Karnak Street Kats

I trapped Abby fourteen years ago. She was a three month old kitten then, the daughter of a feral cat. Sometimes, wild kittens tame and become fairly normal house cats. Abby chose to remain wild.

Now, understand, she lives in the house, never goes out, uses a litter box, comes to eat when dinner is served, and sleeps on the furniture, but she never comes closer than three feet to any human being or allows a person to enter her sphere of separation ( that magic three feet). She's not too fond other cats, either. Her favorite perch is on top of the tallest bookcase (about nine feet off the ground). There, she will listen to me cajoling her to come down to floor level and never acknowledge that I exist. She does know her name and responds to it (when not on the bookcase), either by staring at me with a look of total disdain or bolting from the room as if her life was threatened. She is untouchable.

So a month ago, when I noticed some sort of discharge from her ear, I knew I had a problem. Abby has been to the vet a few times, for her initial exam and shots, and to be spayed. Each time has been a circus with me performing most of the tricks.

The first problem was to isolate her from the other black cats that I own. (Too many times, I have pursued a black rear end, only to discover the front end was not the cat I wanted.) I closed off rooms, isolating the den and bedroom, Abby's favorite hang outs, then I shooed all the cats that I could find out of those two rooms. Then I grabbed a cat carrier and searched for Abby. She was in the bedroom, but immediately headed for the den. There, she scampered up the bookcase to her favorite perch. I stood on a chair, positioned the carrier in what I hoped would be her path, and used a broom to nudge her down. Abby jumped down, did a neat pirouette and cleared the carrier with no problem. She then headed for the top of the French door, positioning herself above the stereo.

I scrambled over to her, I'm arthritic and much less nimble than when she came to live with me, so it took a moment. She waited patiently on the narrow door, her eyes gleaming with the cunning of her wild ancestors. Once more, I climbed on a chair. Oh, I have vertigo too, so I'm less than steady. The carrier was in my left hand, door open. I intended to place it where I thought she would come down if I reached for her with my right hand. That did not happen. A wave of dizziness hit me, and I flailed my arms to keep from falling off the chair. I did not drop the carrier, instead I rotated it in a wide circle as I fought for balance. At that moment, Abby decided to leap from door to the stereo. As if I intended it, the carrier's mouth swung between Abby and the stereo as she jumped, and she landed inside the carrier with a thud, forcing the carrier down against the stereo . Somehow, I held on to the carrier and closed its door. She was trapped. Don't tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor.

Off to the vet we went.

I had assumed that she had an ear infection which could be treated with antibiotics. That turned out to be only part of the problem. She had tumors in her ear. She spent a week at the vet's then had surgery. She's home now, but there is more fun to come. She has to go back for a check up.