Ed

Since I'm on this blog bandwagon now, I'd like to make it a goal to update at least once a week. Surely there's enough material around here, it's just a matter of diligence.

While waiting to post about a major construction project wrapping up, I thought I'd take this opportunity to regale you with my latest favorite topic- Ed.
Living now where we do out here in the boondocks lends itself well to attracting all sorts of wildlife, not the least of which would be the illustrious stray cat.
That it took over 3 years for one to cross our paths was rather odd, but Providence finally intervened.
Late July 2012, CAM was making his way out of the bedroom when he happened to quickly glance out that window he rarely ever does and saw who we thought initially was 'Yellow Cat', the mangy local we'd glimpse on occasion skulking around. But having not seen him in quite some time, I got up to take a closer look.
This was not Yellow Cat and it'd already moved quickly down the the SW corner of the property between the wild greenbelt and creek.
The two pullets, Rhoda and Obrahma, had made contact and did not care for this interloper.

No love lost

They enlisted the assistance of their 3 older sisters and the Hen Posse was moving in to take care of business.

I was more concerned that the cat would swipe at and make a mess of the birds, but in reality, it was he who was in trouble.
CAM interrupted the altercation in the nick of time and we finally got a good look at this wretched excuse for a cat.
He must have known he'd made contact with The Suckers, because he worked us over in those few short minutes of introduction like a pro.
So affectionate and trusting, he followed us up to the shed where we did a quick assessment and immediately filled him up with food.
Let me try to illustrate just how dire, pathetic and kinda gross he was.
Skin and bones, his head was enormously disproportionate to the rest of his shrunken body.
His eyes were weepy and there was bloody mucus dripping from his nose, which sprayed everywhere during the many sneezing attacks he would suffer.
He wheezed and showed distress with breathing- an URI?
There was copious amounts of vomiting, the most disgusting of which emerged what appeared to be a small brain or organ - the cat knew how to fend for himself, but was certainly on death's door by the time he got to ours.
Then there were the notable physical abnormalities- swaybacked, bowlegged, stumpy pawed, and crooked tailed. Inbred?
Of course, the last thing we needed was another cat, so calls were made.
Being Sunday and the fact that our animal services funding have been slashed, we had no luck.
Pretty much all the folks CAM spoke with, though very kind and understanding, essentially said, "Finders keepers."

On Monday, I easily persuaded him into the cat carrier and after a Rev. SuZen meeting in town (he stayed in the car), we went to the vet.
There I learned even more disastrous news of what we were calling 'Stray Cat #1'.
He was covered in lice (which a healthy animal can fend off), parasites, ear mites, had missing teeth, abscesses (which was creating the bloody snot problem) and was FIV+.
The good news was that he'd been neutered!
They were unable to read his pulse/heartbeat for his purring and he was just as friendly with them as he'd been all along.
What WAS your backstory, cat?
The vet and tech gave me that sad look and offered to euthanize him right then and there.
But I couldn't make that decision in haste; that's not why I'd came.
We still thought we'd reunite him with his original owners, or maybe fix him up a bit and then re-home him.
FIV+ isn't an automatic death sentence, as we'd learned from Dodger- they can still live pretty full lives.
(And even though his exact age is a mystery, given his general good health and joie de vivre it would seem he's many years left.)
First things first, antibiotics for infection and Advantage for the skin bugs.

He took to his new arrangement well and fast, beefing up like a sumo wrestler and following us around like a dog.
Every morning after having spent the night in the shed, he'd leave me all sorts of goodies to clean up; at first he was finding alternatives to the litterbox (read: my gardening area) and his system was divesting itself of whatever bugs had infested his GI tract.
This was a labor of love, for he truly was a dear.
He had the sweetest personality and would one paw knead the air when you spoke to him, making either cute Tribble noises or soundless 'meows'. (That's since changed; he is loud.)
As the summer progressed, we'd noticed he'd begun to lick off his fur!
Google-fu provided some explanations and suggestions, so we tried them all: change of diet, change of cat litter, Epsom salt and baking soda/Dr. Bronner's baths (btw, no fun), Bitter Apple Balm, Vaseline, some other stuff and even an

