First, thanks again to everyone for their well wishes and for advice on how to get a cat to take medication. I was finally able to get Bud to take his meds by crushing them and mixing them into a small amount of pate, so he had to take the meds in order to eat. When he ate the first small bit with the crushed medication, I added a little more food.
The little guy still isn’t eating much, especially compared to his usually bottomless appetite, but the fact that he is eating is an encouraging sign. I’m making sure he’s eating wet food and frequently replacing the water in his bowl so it’s fresh and he stays hydrated.
He has also vocalized a bit, which is very encouraging! He’s not offering the usual Buddesian play-by-play of his activities and he’s not yelling at me for snacks/better service/etc but I’ll take what I can get.
Today is very encouraging because he was still lethargic yesterday and he got sick again last night. Thankfully it was only once.
That’s about it. At times like this we all wish our cats could talk. Failing that, I’ll take a raised tail, a meow here and there, awareness and seeking affection/comfort.
Strangely, Buddy is still not really purring. I felt a small vibration at one point yesterday when I was scratching his head and talking to him, but nothing like the buzz of his usual purr. Hopefully that starts to come back too.
When he feels well enough to terrorize me again, I’ll throw a party!
First I want to thank everyone for their concern and encouraging words. There are regular commenters here and I’m extremely appreciative of their feedback, but I also know only a small fraction of readers leave comments and I can see from the stats that lots of people in many different countries — a surprising number of them — read the blog. I don’t know who you are, just that you’re out there, so it’s nice to hear from some of you and to see new names for the first time.
Buddy and I are appreciative of all the well-wishes.
As for Bud, he yowled quite a bit on the way home and made it clear he didn’t enjoy the veterinarian, which I took as a good sign. If he’s complaining, he must feel at least a little better. It’s the laying motionless with eyes half closed and not saying a peep that’s scary.
One of the first things the vet said when she examined him is “I don’t like the way he looks,” so I’m glad I brought him in. There is no question that he needed help.
When we got home, Bud didn’t need an invitation to leave his carrier. I put down fresh wet food and water and he ate a very small amount, the first time he’d eaten all day. A good sign.
After a little while I sat down on the couch, Bud climbed up under his own power and he slept in my lap.
However, he did not get up when I turned the TV off and went to bed. I decided to pick him up and bring him into the bedroom. I didn’t want to leave him there by himself. I want to keep a close eye on him and I know if he wasn’t hurting he would have jumped off the couch and followed me immediately, meowing to remind me to put some dry food in his bowl in case he gets hungry while he’s sleeping. (That always reminded me of a line by Mrs. Garrett to Arnold Drummond in Diff’rent Strokes: “I packed an extra lunch for you, in case you get hungry while you’re eating.”)
Once again, Buddy didn’t object to being picked up, which is unusual for him.
He hasn’t made a peep since the yowling in the car, which is jarring because normally he doesn’t stop trilling, meowing and chirping.
“Brrrrrrrt! Look! Birds! Birdies!!! Brrrrr! Brrrrr! Snack! I want a snack! Gimme a snack now! Brrrrrrruuuupppp! Watch me! Watch me run, Big Bud! YEOW!!!”
Bud remains lethargic, he’s not purring even when I rub his head and he’s quiet, but on the positive side he’s not throwing up or yowling in pain.
As Julie B wrote in the comments of the last post: “You worry so much when they age.”
At one point the vet said Bud, at nine years old, was “getting up there” to an age when some problems can begin to manifest.
I was about to interject, to say “No, he’s just a baby!” when I realized she’s right. Nine years old is the equivalent of 50 for cats. That seems impossible, but it’s true.
The other frustrating thing, as Carmen B noted in the comments, is the lack of specificity in diagnosis. All those examinations and bloodwork, and the only thing I know for sure is that a handful of common ailments have been eliminated as the cause. Is this a virus? Did he eat something he shouldn’t have? Are the symptoms indicative of an underlying health problem?
Frustratingly I don’t have answers. Bud’s an inside-only cat, and the closest he gets to the outdoors is laying on the balcony. Could he have eaten an insect that caused this? Could a foreign substance have been dropped from one of the balconies above? There are five floors above me, and it’s not unheard-of that sometimes things drop.
Now we’ll see if I can fool Buddy into taking his meds. He ate about 3/4 of a treat I gave him earlier but spat the 1/2 pill back out twice. (I had embedded the pill in the treat.) Does anyone have any experience with Greenies pill pockets? What about pillers, those plastic needle-looking things that allow you to essentially “shoot” the pill into a cat’s mouth?
P.S. Thanks to everyone who offered to help and suggested a GoFundMe. I know people use GoFundMe for good causes, but I would feel very strange saying “Hey, give me money!” If Bud requires more treatment and it’s expensive, I would consider some sort of Patreon setup where people can tip for extra content. Extra blog posts, analysis of cat-related news, things like that. Or maybe a 2024 Buddy Calendar featuring sizzling snaps of the handsome little guy lounging in a sizzling manner, sleeping and lounging some more. I would never gate the content, so it would remain available to everyone, but it would provide a way for people to tip an amount they choose. It’s too early to really think about that anyway. Right now the most important concern is Bud. I’ll update, hopefully with good news soon.
