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The vet called at about 7:30 last night to let us know there had been a cancellation, so Cat Daddy took Louis Catorze in this morning for his blood test. I felt quite guilty not feeding him but, because he doesn’t really like food, rather than bugging me, he just watched me eat my own breakfast and slow-blinked politely. The photo above shows him mid-blink (please excuse the surrounding laptops, wires and crap – cropping the photo did virtually nothing to improve it).

The veterinary nurse had previously told Cat Daddy that they would try pinning Louis Catorze down again, “using more people” (more than 4!) and resorting to the sedative only if that didn’t work. We told them that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES was that to happen, and that they were to bypass the brute force and go straight for the sedative; some will disagree with this, I know, but, when a 3kg cat suddenly develops the strength of a grizzly bear and 4 people can’t contain him, it’s because he’s terrified and fearing for his life. I thought, and still think, that sedation was the kinder option.

And, having raced home like a nutter to see my boy, I’m happy to report that he’s fine: eating, drinking, trotting around with his tail up and rubbing gross hairs and cat arse all over our (once-)clean ironing. It seems that he’s already forgotten what happened: one of the joys of having a thick cat!

So we’re £345 poorer but the results will be back next week, and I’m going to be like an annoying child in the run-up to Christmas, fidgeting, calendar-watching and willing the days to pass. In the meantime, I’m to give Louis Catorze 5ml of liquid Piriton twice a day, “whenever he feels itchy”. So that’ll be all the time, then. But … not today. Today is all about cuddles and enjoying Dreamies irresponsibly.

La honte

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I feel nothing today but deep shame at Louis Catorze’s behaviour, and frustration that we now have to go back to the vet again and (probably) spend a larger sum of money than anticipated. I can’t even bring myself to take a photo of him, because the 2 bald chest patches that he is now proudly sporting are a grim reminder that he was shaved for nothing. (He, incidentally, appears to have no memory of the incident; in fact, the dumb zozo was happily slow-blinking at me 15 minutes after we got home yesterday. We’ve just had a lovely cuddle, and now he’s gone outside to chase some bugs.)

Cat Daddy, on the other hand, is peacock-proud of his boy for standing up for himself. “Good for him! At least we know that, if anyone tried to kidnap him, he’d be fine.” Yes, I can imagine the streets lined with people just desperate to do that: he’s black, he’s scruffy, he’s dangerous and he costs a fortune to maintain. (Cat Daddy asked me the other day whether the cost of the allergy test would be taken out of the kitty sick fund that we’ve been saving up. YES. IT HAS TO BE. THERE IS NO OTHER MONEY. LITTLE SOD HAS BLED US DRY.)

So, other than the bald chest patches, life goes on as normal until Thursday.

Aux armes, citoyens! 

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This evening we took Louis Catorze to the vet for his blood allergy test. The easy bit was getting him into La Cage, as the dopey saucisson has been using it as a bed all week. The hard bit was, well, just being there. If anyone has a cat who enjoys the vet experience and co-operates fully, I would love to know about it (and possibly also swap cats).

The nice nurse asked us to remain in the waiting room whilst they did the test. We asked how long it would take, and she replied, “That depends how well-behaved he is.” Gulp.

Minutes later she reappeared, looking flustered. “We just can’t do it,” she gasped. “He’s leaping around all over the place. He’s just too strong. Are you able to bring him back on another day, when more nurses are available to help? It’s just 2 of us today.”

Oh. Saint. Jésus.

“Erm, could we come through and help, maybe?” I suggested.

“You could try. Would he be better behaved with you?”

Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.

So, there we were: 2 nurses (estimated weight: 55kg each), me (63kg), Cat Daddy (93kg), all simultaneously pinning down a tiny 3kg cat. And … no. We couldn’t do it between the 4 of us, either.

Then Cat Daddy said, “I don’t understand it. He isn’t normally like this.” Yup – when things are this dire, lies always help.

So now we need to take him back on Thursday morning, have them do the blood test under sedation, and then collect him after work. They didn’t charge us this time – probably because they were so traumatised that they forgot – but no doubt the next time will be more expensive than the originally-quoted £280, due to the sedative and the extended stay.

And Cat Daddy will be taking him, given that I can never show my face there again.

Je ne déteste pas les médicaments

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My mum wasn’t home to give her cat his meds today, so she called and asked me if I’d do it. In my head I shrieked, “You have GOT to be joking; I’ve just waged a week-long pill war with one yowling, claw-wielding maniac and I really don’t fancy doing it again! It’s not just a NO: it’s a HELL, NO!” But, out loud, I said, “Sure, Mum. No problem.”