About a week after his side fur started to grow back

infant onesie to keep him from exposing his ribs any further (which was hilarious, but he was a magician at removing it so fast, I could not get a good photo.)
We never did figure out what this was about- heat? replacing unhealthy fur? allergies?
Fortunately, the malady was short lived and he healed up better than before: it was quite a fine pelt that grew in.
It became apparent we weren't going to try to connect him to his origins- there'd been no 'lost' signs up around the area nor on craigslist, and frankly I felt if those people had let him get to this state, then they didn't deserve his return.
But on the other hand, it also was clear no self-respecting household would take on this project.
So, taa-daa, welcome cat #6.

CAM was fond of 'Lestat' for his tremendous fangs. But I felt that too last century. And while certainly no great fan of the Twilight series (Kristen Stewart would be better served as a fast food fry cook) I preferred 'Ed' as in Edward Cullen which lent itself nicely to Big Head Ed in the Shed and numerous nickname permutations.

Big Head Ed's Shed

At this point the plan was to have an outdoor, mouse killing tom- which he was.
But then it got cold.

A nice gift from Grace- kitty tent!

We tried converting the dog Igloo again into housing (unsuccessful previous attempts included Zabby, the hens and Dodger- which should have been our first clue it wouldn't work with Eddie.) on the porch in addition to improving a cozy, carpeted, dry and warm area in the shed.
He was pretty good about his routine; we'd been keeping him locked up at night mostly for his safety, but I suppose for our peace of mind, too.
CAM would feed him and open the door as he left for work every morning and he'd have free reign of the property until past dark.
The hens reluctantly called a truce with him, but he would lash out jealously against them if he felt they were getting too much of our attention and treats.
He'd traded peculiar sleeping spots in the shed for the creature comforts we'd created and didn't venture too far.
Our special hammock cuddling sessions had ended for the weather, so time spent with him was drastically curtailed.
We both missed each other terribly.
Which is why I started smuggling him into the Green Room every morning.
Sneaking around only lasted a week before we humans agreed bringing him in for the wet winter would be in his best interest, health-wise, which of course it was.
That transition went surprisingly smooth.
Perhaps because the others had seen him lurking around for many months beforehand, or that he was a bad-ass who could stop you dead in your tracks with just a look.

It's spring and our boy's got cabin fever something wicked, but he's an indoor cat now.
He's had a great time snoozing in front of the fire, special feedings, playing constantly with an ever growing array of sparkle balls and catnip mice, and generally living the good life.
His behavior remains quirky and entertaining; from my exercise equipment I toss out toys which amuses me to no end and makes the time fly as I marvel at his improvement. He never played with the items I'd left in his tent, leading me to believe he'd never had the luxury of goofing off. He's definitely making up for lost time and it is precious.

Snuggle time

Over the winter those amazing fangs and the few remaining teeth came out (at no small cost) since FIV+ kitties are predisposed to oral issues which can manifest rapidly into deadly infections.
Not to worry, he's made a remarkable recovery and is, in fact, faring quite well.
Which is why allowing him outside and exposing him to potential threats is no longer an option.
I think it's a small price for him to pay.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe Minnie Pie didn't guide him here knowing we'd help (though she'd surely hate him in real life.)
He was never doted on properly before now and I'm going to do everything I can to ensure the remainder of his life is wonderful.
We can only guess how tough, desperate and inattentive things were before finding us, so I feel no compunction with heaping loads of affection and love upon him.

He's making it pretty easy.

**PSA**  FIV+ cats can live decent lives with little to no danger to those un-infected. Consider one (or 2) the next time you adopt; too much sensational disinformation surrounds this topic and sadly, it's the cats who suffer our ignorance.