We are at the emergency vet. Buddy got sick early this morning and threw up, then threw up some more, and some more, most of it yellow bile.
He was vocalizing in obvious pain and distress and while I was able to soothe his stomach a bit with some catnip — enough that he eventually climbed on top of me and slept for a while — I got really worried when we woke up a few hours later, I got out of bed and he didn’t budge. He stayed there for almost two hours.
He never does that. He follows me to the bathroom first thing, always, and then starts meowing for food.
When he finally left the bed he was extremely lethargic, not at all like himself. He wouldn’t eat. His eyes were half closed, he didn’t respond when I rubbed his head, and I couldn’t feel him purring. The local vet couldn’t see him, so I took him to an emergency vet.
The good news is that it doesn’t look like he has anything obstructing his digestive track, a UTI or any of the usual culprits.
He doesn’t have a fever, which is also good, but he’s significantly dehydrated and there were some concerning signs in his blood work.
I knew he really wasn’t doing well when the nurses took blood and gave him the anti-nausea injection and he didn’t even bother to object. Normally he’d try to tear their faces off but this time he didn’t raise a paw. I’m not even sure it registered with him that there were large dogs and other cats in the open floor plan space, where staff hurried between stations with equipment and animals cradled in blankets.
This is not how it ends, not here and now. For that I am grateful. I’m taking him home after the vet gives Bud some sort of subdermal hydration treatment and meds to hopefully get him eating and drinking again.
The bad news is that the visit cost an eye-watering amount, more than three times what I expected in the worst case scenario, and that was without x-rays. Absolute madness.
On the other hand I realize I have a lot to be grateful for. I just watched a young girl crying and holding onto her mother as a veterinarian worked on her cat, who was severely injured and looked like she’d been hit by a car. In one of the private rooms, a family was saying goodbye to their dog.
All this is a reminder to be grateful for the time we have. I will update soon, hopefully with good news.
The annual tournament pitted more than 20 furry emcees against each other in a battle of rhymes and wit.
NEW YORK — Gripping the microphone in his paw, Panther the Pulverizer took aim at Buddy the Funky Feline and, when the beat dropped, launched into a blistering verse filled with punchlines about his opponent.
“You got no chance, so say sayonara,” the Pulverizer rhymed. “You’re so fat, cats thought you was a capybara!”
“My flow’s a gale, in a storm you’re supposed to bail. How you gonna carry weight when you broke the scale?” he rapped, drawing laughter from the crowd. “You’re known to fail, terrified with a bloated tail, so walk your ass home ’cause you won’t prevail!”
Hektah tha Headhunta, one half of duo Spliff an’ Wessin’, earned himself a quarterfinal berth with a raucous verse that dismantled Boss the Bocelot.
“Oh, snap!” one cat exclaimed and the all-feline crowd whooped and cheered as the Pulverizer continued his verbal assault.
The Pulverizer pressed forward, invading his opponent’s personal space as he fired the next salvo of punchlines.
“What’s wrong, lil’ Bud? Is it hard to diss us? You couldn’t move these cats if you farted citrus. Pardon it’s cause you’re avoiding this bout, knowing I’ll make you bounce like your primordial pouch.”
A collective “Dayum!” echoed throughout the crowd while the DJ doubled over with laughter. Meanwhile, Buddy sucked in his gut, suddenly self-conscious.
“My man got punchlines about primordial pouches, yo!” an approving member of the audience shouted, his tail swishing with excitement.
“Am I supposed to be intimidated? Hell no! You sound like a constipated Elmo. Truth is both my waistline and my raps are leaner,” he rhymed, gesturing toward Buddy. “While this cat runs screaming from a vacuum cleaner. Face it lil’ Bud, we ain’t rivals. You came here dead on arrival!”
The crowd roared for several seconds after the beat cut out as the Pulverizer basked in the audience’s approval.
Panther the Pulverizer, a kitty rapper from Astoria, Queens.
Buddy, dressed in oversized Tommy Hilfiger jeans, a bubble jacket and a Yankees cap turned sideways, took the mic for his turn and wasted no time launching into his retaliatory verse.
“My name’s Buddy, I’m ferocious in fights. Little known fact: also dope on the mic!” he rapped. “You’re a joke over-hyped, frozen with fright, lookin’ like a ghost you’re so white! It’s hopeless, allright? You’re a featherweight, I’m Mike Tyson tonight.”
Lay-Z is a New York-based kit hop artist who admits to an easy housecat life, with his rhymes often boasting of stainless steel bowls, palatial cat condos and fine dining on human delicacies.
“Get ’em, champ!” a supporter shouted from the crowd.
“You don’t have the balls to diss me, that’s truth in fact! I’m the real tom, you’re just a neutered cat. Your whole crew is wack, don’t even try to diss! Buddy’s a lion, you’re just a pride of wimps.”
The Pulverizer glowered as the crowd roared with laughter.
“I got fans across the world, it’s me they’re feeling, the only fans you got are spinning on your ceiling,” Buddy the Funky Feline rapped, waving a paw at the roof. “Buddy’s the illest, thats why I spit it hot. You’re full of shit like an unscooped litter box.”
