Asthmatic Cat....who knew?

Our eight year old cat, Buddy, was diagnosed with asthma last winter. It was the first time I'd ever heard of cat asthma.

At first the depo-medrol (steroid) injections were working but instead of every 2-4 months the time between has gotten closer. I took him to the vet for his latest injection recently, which was a little over a month since the last one.The rides to the vet, which are thirty minutes in length, are hard on him. He cries the entire drive. The injection doesn't seem to have taken very well this time around.The vet said the injections are probably the best treatment for Buddy.


I have researched cat asthma online. There are similar treatments to those that humans use such as oxygen and inhalers. The vet and I talked about these treatments early on. I don't know about other people and their cats, but I know, any cat I've ever had I could never have used an inhaler on them or put an oxygen mask over their little faces. When I was reading these articles online all I could think was "Get real!"  I guess they worked for the people who wrote the articles but there is no way they would work for Buddy. He's a loving cat, but come on, he is a cat! They don't sit still for taking a pill let alone attempting an inhaler into their mouth or an oxygen mask over their nose and mouth.One website posted pictures of a cat with an oxygen mask. My thought was, either that cat is very old or sedated. 

Buddy was found in a box, with his four litter mates, on the steps of our church back in 2002. My oldest son and his then girlfriend (now wife) found the kittens and brought them home. The kittens were just a handful. Single handful. They were so tiny their eyes weren't even open. We took it upon ourselves to try to save them by hand-feeding them, cleaning them and seeing if we could save the lot. They grew and thrived, except for Buddy. He was the sickliest one. He had goo in his eyes that always had to be cleaned. He was small and skinny. Didn't seem to be putting on weight. My husband and oldest son took it upon themselves to give Buddy the extra care he needed. When the other kittens were big enough for homes, we found homes for three of them. We kept Jinxy and Buddy. They were almost identically marked gray and white, though Jinxy had rabbit-like fur, extremely soft and fine. Buddy grew and thrived. 


Buddy and Jinxy were outdoor cats at first. We live on a small farm so plenty of room to roam around the house, in the barn, up in the woods. They stayed in the barn during the winter and I fixed them special area for sleeping with blankets to cuddle into. A couple of years ago, Jinxy died from an undiagnosed problem. We were never sure. When I took her to the vet and left her for observation, she didn't survive the night. I always felt bad about that because I wasn't with her. She was my little friend out of the two. Buddy always seemed to bond with the guys in my family. I think because my husband and sons were the ones who cared for him and bonded with him when he was a baby since he was the sickly one.


After Jinxy died I started inviting Buddy inside when the weather turned cold. He and Jinxy had always cuddled up together. So, that's how Buddy became an indoor/outdoor cat. These days he stays inside at night, goes out in the mornings for a while, comes back inside, and depending on the weather may stay out most of the day.


When the asthma diagnosis came I told the vet I wouldn't keep Buddy inside because it wasn't his life. He enjoys laying on the deck on a sunny day, stalking in the weeds, hiding in the tall grass,and basically just living. I wouldn't take that away from him when he's eight years old. The vet told me he actually sees more asthma in indoor cats due to their cat litter so outside would probably not be a problem. No more a problem than for a person with asthma.


So, my dilemma is what's next?. Buddy still goes outside. Sometimes he seems fine, sometimes I can tell his breathing is bothering him. He is congested but not enough where he doesn't try to go outside or he just lays. I'm nagged by the fact that I feel I should be doing something for him but my vet has said the injections are the quickest for relief and if they don't work, the pills probably wouldn't either.


I'm not sure what to do at this point especially since the steroid doesn't seem to be working. The vet has mentioned x-rays but then decided against it when Buddy's temp was normal. I've always appreciated this vet because he's common sense when it comes to treatments.

Right now, Buddy is still eating well, drinking water, and keeping weight but I have no idea how long that will last. Actually, the vet sort of gives me the impression, this is the best we can do without going overboard and possibly making life more miserable for Buddy. My way of thinking, as long as he seems comfortable and wants to carry on his usual daily activities, let him "be". But, there's still part of me that says, "isn't there more I can do?" I suppose that's how we all feel about the animals we care for when it seems there should be more we can do, but must realize, sometimes, there just isn't.

