Mary, queen of cats

So we took Mary to the vet to have her lump checked out. But somehow, the day after the previous post and three days after the appearance of said lump, it mysteriously disappeared. The lack of the lump was discovered just before we went to the vet. We took her anyway, just in case. The vet declared her as fit as a fiddle and fortunately Mary wasn’t too upset. The worst part was a thermometer up the bum which yielded a look that was a mixture between extreme embarrassment and anger. But once the offensive object was removed, she was just fine.

One remark I would like to make though – the day before we took her to the vet she scratched the area of the lump furiously which makes me believe that perhaps it was a ganglion. But who knows. This is Mary.

Since we came from the vet though, she has been acting strangely. Mary is not a very playful cat and only my husband ever seems able to get her in the mood. But lately, you look at her or move in her direction and she hops like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh and bobs her head back and forth like one of those cheap head bobbing dolls people tend to put on the dashboards of their cars. And then she would just attack the carpet. Last night it looked like she was trying to bite my husband’s pants.

Who knows where this behaviour comes from. As I said, this is Mary and there is a very good reason her name is what it is.

One way to make yourself popular with your cat is to lug them off to the vet every other day.

As mentioned in a previous post, Mary recently went to the vet to have her teeth cleaned. We made that decision a week before while the vet was giving her an injection as her skin flared up again.
Fortunately, Mary couldn’t associate the trip back to the vet for her teeth with me. My husband dropped her off in the morning and collected her again in the afternoon. All I could think of the whole day is “my poor baby, alone and scared and drugged in a place which doesn’t hold fond memories”. I couldn’t wait to go home to see her after work. I was expecting a drugged and goofy cat, but she seemed no worse for the wear. The vet said we should keep an eye on any swelling of the gums, but Mary didn’t have any issues afterwards: clean breath and clean toofies.

So why are we taking her back to the vet barely two weeks after her last visit?

I don’t know whether I am an overly paranoid human companion, but Mary has a lump in her neck. It isn’t something under the skin either, so it is not an abscess. The lump is connected to deeper tissue and we feel this warrants a trip to the vet. I would rather Mary hate me for a couple of days (or weeks, you never know!) than have her fall ill if we could have prevented it with early detection.

I think this time around I dread going to the vet as much as she does.

As any pet owner knows, a collar and tag are essential pieces of equipment.  If your favourite, furred friend is a wanderer at heart, chances are they could get confused on their way home. As any cat owner knows, the tendency of felines to squish themselves into the darnedest of places knows no bounds.  Often the smaller the entrance, the better.

This leads to a bit of a concern regarding the cat’s collar – not only must an owner make sure the collar itself is stretchable, so it can easily slip off if their wearer is in danger of choking or worse, but it should also be ultimately able to tear or snap to get them out of a jam. That being said, the collar not being as fixed as it could be does lead to the more rambunctious feline losing more than their fair share.

And this presents a difficulty in and of itself – what about the tag?  One can only have so many collars around the house, especially with a cat that goes through them like most people go through underwear.  And of course there’s no way we would allow Mary out without a tag on her collar.  If she were lost and someone picked her up, they’d have no recourse but to deliver her to the SPCA, which (like many well-intended animal organisations) is animal welfare- and not animal rights-oriented, and largely a bureaucratic farce, so definitely not a place I’d like my girl to ever see the inside of.  This is assuming, of course, that those who find her have good intentions and aren’t just out to steal her for themselves.  And who wouldn’t want to?  You’ve seen her pictures, right?

To cut a long story short, the pain of having to have a set of pre-engraved tags, or having to rush about looking for an engraver and/or pet tags while her majestic-ness sits at home growing more inclined to pommel any people-flesh she sees exposed with her incredibly long claws while we sleep, is not conducive to a healthy cat-and-person relationship.

Imagine our glee (srsly, glee) at finding a little collar called the Rogz – it’s a little plastic tag doohickey that allows one to scribble/print down the relevant details and snap the tag together themselves.  Also handy if you need to change said details.  You can check out their site for more info (and no, we’re not getting commission from them, just appreciating the product), but the pic below gives an idea of what it looks like:

Plastic Rogz tags

The following images show Mary wearing her own Rogz tags – obviously they suit her rather… er… active lifestyle:

Cat and tag caught unawares

And from another angle

Waking with a camera up the schnozz

Cat, unamused.