“Damn! Damn, damn, damn!” host Meowthod Man of the Mew Tang Clan shouted, waving off the beat. “Let’s hear what the judges have to say!”
The judges called the battle 2-1 in favor of Buddy, granting him the split decision and sending him to the semifinals.
The Funky Feline is due to face Crouching Tiger, the highly favored big cat with a smoky voice and crisp flow. The winner of that bout will advance to the finals to battle the winner of the semifinal match pitting the Deft Leopard against MC Hektah the Headhunta.
Buddy tha Funky Feline, also known as Snackmaster Flex, is known for his vivid lyricism about life in the ‘hood and exuberant rhymes about junk food.
Buddy the Funky Feline has been the target of criticism claiming that while he rhymes about “life in the hood” as a hardscrabble stray, he actually grew up as a pampered house cat in the suburbs. He seeks to burnish his street cred ahead of his new album, Chillmatic, which is expected to break record sales when it’s released later this month. It’s the first full-length release from the New York-based kitty rapper since 2020’s Got 2 Have Turkeys and his 2021 EP, Fowl Play.
While promoting the former record during a concert stop in Tokyo, Buddy’s tour bus was infamously overturned by a crowd of screaming female fans, who pelted the bus with bras and held signs professing their love for him.
His entry into the Cat Fight 2023 battle rap tournament is meant to signal that he’s more than just a prettyboy, with an appeal beyond his massive female fanbase.
“Buddy is so kawaii, we love him,” gushed Kei Kikuno, one of Bud’s many Japanese admirers. “I just want to pinch those little cheeks!”
Training your new human will take time but it’s totally worth it, Buddy says.
Sure, humans can be frustrating. They’re loud, lumbering beasts and they look funny with their bizarre two-legged gait, always teetering around as if they could fall on their weird, furless faces any second.
They’re woefully incompetent when it comes to reading whisker and tail, their noses are dead and they stubbornly refuse to learn the simple language of territorial marking. Even kittens can do that!
Because they’re not very smart and their senses are laughably blunted, we felines have to do most of the hard work and communicate with humans the only way they know how: by making otherworldly warbling noises with their mouths and vocal cords.
It’s a ridiculous way to communicate and you’ll feel like a fool, but unfortunately it’s the only way to get them to respond to demands and directions. Just go with it.
Humans are convinced these arbitrary sounds have deep meaning, so it helps if you vary your tone and inflect some emotion into your warbling. You’ll know you’ve been successful when they stop to ponder your meaning, trying to work out in their slow, limited minds what you’re trying to communicate. It doesn’t even matter what you “say,” really. They’ll decide it means something.
Despite the limitations of these simple creatures, many of them can be gentle giants and they’re easily manipulated. Roll onto your back, pull your paws up beneath your chin, fix them with a wide-eyed stare and squeak out a little “mew, mew!” then watch their hearts melt. They’ll serve you food in no time!
There’s no doubt about it, adopting a human has been the 579th greatest decision I’ve made in my life!
When you adopt your human, don’t expect them to transform into your butler, maid and personal chef overnight. It takes time and lots of repetition to properly train them.
But once you do, there’s nothing like the life of a house cat! Your meals are served with the precision of Swiss trains, because your humans will know there’s hell to pay if they’re late. You’ll be nice and cozy in the winters and comfortably cool in the summers. Your territory will be well protected with strong, human-built barriers preventing strange felines and interlopers of various mammalian forms from intruding. You’ll have your pick of comfortable napping spots, and if you properly train your human, you’ll have a nice, soft, secure lap spot where body heat is abundant and service is never more than a meow away, because your human can’t go anywhere while you’re sleeping on them.
In fact they’ll postpone the call of nature, allow their limbs to go numb and endure uncomfortable positions just to avoid disturbing you! LOL! I like to sit on my human’s chest as close as possible to his face so his nose is buried in the fur on my flank, then see how long it takes for him to choose breathing over my comfort. LOL!
However I must warn you, my friends, about one disturbing human tendency that can pose a problem. As a species they are hopelessly addicted to glowing rectangles of varying sizes — some small enough to fit into the pads of their furless paws, and some big enough to dominate the family nap room. They just stare at the big ones, but with the small rectangles they can sit there for hours poking at them. They just poke, poke, poke with their paws, sometimes making weird expressions with their faces, sometimes giving off interesting pheromones.
If your human is susceptible to falling into the glowing rectangle trance, you’ll have to develop strategies to break them out of it. And don’t make the mistake of stealing the little glowing rectangles. I tried that once and my human stopped all other activity to look for it, becoming increasingly frantic. My dinner was late, my nap was interrupted as my human flipped over couch pillows and looked under furniture. It was a disaster.
In my next column, we’ll talk about caring for your human, the importance of regularly grooming them, and your responsibility to supervise their bowel movements. Humans are high-maintenance pets and they get clingy if you don’t give them enough attention.
But in the meantime, I hope I’ve convinced you that adopting a human is a major net positive!
Pain In The Bud 