Five Kittens in a Box

As long as I can remember, the animals I've had in my life have chosen me. With the exception of my two horses, one dog we got at the shelter and one pup we got from a neighbor, the dogs and cats have shown up, in one way or another, in need of a home.

Six years ago #1 son and his girlfriend (now his wife) were walking out of church after the morning service. There on the front steps of the church they found a cardboard box with five tiny kittens inside. Being the caring soul he is, my son decided to bring the box of kittens home.

Upon being presented with his box of kittens, my response was "why?", as in why he brought them home. I love animals but I also tend to have this instant "whoa" impulse when something is thrust upon me. He told me he couldn't leave them on the steps and no one else wanted to take them home.

The kittens were very tiny. Didn't even have their little eyes open. I told him I'd never raised kittens that small before. He told me he'd take care of them. Well, he was nineteen at the time, attending the local university, not some little boy who just says he'll take care of them so I eased up on my hesitation.

We fixed a large box for the kittens in the upstairs of our garage. It was at the end of summer, the weather was still warm. I fixed soft towels for the kittens to snuggle into. At the time I didn't know there was a kitten formula available through the vet office, so I resorted to buying human baby formula to feed them. As a family, the four of us, Hubby, both sons and me, took turns feeding the tiny kittens. Each kitten fit in the palm of a hand, they were so little.

We used eyedroppers at first. Feeding them every 2-4 hours.We would wipe their little bottoms. We had learned from an internet article mom cats lick the bottoms of their babies to stimulate elimination. It worked like a charm! We also gently stroked and petted the babies after feeding hoping we were able to simulate the affection they might have gotten from their mom.

At one point, after a few days, #1 son asked if I'd taken any pictures of the kittens. I was afraid to take pictures because in all honesty, I wasn't so sure about the final outcome for the little guys and girls. Later, I simply forgot, but now, wish I had taken a moment to snap some photos of them.

Over a period of a couple of weeks the little things thrived. They started crawling around in the box, opening their eyes, all except one tiny little guy, who appeared to be the runt of the litter. He didn't open his eyes like the others. We had to clean his eyes constantly. He had goopy yellow stuff coming out of the tiny slits. We read what was the best way to treat it and for the most part, we used warm water and a saline solution. Don't know if this was right, but it eventually worked. I was sure this little guy would be one of our casualities over the long haul. He remained smaller than the other kittens, but he sure put up a good fight to keep up with everyone!

As the days moved along we played with the kittens and tried to get them used to handling. They were all sweethearts. #1 son wanted to name them, but I resisted. I told him we would need to find homes for them. He requested to keep some. I relented and said we'd keep two of them.

I let him pick out the two he wanted to keep with us. He chose the little runt and the sister who closely resembled him, but was bigger. At that point, I told #1 son he could name his kittens. He decided on Buddy for the little guy, and Jinxy for the sister. Both were gray and white, similar markings, often hard to tell them apart. Jinxy had two small white spots on the tips of her ears and her coat was like the fur of a rabbit. Buddy, was just funny looking at the time. He was actually kind of, well, ugly. His head hadn't grown with his body. He was scrawny though we had moved them to kitten chow and a little bit of can food. I was still uncertain about his future.

We found homes for three of the kittens. Two of them went to a farm and one went to a lady I was working with at the time. I felt fortunate to have found homes for them. That left us with Buddy and Jinxy. Amazingly, over the next few months, Buddy blossomed. He still remained smaller than his sister, but he started filling out. Apparently, a late bloomer.

#1 son spent alot of time with Buddy. He worked out a whistle to call the little guy. To this day, Buddy will respond to a certain whistle in a Pavlov way. His ears perk up, his tail goes up and he walks to #1 son. We've all tried to mimic this whistle but never comes out the same as the way #1 son does it. Buddy will respond to us, but he knows we're not his "buddy".

