(Above) Bella in repose
Neither Bru nor I could remember how old Bella was, if we ever knew at all.
“I think she’s 7,” one of us said. “I think she’s 5,” the other countered. Bella wasn’t talking. She was just staring at us like YOU TWO ARE SERVING ME?
When we adopted THE HEIFER from the Cat Sanctuary here in Strathmore, the only stipulation I had was that I could kiss her on the face. When she arrived, I kissed her on the face and she let me. That ended the Q&A for me. There was nothing more I needed to know.
They gave us some papers and I filed them away. Done.
Only now, in 2019, Bella had asked politely for a Spa and I had brushed her all over like I usually do. When I was done, there was a bald spot on her back. What the…? I looked at it closely by prodding it with my 10 foot pole but I realized I was going to have to eyeball this thing and see what was going on.
I got closer and had a look. She had a kind of a rashy think going on and her fur had just fallen out. Ewww. Is this the Mange that I’ve heard about? I poked at it a bit and nothing ran away, so there weren’t any little bugs on there. I poked it again and she seemed to find relief in that, so I determined that the spot was itchy. So I gave a couple of weak little scratches and she seemed happier. Okay, it was an itchy rash. Off to the Internet.
I checked out a few websites that suggested fleas, mites, rash, allergy and just plain old irritation. Well I’ve seen fleas before on a big collie dog we had at the farm. You cannot miss those guys and this was not fleas.
It didn’t look like mites either because nothing was moving. Rash – I believe we have concluded that, Doctor, now what? Allergy – what on earth is a cat allergic to? If it turns out to be some kind of blanket, we’re screwed. Trying to narrow down to which blanket will take months, maybe even years, given her lifestyle. I’ll be long dead by then.
So I did what I knew I finally had to do. I booked an appointment with THE VET (insert organ music here).
You see, THE HEIFER came in the door in 2009 and has never gone back out. Period. She looks out the window when she is laying on the back of the couch, and she listens to my stories of when I take Abby to THE VET, but she has never actually been there herself. So it was Saturday and the appointment was for Monday and THE HEIFER needed to lose 15 pounds in those two days. Otherwise, we were going to be in big trouble. With THE VET.
As an aside to this lengthy tale, Bella/THE HEIFER has never had any human food whatsoever. She might come up on the table when I am eating chocolate or cheese but otherwise, she is not interested. She won’t even eat a little piece of white meat from a chicken. She’s just weird.
She gets canned food in the morning and there is kibble out all the time, but as the official kibble bowl filler, my job is really more On-Call. The kibble bowl(s) rarely need filling. She does like treats, though. Temptations are her kryptonite and another kind, but they are only doled out after supper. So I think it’s her glands. Much the same as me, really.
So back to the story. She had to lose 15 pounds in two days – I even thought about going to another VET and getting liposuction before the Monday appointment – I would have considered a small clinic in Mexico if the price was right. I just didn’t want the lecture on a fat pet – again. And again. And again. Abby weighs 7 pounds and 8 of those are fur, but I still got a mini-lecture. I can lift her off the ground with one finger. So with THE HEIFER, I knew I was going to get The Talk with a PowerPoint and maybe some pamphlets.
Sunday night before the appointment I rooted around in my hoarder’s paradise in the back bedroom and came up with the kitty kennel that I use for Abby. I brought it out, put a towel in the bottom and proceeded to stuff THE HEIFER in there. I got her in but it was like trying to get that glass slipper on one of the step-sisters. I gave the final heave and got the door closed and when I looked inside, it was just full of.. well.. cat. Like the kennel was literally just stuffed with cat. There was even some fur sticking out the side parts so it kind of looked like she was wearing the kennel. Now that I think of it, I could have cut four little holes in the bottom for her legs and she could have walked herself right in. Dang, why didn’t I think of that sooner?
So looking at this kennel, I realized that this wasn’t going to work. THE HEIFER pretty much knew it too because she was protesting just a titch. So I opened the door and squeezed her out and she ran for her life. Rats.
I knew we had another kennel back there somewhere – but in the evolution process of stuff arriving in that room, it was definitely going to be under something. I went back there and found it almost right away and yes, there were some things on top of it. I made short work of that stuff by simply pulling the kennel out from underneath everything, letting all that stuff fall, then running out of the room before I got injured and could no longer dance in the ballet.
This kennel was big – it said ‘Suitable for Goats, Donkeys and THE HEIFER’ right on it, so we were cooking with gas. I hucked a towel in the bottom, tracked down one black cat, brought her back and just eased her in. There was tons of room and she seemed happier. We were good to go!
I set her free again, she ran for her life again, and I retired to my office to watch funny videos, drink coffee and smoke.
Monday dawned as just – Monday. The appointment was for 11:30 but I woke up with a brutal headache. I get them. I hate them. And it was so sun-shiny out that I knew even if I wore those attractive, dark lens, virtual reality sunglasses that go over your real glasses, I wasn’t going to make it out of the driveway.
