Nurse Nancy ain’t always got it

It’s been three weeks today since I brought Dorian Gray home from the parking lot and his world went sideways and mine got more complicated. He has not been a happy patient, alternately angry and hissy, and too sick to complain about my fumbling attempts at touching him. The initial surgery was terribly hard on him; he was so wiped out he didn’t want to eat. Two weeks into his captivity I took him back to the vet (a different one) for a sedated exam because he was just languishing and all my instincts said this was one sick little boy. And the sedated exam wrecked him a second time; I almost took him to the pet ER when he didn’t eat for two days, and tremors coursed through him like tiny bolts of lightning. (The result, I’m fairly convinced, of the toxicity of Revolution flea/mite medication.) When I’ve been able to sneak my hand under his head for a caress, his skin feels dry and crusty, his fur flat and dehydrated.

If he were a Dickens character, he’d be described as “sickly.” But of course I’m in love with Dorian already so his mottled fur and cocked eyes are the height of beauty. His lack of interest in food, though, is both alarming and annoying. I’ve tried everything – from expensive tuna to sardines – to encourage his appetite, but I’m at a loss.

[Note how I put food in the bowl right next to him. And when he doesn’t eat it, I put it right under his nose. Sigh.]

The good news is that the vet could not find anything major wrong with him. There is a trace of blood in his urine, consistent with an intestinal disorder/parasite, which I suspected he has. (He would take a few bites of food, then close his eyes and stiffen up, seemingly in pain. That would discourage any critter from eating.) So he’s not on an anti-parasite medication now. And it looks like I’ll have him a while longer; I just can’t bring myself to let him go until he’s healthy. I also want to see what he’s like when he’s feeling well!! This genetic line of kitties (the Russian Blues) who have populated the ravine in the past have been, as my friend Carrie calls them, “nice kitties.” Several have been socialized into house cats. So isn’t it fair to try to bring Dorian into the fold once his belly stops hurting and he realizes I’m not trying to kill him, but rather, love him?

Maybe if I could just find the food that makes him want to eat again…

I’ve also been thinking a lot about what it is that I do – what WE do, those of us who help animals. To some, it must seem nutty to lavish this kind of time and attention on a cat that A) hates me, B) will almost certainly have to be returned to the bushes, where he C) will probably be killed at a young age by a predator. It’s pretty simple, really: I can’t bear the idea of an animal suffering, and feel like my “job” is to make things better – even if it’s only a Band-Aid on a much larger problem.

When I’m doing these things (feeding the strays, watching while they eat, tending Dorian, chuckling at Ginger’s indomitable spirit, weeping happy tears at Big Mike’s happy new life) I feel not only alive, but really connected to the source. I talked to my friend Cindy this week, who has achieved every kind of success one can have in a lifetime (the Clintons have her on speed-dial), but the one thing that really stokes her stove these days is tending to two ferals who have moved in on her country house. They have opened her eyes to a huge need out there and brought up for her the same questions I wrestle with daily:

Aren’t ferals worthy of love, too? Even when they can’t give it back? How to take care of them? Why don’t more vets help with cheap spay and neuter? Why aren’t there refuges for ferals, where they can live out their days happily fed and in the outdoors they love, but enclosed enough to not end up as lunch for a coyote? There are plenty of people who have called for extermination of ferals because they are hurting the songbird population (file that under Are You Freekin Serious), but who is speaking for these cats in a national conversation?

That conversation needs to be had – and soon. Maybe Cindy can… uh… bring it up.  😉

I’m starting it in a stealth way – aiming to do it through children, which where is where all lasting change must start. This weekend is devoted to more work on my children’s book, “Marvin & Mocha,” which will hopefully give new life and breath to some of these kitties I’ve loved – and some that I’ve lost, like Grace, Marvin, Mocha and recently Diego. It’s in their name that I shall continue taking care of Dorian, organizing my day around meds and cuddles, and writing like a demon… until things begin to shift. It’s a wonderful thing to feel like I can help make that happen.

Meanwhile, maybe some sliced turkey for Dorian?