Jinxy always exhibited delicate girl ways. She sort of became my favorite. She loved to sit on shoulders. Pick her up and she would go right to the shoulder. She was so soft and so sweet! Yes, I had a soft spot for Jinxy. Unfortuately, she died last year from an unknown illness. The vet was never able to determine what took her.

We still have Buddy though. He has grown to a very large cat who I believe, is convinced he's a dog. He acts more like a dog sometimes. He follows us around outside. He's nosey! He has to see what's going on and if it meets his approval. He lays among the dogs as if he's one of them. He and Xena, our German Shepherd who died recently, were close. They would curl up together, though Xena would often look at us as if to say "What? I don't know why he wants to lay here with me." But, she accepted his company.

I don't know what became of the other kittens I found homes for but I can only hope they had good lives. For all I know, Buddy may be the only one still living, if so, he's the lucky one. The runt of the litter and he ends up being the one who portrays "survival of the fittest." I wish I'd had a picture of him when he was a tiny mess!

Twenty little pawprints, forever across my heart!

Hummingbirds

I am astounded how one dog can leave an emptiness in the entire clan around here. Yes, we loved Xena dearly. She will always be "The Best Dog Ever". I didn't fathom the grief of Maggie, the cattle dog, and Buddy, the cat.

I have never experienced grief of animals for the loss of another. But then, Xena is the only dog we've ever had with us for over a decade. It's become obvious that Xena was indeed the matriarch of the other dogs and cat around here. They depended on her and they do miss her. I have no idea how long their grief will last or when they'll stop looking for her. I'll probably always "see" her in her favorite places too.

Today, as I watched the hummingbirds at their feeder I began thinking of the amazing lives they live. Partially, to keep my mind off the empty rug in the corner of the porch, partially because I realized the hummingbirds will soon leave for their Mexican destination. Of course, they don't think about it that way, but I am amazed by hummingbirds.

Here in Southern Ohio we have the Ruby-throated variety. I've been putting out feeders for humminbirds for many years now. I've read up on them and find it fascinating they return to the same feeder year after year, or at least their offspring do, if they don't make it back. I think I have around 8 flitting around at various times this year. Supposedly, if you count the number of hummingbirds at your feeder, at any one time, you can double that number to get the total head count.

Some evenings I'll sit out on the deck and watch as they zoom in and out. They're always alert, always eyeing me. At first they fly away without stopping to drink but the longer I quietly sit there, the more relaxed they become.

The males, with their bright ruby red throats, always have an air of superiority about them. I can spot a young male, even before he's grown into his ruby-red throat. They are cocky and pushy. The females, are more cautious about landing on the feeder at first. They appear more gentle as they're drinking. I often imagine where their tiny nests might be hidden. One year, #1 son did find a hummingbird nest clinging to a tree branch that had fallen to the ground. Just as tiny and delicate as the birds themselves.

I look forward every April for the arrival of the first hummingbird. I have studied migration maps and our hummingbirds are due to arrive around the end of April and they leave usually by mid-September. There's a hurricane brewing in the Gulf this year so I'm keeping watch. Will "my" hummers start migrating soon or wait? Some of them may have already left because I've noticed reduced activity at my feeder.

When I consider how far these little birds travel each April and September I am always amazed. The fact that they, and their "kids" have returned to my feeders is simply awesome. Look around, be sensitive, God is everywhere, that's what I try to remember in these days of often hectic chaos. Hummingbirds remind me of how fragile, yet strong and beauitul, life can be.

The Last Jeep Ride

Monday was a sad day for our family. Hubby and I decided it was time to let our beautiful, twelve year old German Shepherd, Xena, go. She had not improved over the weekend. Her back legs had finally given out. She could not stand or walk. If anyone has had to make this decision for a beloved animal member of the family, I'm sure you can understand emotions are still raw.