I phoned THE VET. I made massive apologies that I had to cancel, I re-scheduled for Tuesday and luckily, they didn’t have a hidden cancellation fee. They were very nice about it and when I was finished on the phone I went to find THE HEIFER.
She was laying on the bed and I said to her – THE GOVERNOR CALLED. YOU GOT A STAY OF EXECUTION FOR ONE MORE DAY. WHATEVER PLANS YOU HAD, THEY’RE BACK ON. I’M GOING TO BED.
Tuesday dawned sunny and bright but that was fine. My headache had downgraded to a dull ache which was okay and I got ready for the appointment.
First thing with a cat is not to let on that there IS an appointment. The last thing I need is to be reaching under the bed for a cat that doesn’t want to be reached for.
I just casually got ready, and when it was almost time to leave, I found THE HEIFER, picked her up and hucked her into the kennel. I made sure the door was locked, threw a towel over the top and we were off.
As soon as the car started THE HEIFER began to sing the song of her people. Why oh why does this always happen to me? Abby does the same thing, only her cries are more like words and it actually sounds like she’s saying ‘No Hood’. I kid you not. Freaks everyone out because I recorded it.
THE HEIFER, on the other hand, just calls for help, hoping to catch someone’s attention that she is being abused, kidnapped or taken to a dodgy lab. No matter what, it was loud and it never stopped.
Was she going to keep this up at THE VET’s office and also, would she fart like she is known to do, which can clear a building in five minutes? A five story building. What a great day.
We arrived, she shut down the songs, and stayed pretty quiet. We were whisked into an examination room and THE VET came in right away. She weighed THE HEIFER who logged in at 19 lbs. Is that bad? I don’t know. But needless to say, I got The Talk. Then THE VET checked the rash, took a culture and it was then I asked if THE HEIFER could get a shave – the lion one. They were happy to do it.
So they told me to come back in a couple of hours and pick her up. I agreed and I took off.
Two hours later I returned to pick up my little darling and when I looked into the kennel she was adorable. She is a black cat but when shaved, her skin is grey. So everywhere there is fur, it’s black. The rest is grey. Except the eyes. They were kind of slits that were glaring at me. I felt a chill. Crap.
So, I bought the diet kibble and the diet food (of course I did) because I got the PowerPoint and the pamphlets. They helped me carry everything out to the car and it was homeward bound. THE HEIFER sang to her people again to let them know she was safe, allowing my headache to consider coming back full force.
I brought the kennel into the house right away and opened the little wire door. THE HEIFER ran straight out and then wobbled a bit, kept going and hid somewhere in my office. I found her and she was stoned up the wahzoo. Not your catnip stone, mind you, but the real thing here. I put on some Pink Floyd and left her to enjoy herself until she was ready to come out and walk on her own.
She ventured out a bit later, still not herself, probably looking for her cell phone so she could call her lawyer. I went in for cuddles but she just took off. Hmmm, unusual behaviour. I let it go. Later she came stumbling by again and I swooped in and BOOM, she was gone.
I get it. I took her to THE VET. Of course there will be hurt feelings. But I just want to cuddle and explain myself and then we can get on with things.
The next day she was pretty much her old self but she was ignoring me with an energy I’ve never seen her produce before. I did my ‘Come See Mommie’, and she walked right by. That is a sure thing. I tried ‘Do You Want a Spa?’ That is another sure thing. Nope.
I shook the treat bag. She blinked and stared. I was officially the enemy and that was that. I was horrified because it was just a trip to THE VET, for heaven’s sake. I had saved her life, in so many words. Like, really.
The next day it was more of the same. So I decided I had had enough and every time I crossed her path I would just yell BETRAYED, but I was hurting. This was bad.
And now it was the next day where I had made up my mind that I was going to grab one pissed cat and cuddle her until she forgave me. With my mission parameters clear, I hunted her down and picked her up, dragging her back to my office. She was tense and her nails were digging in. Seriously? I had her in my lap and gave her scratches, brushed her skin, cleaned her ears, scratches, cuddles, we had a long discussion about how this all came about, her rash, etc. and then finally she relaxed and we seemed to be on good terms again.
I popped her back on the floor and then just sat back and thought about the past few days and what had been going on around here. She was really mad at me – betrayed and she felt strongly enough about it to avoid me for days! So I tried to look at it from her point of view.
For 10 years she has never left the house and she has no reason to believe she ever will. She has been quite content with this arrangement because the odd time that the front door has been left open, she has peeked out, but that is about it.
Then one morning she wakes up, begins her morning routine and just as things are getting good, I come along, grab her and throw her into a box. I lock it, throw a towel over it, all the while talking, which sounds like this: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH, BELLA.
Then I take her outside in the cold and put her in the car. We drive, more BLAH BLAH BLAH. I take her inside a building, into a smaller room, pull her out of the box, BLAH BLAH BLAH, a stranger comes along, puts her on a scale, scrapes at her rash and then we chuck her back in the box. I leave.
Then a complete stranger takes her out of the box and shaves off her fur.
I show up and cheerfully take her home.
Yup, I pretty much get it now