Good Mama/Bad Mama

Warning...this post is not for those who don't want to hear about cat vomit and poo.

If you were to walk up to Millie right this minute and asked her about her mom, and if, for the sake of argument, she understood you and could respond in anything other than Meow, she'd tell you she has a wonderful mom. Lots of cuddles, good food, thirteen years of baby talk and bliss.

Harley, well...Harley's not talking to me.

See, the time has finally come in his life where he gets sick. I suppose it's bound to happen. It's happened with Millie--twice--and both times I was a wreck. This time, I've been more relaxed. Instead of rushing him off to the emergency vet at the first sign of bile he vomited, but instead, I shrugged, figured I'd keep an eye on him, and relaxed when I saw that he was eating, and, even better, drinking water.

So off and on for the last couple weeks, he's had days of lethargy and vomit, but he seemed to be getting better and I figured I'd let it run its course.

Then, last night at about 10:30, I found myself washing hardened poo off of his hindquarters. Not just a little bit, but a large poo. It started when he got up on my bed and I noticed he smelled a bit...off. Cats are fastidious and they hate to be dirty. They constantly wash themselves and aside from some rather disgusting tuna breath, my cats always smell clean.

I checked him out and when I lifted his tail, which he'd had tightly folded downward, I found the source of his offending smell. Harley, embarrassed to be found with a large, completely dry poo stuck under his tail, hid under the bed. So I did what I had to do. I filled up the bathroom sink with warm water and cat shampoo, locked the poor little dude in the bathroom, and went to work with some paper towels and a wrinkled nose.

I quickly found that this poo was not going anywhere soon. So I had no choice but to tug pretty hard, which mean tearing out small clumps of fur around a very sensitive region of Harley's anatomy, an area already irritated by being crammed with poo for God-only-knows how long. As my cat had spent most of his day hiding out under a table in Mom's sewing room, I can only guess how long he suffered.

The knowledge that I was directly causing the howl-inducing pain to Harley broke my heart, but I could hardly leave him. I tried to gently wash the excess off but by then he was having none of it--hissing, howling, and in general letting me know that he was very unhappy. My normally cuddly boy spent the rest of the night in the sewing room, and though he let me pet him this morning, he's been decidedly standoffish and tail-twitchy with me. I can't blame him.

Tonight I was heartened to see him drinking water--my biggest concern with a sick cat is keeping it hydrated--and he purred a little when I stopped to pet him, before crouching under a kitchen chair. I rolled him to his side and checked his bottom--it's still messy and so I'm figuring a trip to the vet's office is in store for tomorrow.

Anyway, for some reason I was compelled to write a whole blog post about this. Obviously, both of my cats are very dear to me and I worry about them when they're unwell. Harley can be beyond obnoxious but he is also one of the sweetest little cats. If you could send a good thought his way, I'd appreciate it.