My husband and I reluctantly loaded Xena up into the Jeep on Monday morning. The vet's office had told me to have her there by 9:15am, it would be a 30 minute trip. Over the phone I felt a dash of hope after explaining to the woman taking the call, what had happened to Xena over the weekend, but this young lady didn't really know the situation. Still, that little glimmer of hope will sustain at times of uncertainty.

I won't go into details, not necessary. I've gone over and over the entire event too many times, and of course, still cry when I think about everything. All I want to remember is that even up until the end, as Hubby and I were holding her, Xena left this world quietly, without protest or stress. She seemed comforted by the fact that her "mom and dad" were there with her.

Hubby was affected quite profoundly by this loss though we had been expecting this decision in the end. I believe he kept hoping for a better outcome. The vet told us of possible options to keep pain down, but at her advanced age, Xena's quality of life would probably not be the same. Organ issues would probably surface within a short time. For Xena, that would have been torture so we decided to release her. We said our goodbyes. We held her and stroked her as the injection took hold. We took her home to bury her, by the creek, under a tree. Hubby said he wanted her home where she belonged among the trees, hills and woods she loved.

Xena always loved to ride in the old Jeep. We had a 1980 Jeep for many years and until she could no longer jump up into it, Xena enjoyed even short rides around the property. We had bought a new Jeep last year. Hubby told me yesterday, as we were burying our friend, she had taken her last Jeep ride. Remembering the moment we placed her in the back of the Jeep, I do recall a glint of something. A brightning of her eyes. She didn't struggle. She was relaxed. Even as we drove down the country roads, Hubby sitting beside her, me driving, she seemed content, raising her head often to look out the window.

We will always remember our "wolf dog" as we came to call her. She had always been a beautiful silver/black and we were often asked if she was part wolf. She had grown larger that most German Shepherds and because of her size, was often referred to as a he. She was a furry little black ball when she was given to us 12 years ago. Our sons grew up with her. I told Hubby, it's almost a symbolic event that she had to go at this point in time when both our sons are venturing away from home into the world of grown-up life. Xena had always been wonderful to kids, especially our sons, though she could be rough with wandering neighbor dogs. She was never agreesive toward people who were accepted on our property. There are so many little stories about our dear friend I'm sure we will talk about in the coming days. Right now, the emotions are still raw and it's hard to bring up her name without shedding tears.

After we had buried Xena, I remembered the horses needed to be turned out into the front field. The guys had pretty much been ignored over the weekend with all of us attending to Xena in one way or another. Oh, they got groomed, and they got led out to their evening graze areas, but basically got put on the back burner.

As I walked with my guys to the front field gate they each walked on either side of me. Bo was very quiet, a little unlike him when he knows he's going to the other field. He will jostle Spirit, or give him "the look" to make Spirit get behind before being released through the gate. I took notice of their quietness. I had been crying a little. As I stood in front of the gate, getting ready to unlatch it, I felt the gentlest of nuzzles, from Bo, on my hair and back of my neck. He seemed to be giving me his own reassuring kiss. I stood there for a few moments hugging him, then hugging Spirit. Neither one moving just allowing me to use them for comfort. I unlatched the gate, both walked out slowly and quietly.

The little dogs, Maggie and Lucy have been staying by the house. They have not been running up into the woods since Xena collapsed on Saturday. Maggie has practically been at Xena's side the entire time. Maggie is an Australian Cattle Dog-mix full of endless energy, but she chose to remain close to her "sis" during the day. Even Buddy, our cat, who has always curled up with Xena on cold nights, lay close by the garage during the two days, sometimes walking in to rub up agains Xena. Animals know things, they are intelligent, and regardless of what is said by some experts in denial of animal emotions, in my experience, they are just as affected by events as we are, just in a way that is different, a different language.

I'm feeling kind of random right now, words not quiet evolving as I'd like. But I wanted to remember Xena this morning for the wonderful friend she'd been to our family. We will always miss her. She definitely captured a piece of my heart in the 12 years she shared our home.

Though we will no longer see her pawprints around our home, the pawprints she left on our hearts will remain forever.