“Oh, Carlo’s really easy,” she told me. “He opens his mouth, you put the pill in and he swallows it.”  

Seriously? That’s not normal. No cat does that.

Despite our doubts Cat Daddy and I trusted my mum on this one, so we went to her house leaving our tear gas and riot shields at home. Obviously I know her cat and have seen him many times before, but spending time with minuscule Louis Catorze gives a disproportionate idea of normal cat size; Carlo is an intimidatingly huge ginger puma in comparison. I really didn’t see how we were going to get a pill down this monster, given that pill sessions with our kitten-faced assassin half his size have both failed in administering the pill AND left us whimpering, shaking and begging for mercy.

Cat Daddy kept Carlo purring whilst I searched out the Atopica pills (the solid form of the same thing Louis Catorze has, but Carlo is only on them short-term). I then took hold of him, gently prised his mouth open, popped the pill in, stroked his chin to help him swallow it, AND THAT WAS IT. He even purred all the way through. It’s just not fair, is it?

One of the outfits below is what I wore for Carlo’s pill session. The other is what I need to wear for Louis Catorze. I bet you can’t guess which is which.  

J’adore faire la moue

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In the almost-11 months that Louis Catorze has lived with us, I have experienced the Post-Meds Sulk. I have also been on the receiving end of the Post-Meds Mega-Sulk. I once even thought I was being shown a Post-Meds Mega-Sulk With Hunger Strike but, in actual fact, Louis Catorze is both stupid and unmotivated by food, so it’s likely he just forgot to eat. However, yesterday he introduced me to a whole new phenomenon: the Selective Sulk.

The SS is so insidious that you barely know it’s happening; or rather, the Sulk is very much present but the Selective element sneaks up on you somewhat. After medicating him and subsequently being ignored during what I believed to be a PMS, Cat Daddy came home from work and I vented my dissatisfaction about Louis Catorze’s miserableness. Seconds later, the little sod slinked out of La Cage and was on his daddy’s lap for their nightly Club Des Garçons cuddle session.

Not long after that, my friend came round and we sat outside with some drinks. Again, not long after I complained about my grumpy sod of a cat and told her not to expect to see him that evening, he meowed for her attention and trotted up to her with his tail up, purring and nuzzling. Sigh.

This must be what it’s like to have a kid who is sweet-as-candy to everyone else but is a total arse when you’re home alone. As well as this not being very nice, it makes you come across as a fantasist or a liar when you bleat about his objectionable behaviour. “What do you mean, he misbehaves/sulks/treats you like dirt? Look at him! He’s so cuddly and sweet!” Yeah, because I really have the time and the inclination to make this shit up.

At worst, rather than simply disbelieving you, they actually blame you. “Maybe it’s because you smother him,” Cat Daddy helpfully said recently. Ok, so when our only Louis-compatible duvet needed cleaning and we were forced to use an allergy-triggering feather one, who paid for an expensive same-day clean because they thought Louis Catorze “looked sad” shut out on the landing? Not moi.

I could buy the most amazing shoes with the money I’m spending on an allergy test for this ungrateful boy of mine. In fact, I’ve already seen some that I want …

Il m’aime, il ne m’aime pas 

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Ok, so this is a rubbish photo, and I knew it would be rubbish because the blinds were shut, but I had to post it because I was just so thrilled to get some love.

When I returned from work yesterday I had the pleasure of a welcome home greeting, then Louis Catorze spent all evening on my lap watching Hollyoaks on On Demand (we’re a high-brow, classy bunch here at Le Palais), and then we had bedtime cuddles. In fact, when I woke up in the very early hours and realised that Louis Catorze wasn’t with me, I called for him (this would definitely NOT have been allowed had Cat Daddy been home), he came running, making a huge amount of thuddy-thuddy noise for a small cat, and he stayed with me until my alarm this morning.

Now, sadly, it’s a different story. I loaded up his syringe before going to work this morning so that it would be ready when I got home. Despite being thicker than a concrete milkshake, HE KNOWS THIS and isn’t budging from La Cage Aux Folles. At some point I will have to drag his arse out and get him, which will wipe out the last 24 glorious hours in a flash, but such is life with a sickly cat.

The vet has told me that I can ditch the pills and start giving Louis Catorze liquid Piriton instead, and apparently the human version bought at the chemist is perfectly acceptable; I just need to wait until she has confirmed the dose. And I’ve booked him in for a blood allergy test on Monday. At least I will have zero difficulty getting him into La Cage.