>>  Update   10/29/2017  <<
This morning, at 5:45 am, our darling boy took his final breaths of life on this Earth.
CAM said he was living on borrowed time, true.
Recently diagnosed with diabetes in September, which did not come as a surprise as he'd been drinking water constantly and was overweight, he was riding a roller-coaster of health both before and after.
The latter will always be my cross to bear, since I allowed him to do whatever he wanted, including eating to his heart's content.
He'd been such a starved and needy critter when he appeared at our doorstep all those years ago, I couldn't deprive him of anything he desired.
However, denying outside access was something I stood firm on, given his compromised immune system and the likelihood he'd catch a bug he might not be able to shake off.
In hindsight, I wish I'd made an exception this final week like I had with Barrett, knowing it'd be his last chance at fresh air and sunshine.
But we really didn't anticipate his rapid decline, and in fact, yet again, applied all sorts of interventions to stave off the inevitable.
It'd be best to take comfort in knowing his extended existence was cushy, yet I can't help to fixate on his end and the extraordinary measures we forced upon him to prolong his time with us.
Not so sub-consciously I knew we were closing in by reading his cues.
Normal behaviors had long disappeared and newer, more disturbing ones emerged. And having gone through this every year for the last 5, you'd think we'd be better at recognizing and dealing with it.
No.
Especially this one.
Everybody loved Ed. I'm not exaggerating. So often adults would pull us aside to tell us their children had bonded with him and might we consider letting him go home with them?
Our (new) vet, her techs, strangers on my Streetcat Bob forum (my "American Bob"), even professed cat-haters came around to embracing the magic that was Eddie.

We force fed him the night he died.
He'd long lost interest in food and we spent so much time, energy and money trying to entice him.
That's why he accompanied us on our 10th anniversary trip to the coast Labor Day weekend, smuggling him in to an overpriced, shithole of a motel. Such a good traveler.
Finally showing some interest in leftover fish & chips, we used this discovery to sustain him, but then he'd not respond. And so began the misery of trying to get him to eat, an unfathomable concept given his voracious appetite of before.
Once he went on insulin, things appeared to stabilize, but it was short-lived.
Lantus: for humans and 300$ a vial. I about lost my shit when I went to my local pharmacy to pick it up.
How could we not?
And then the blood glucose monitoring. You take it out of a vein in the cat's ears. He was such a good patient. Then the SubQs, nutrient goop, and so on and so on.
Wrapped up in a towel burrito, holding him upright as CAM syringed a special formula into his mouth to hopefully stimulate his reflexes, he caught my eye.
His were dilated, dark, lacking life spark; not necessarily pleading, but communicating that what we were doing to him not only wouldn't work, but it was highly unappreciated.
Then came the strange posturing and hiding in small, isolated spaces, like my sock crate.
Temperatures here haven't gotten too extreme, but we've fired up the pellet stove anyway.
All cats love snoozing in front of it. Except Ed. Bad sign. No denying his days were numbered.
Just did not expect to hear those awful, caterwauling death sounds at pre-dawn today.
So now, he lies curled up in his kitty bed with favorite toys surrounded by candles, crystals and trinkets ready to be lowered into the hole CAM just dug and lined with fern fronds.
I'm having problems breathing. Spontaneously tearing up. Gravitating to stroke his stiff body.
Knowing my time with it is limited leaving behind only memories and pictures. Again.

I'll miss hearing his click-clack of toenails pattering across the floor; that strangely misshapen tail you could close a door over.
The way he'd sleep uncomfortably on my hip or stomach, coming in to be brushed while we were on the toilet- and you could do that over every square inch of his body (including privates!)
Knowing that every time the screensaver turns on so quickly with the squiggly lines, it was because he used to love sitting on my lap to watch the light show.
Learning his meow language as he developed it himself; such posturing and 'tude as he moved right in and secured his place in the household.
And so on and so on.
Ed was an exceptional cat and he creates a huge hole in our ever-diminishing family unit.
I am overcome with grief.
Wrecked.
I loved that cat hard. 

Before

Eddie Dinklage

Those were some fangs!

If I act like a chicken will you give me more attention?

He preferred the creek to the more traditional bowl

Need a miracle

After

Didn't take him too long to discover this popular spot

Take me to your leader

Resting after a hard day of play & pleasure