Karnak Street Kats

A friend brought me a tiny kitten in a box. I took one look at this mostly white kitten with crusted ears and scabs all over its body and knew it needed medical care. My friend explained that the kitten had been living under the house of an acquaintance of hers, but that this acquaintance did not want it. Since it obviously needed care, my friend brought it to me. In my life, this is a pattern.

I did not dare touch the kitten because I did not know what was wrong with it and did not want to take the chance of spreading whatever it had to my cats. Without handling the little critter, I could not determine its sex. I decided to call it Victor/Victoria depending on what sex it turned out to be.

I rushed the kitten to my vet. My vet put on gloves before handling the little cat. After a skin scraping, the verdict came back. The kitten had ringworm that had spread all over its body. My vet determined that the kitten was male, so he became Victor. Victor went into quarantine and began treatment. He stayed in quarantine at my vet's clinic for weeks. My veterinarian would not release Victor until he felt sure that the chance of tramsmitting ringworm to my housefull of cats had passed.

Finally, Victor came to live with us. Healed, he was all white except for a black blotch on his head. He was a very sweet cat, but a little shy.

My veterinarian had been sure Victor was disease free. He was wrong. Over the next three months, every cat in the house got ringworm. After I exhausted my vet's supply of medication,I went online to buy more. After weeks of dabbing hairless rings, the disease ran its course. We were ringworm free.

Victor has never learned to be a lap cat, but he likes to have his head rubbed. His ears which were so bad, show no abnormalities.

Labels: ears, quarantine, Ringworm, Victor

After her kittens were weaned, Gertrude was spayed as planned. Just getting her into the carrier each time she needed to go to the veterinarian proved a challenge. But after much hissing, spitting and snarling, she could usually be forced into the carrier.

After the stitches from the spay were out, it was time to make a decision about Gertrude, put her outside or let her be a house cat, a not very happy house cat it seemed from her demeanor in the cage. We compromised. For now, Gertrude would stay in the house. We would see how she liked it and make a decision later.

Released from the cage, Gertrude did not go and hide as expected. She first conducted a survey of the house, hissing at any of the other cats that approached. I noticed something immediately, every cat gave ground to Gertrude. Matter of fact, they gave her about five feet. Even Gertrude's kittens avoided her, instead choosing their uncle, Horatio, for comfort. (Horatio was a much better mother than Gertrude. Always willing to groom the kittens and let the play with his tail. He was never ill-tempered.) Gertrude was always ill-tempered, swatting a kitten if it got too close. She seemed to reason that they were weaned, she had done her duty, that was that.

Gertrude settled into the household routine. She was no problem except we couldn't touch her. Then one day I made a momentous discovery. I was combing Horatio, who absolutely adored attention. Gertrude was on the arm of a nearby chair. I finished combing Horatio and leaned over and did a quick stroke down Gertrude's back. I don't know what I expected, but Gertrude surprised me, she raised her rear slightly obviously asking for more. I combed her again. She loved it. She let me comb her back and her head, but when I tried for her chin, the Gertrude of old returned. With a hiss, she jumped back, one paw raised to take swipe at me if I tried that again. I did not.

Over time, Gertrude relaxed more when it came to grooming and petting. My mother made a point of always petting and talking to Gertrude when she walked through the room or sat down to watch television. This paid off. Gertrude now comes to her for petting. However, Gertrude is no lap kitty.

I can pick Gertrude up now. But its sort of like picking up a large, lit firecracker. You hope you can put it down before it explodes. Generally, our contact with Gertrude consists of combing, petting and scratching her head. She has decided Mother is her person, so she sleeps on her bed.

We've decided to keep Gerturde as an indoor only cat. The other cats still give her five feet, except for one male to whom she has taking a fancy. Unfortunately, her temper has not improved, just the other day she threw a screaming fit when Jor, an old black cat, had the audacity to try to sit on the same chair she was occupying. Her eyes still show that lurking insanity that I have come to know is a trademark of Scruffy's kittens.

Spring had come and with it a couple of tabby kittens who regularly ate on our front porch. Knowing that our time was limited before the kittens would be sexually mature, I set about trying to entice them into the house. One, a young male it turned out, was easy, but the other kitten was far wilder and less trusting. Time passed, but at last one night, the young cat walked through the propped open front door. I closed it behind her. After a wild chase, I cornered her in one bathroom. There I was able to get her into a carrier and then into a large cage that I had acquired for just such wild ones.

She really was wild with a crazy look in her eyes and a nasty temper. The cage had two shelves, and she always retreated to the top one when anyone approached. The morning after her capture, I called my veterinarian to make an appointment for her to get her shots and be spayed. He had an opening in three days which I made for the cat I named Gertrude.

Gertrude was a petite brown and black tabby with a beautiful face, but eyes that spoke of a lurking insanity. She was only half grown and not fat at all. I tried talking to her to calm her down, but she simply hissed at me.

One day passed uneventfully, but Gertrude seemed to be getting more and more unhappy. I hoped she was not sick. When I got up the next morning, Gertrude was lying in her litter box. I fussed at her for sleeping there when she had clean, carpeted shelves to sleep on. I wanted to clean her box, so I opened the cage and shooed her off the box. The day before she had retreated with no problem. Today, she met me with a baleful gaze and a menacing hiss. I persisted. She glared, but finally retreated to an upper shelf.

I stared at the litter box. There in one corner something moved. Two somethings. Gertrude had had kittens! I did not disturb them. Kittens. I had to get something for them to stay in.

I went to the garage and got an old litter box that we no longer used. I washed and dried it, then lined the box with some soft rags and returned to Gertrude's cage. Again, I had to shoo Gertrude away from her kittens. She retreated grudgingly once more. I placed the box next to the litter box and carefully transferred the two kittens to it. I wondered if Gertrude would attack me when I handled the kittens. She did not.

I did a quick inspection, but did not remove them from the cage. One was almost twice as big as the other. The large one was tabby striped just like its mother, the other was solid black, except for a tiny spot of white on its neck. The black one was so small, I was worried.

I called my veterinarian and spoke to this assistant, Ann (All names have been changed...). I explained that I needed to cancel Gertrude's appointment. Ann asked me why. I had to explain, that the cat had had kittens. Ann dissolved in laughter.

"You didn't notice she was pregnant?" she giggled.

"No," I admitted. "She looked too young, and she wasn't fat."

"I see," Ann said.

I was a little defensive. "Hey, one of my friends was over last night, and she thought the cat might be too young to spay."

"Well, I'll tell Dr. Carter and cancel the appointment."

I did have another question. "Ann, what's the schedule now. How soon can I get Gertrude spayed?"

"You have to wait two weeks after the kittens are weaned. They should be weaned at six weeks, and you'll have to separate her from them."

"That means it'll be two months before I can bring her in."

"That's right," Ann said and giggled.

I thanked her and hung up. I went back to check on Gertrude. She had moved the kittens out of the clean box and back into her litter box.

"Gertrude, you idiot." I said. I shooed her away from the litter box and moved the kittens back. At least, I would be able to handle these and make them tame, unlike their mother. That's exactly what happened. Leia and Yoda are now part of our family and not wild at all. Gertrude is another matter.