I have much to catch up on. This summer has seen changes for us, and the one that affected my creativity most, was the death of my cat– black, furry Blot, as he was called in one of my stories. Unexpectedly it turned out he possessed the genes for a polycystic liver growth that had been progressing with no obvious indications, not even in laboratory results. In fact he’d had a full blood panel for an older cat, being ten years of age, two weeks before he showed his first symptoms. I mention this so that if any of you out there run into something similar, you can be reassured that it is not something you did, nor an accident, nor your neglect. Apparently people also can have this problem and while we do a lot more aggressive medicine with people to alleviate symptoms, the major difference is that you can explain to a person what is required and gain consent. Impossible with even the kind of cat who has become your best friend.
We went to the shelter to find another cat who needed a home and ended up with a lovely fox cat, a blotched red tabby with white underpinnings and snow paws. Fur like teased cotton, guaranteed to make anyone sneeze. He’d been in a cage for too long and at the age of five, really needed to have his own people and a real home, so here he is. The five or more months in a cage have had an effect; he is a jumpy gentleman, but loves to clown around and bat softly at your feet when he’s hiding under the bed. I could wish that our little genetic disaster of a cat, Wee Willie, had warmed up more consistently to him, but it always takes time. They have shared a chair together, though, and the pillows at the head of our bed, so that gives me hope. And oh yes, our new friend is a head butter of the first order.