Les drogues ne marchent pas

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Another day, another gladiatorial combat session in which I was the clear favourite yet came off worse. It was like Brazil-Germany in the 2014 World Cup all over again. (Louis Catorze was Germany, natürlich.)

IMG_3489-0

It seems we were a bit too over-confident when our expectations were to pop a pill into Louis Catorze every 8-12 hours. We’ve since had to lower the bar considerably to: “If we can find him, chuck a pill vaguely in his direction and, if it hits his face area at all, we’ve done well.” The photo shows where the pill landed this morning when he spat it out, first sticking to the cabinet then slithering undignifiedly down to the floor. (Video would have told the story much better but I needed both hands AND both knees to pin the little sod down, so no chance of filming.)

It’s just not working, is it? I realise he was prescribed these meds for a reason, but is it worth it persisting with this method? All I’m achieving is alienating a cat who used to love me and, to add insult to injury, he’s not even getting the stupid meds in his system. I think I need the liquid version of these pills, which was not in stock on Sunday. (And no, grinding these up into a powder and creating a thick-but-syringeable, viscous gunge doesn’t work, either. He still spits that out, but in vile gelatinous strings that hang from his mouth and trail onto my clothes and hair.)

When it comes to sick cats, it’s very difficult and I can see why people chicken out of giving meds. First of all, it’s not one of those “If at first you don’t succeed …” things; you could have a million attempts and get nowhere. Secondly, you have to reconcile in your own head something that is for the good of your kitty’s health, but which even a clever cat – which Louis Catorze most certainly is not – doesn’t understand. The poor little mite must think I have a split personality and that I’m going through a Madame Hyde phase, which means I guess I now won’t see him for a day or two. Sad face.

La cage aux folles

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Good news: I have found Louis Catorze’s secret hiding place. Bad news: it’s here. Yes, here! The Cage of Broken Dreams! The transporting vessel from hell, which strikes cold fear into the heart of every kitty as it usually indicates a trip to the vet! I’m very upset that my poor boy’s trauma is such that he’d prefer to hide in here than snuggle in bed with me. Alternatively, because he’s so darned stoopid, he could very well have thought, “A new bed? Pour moi? Magnifique!” I’m hoping beyond hope that it’s Option Deux.

(By the way, the door is lying in that position because he kicked it that way after our undignified tussle this morning. He was successfully medicated eventually, but that was 15 hours ago and he’s ignored me ever since.)

The positive news is that, despite the fact that he’s been Côneless since late on Sunday night (because, since we removed it to allow him to eat and drink,  we’ve failed at every attempt to put it back on), he hasn’t been scratching at his wounds and they seem to be healing. They don’t look at all attractive as they go through the process, but then we didn’t get Louis Catorze for his looks, so tant pis. Also, the veterinary surgery attached to his ex-rescue centre – which was where he lived for many months before coming to us, as he wasn’t well enough to be adopted or fostered – have been communicating with our local vet, where we took him on Sunday, to talk treatment. Hopefully, between them, they will come up with a more long-term solution. No doubt it will be an expensive one, but that’s special needs cats for you.

Je déteste les médicaments

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medication

Louis Catorze may or may not get his medication today and, unfortunately, I am leaning more towards “may not”. Getting a tiny pill into a 3kg cat may not seem like the twelve labours of Hercules, but all I can say is: “Try it yourself and see.”

First of all, it requires the cat to be present; this morning, when it was time for me to do the deed, Louis Catorze was not. There aren’t that many places for him to hide, but when you’re rushing to work and just 5 extra minutes make all the difference between being relaxed and on time or being panicked and late, there just isn’t the time to piss about looking for cats. Especially tiny black ones who can slip about unnoticed like little ghosts; those ones, when they don’t want to be found, are utterly unfindable.

Cat Daddy had rather more success in finding Louis Catorze when he got up after me, so he donned the riot gear and armed himself. However, being physically fit, having a weight advantage, being a general badass and all the other things that would usually help you to win a fight, are of no use whatsoever when it comes to dealing with a savage, fur-covered mini-Wolverine on steroids who, despite his diminutive stature, would shred your flesh like pulled pork without a care. The pill bounced off Louis Catorze’s face, ricocheted off the walls of the living room and vanished under the sofa; then, whilst Cat Daddy tried to retrieve it, canny kitty took the opportunity to flee to his mystery sulking den which we have yet to discover. He could very well still be there but, on account of it being a mystery, we just don’t know.

Oh well. Tomorrow is another day – or rather, 8pm tonight is another dose and another attempt, and this time it will be my turn to take one for the team. Yikes.