Are old cats like babies?

For quite some time now, little Vixen has been eating less and less. She always has an appetite, mind you, but she'll lick the gravy off her food and leave most of the solid parts behind...then yowl for more food! Arranging the leftovers a little differently on the plate will fool her sometimes and she'll lick at it a little more, but not always. For the past few months, I've been throwing away an awful lot of cat food.

This would be bad enough if she just ate the stuff out of the can from the grocery store. But her advanced age of 23 has her on a special kidney diet from Royal Canin that I can only buy at the vet's office. A case of 24 tiny little cans is almost $30. So it hurts to throw away that type of food when the cat won't eat it. She eats from her bowl of crunchies, but just as many of those end up on the floor as in the cat. Smashing her face into the center of the bowl pushes the round little pieces of kibble out the sides and I'm constantly sweeping it up from underneath her food area. (Sigh.)

But when a recent vet visit revealed that Miss Vixen was down to a little over 6 pounds, it was time to do something. I immediately got her some Nutri-Cal, which is one of the few supplements she'll actually touch. (We carry the kitten version of Nutri-Cal on OldMaidCatLady.com, but our supplier of it doesn't stock the adult one, for some reason.) Since her blood work had revealed that everything was within normal parameters, I hesitated to take her off the expensive kidney diet; that could be the very thing that's been keeping her healthy. But I strongly suspected that she was bored with it.

So here's my solution: there are several good brands of premium wet cat foods that are good for senior cats. She's eaten several before from companies like Tiki Cat, Wellness, and others. I bought several of those in tuna and chicken flavors, since those are her favorites. In a mini-food processor I'd bought myself for Christmas, I mix a can of her kidney food, one can (or pouch, in some cases) of the premium wet cat food, some extra water, and some fish oil obtained from puncturing one of the capsules I take daily. The fish oil has an anti-inflammatory property that should help her tender knees to hurt less, just like it helped my finger joints stop hurting. I grind it all up in the food processor until it's the consistency of pablum and keep it in a plastic container in the fridge. A little stir at feeding time mixes the liquid back into the ground-up solid parts so it's mushier than the pate-style canned foods.

So far, she seems to be ingesting more of the solid food, albeit in very small pieces, than she was before. She still has a tendency to lick the food off the plate, but with the finer consistency of it she gets more little pieces into her. She's acting more satisfied, as well and not yowling all day. Time will tell if this approach helps her put weight back on, but for now, it seems to be a good solution!

Have you ever had a cat who was unable to eat because of old age? Share your techniques here for coaxing Kitty to eat more!

Beyond Geriatric

Okay, so cats are supposedly "senior" by between ages 9-12, and "geriatric" by age 14. So what would you call one who's now 23? Super-geriatric? Tenacious? Determined?

That would be my little Vixen, whose birthday we celebrate this month, when she first came to live with me 22 years ago! That's her pictured on the fake Cat Fancy cover (which I created at fakeazine.com; very fun site!). She's always had a habit of crossing her front paws, so ladylike. It always makes me smile to see her do it.

Vixen has a lot of the symptoms of aging; her knees bother her, her heart races sometimes, she can't hear at all, doesn't see as well, and her sense of smell isn't as sharp as it used to be. She gets cold more often, and no longer jumps up on anything. There aren't as many teeth in her mouth as there used to be. Her voice has dropped down from the sweet, soft little "meows" she used to emit into a gravelly, old-lady yowl, sort of like the chain-smoking aunties on The Simpsons. She gets grumpy when she's hungry. (We old maid cat ladies can relate to that one!)

But she's also much wiser in her old age. Every morning, if she wakes up before I do, she walks by to see if I'm awake yet. If I seem to be asleep, she'll quietly move on, eating some crunchies or going to the potty. Then she'll sit next to her heater and check on me every few minutes until I awaken. After a quick little "Aaar" greeting from the floor (her way of saying "hey"), she wants to come up and have some cuddle time with me, followed closely by her first of several breakfasts.

Cuddle time is much more important to Vixen these days. She'd told pet psychic Laura Stinchfield that she thinks we should spend some time together every day, "thinking good thoughts." The types of thoughts she described sounded an awful lot like the positive visualization that's hyped by motivational speakers. See what I mean? She's a wise little lady.

And so we both continue, her into the twilight of her life as I venture boldly forth in my middle age. We're both thankful for every day, both a little apprehensive about what the future may bring. But we still have each other, a roof over our head, and good food on the table. As she regularly reminds me, what more do we really need? We are rich, indeed.

Little Vixen was the inspiration for the Senior Cats section of OldMaidCatLady.com. If you have a kitty who's getting up in age and needs a little help every now and then, you may find just the things there to help.

Vixen is 22...or Thereabout

Twenty-one years ago this month, a feisty little tortoiseshell came to join my household. She'd been a feral cat in the apartments where I lived, one who'd lurk in the hedges and swipe a spotted paw out at you when you passed. I'd see her following along behind the maintenance men, playing with whatever tool belt or electrical cord was dangling behind them. On sunny afternoons, people doing laundry would have to step over her as she sprawled right across the middle of the laundry room floor in the afternoon sun streaming through the westward window. She had big-time attitude.

My other cat had noticed her, too. That was mainly because she'd climb the tree right outside our living room windows and flirt with him. He was a very clingy cat who suffered terrible separation anxiety when I left him to go to work, or anywhere else, for that matter. He was mesmerized by this wild little thing who seemed to take pleasure in taunting him. I toyed with the idea of taking in the odd-looking little cat, who reminded me of an owl with her prominent lynx tips and vivid yellow stripe down the nose. Wily and cantankerous, her personality was most fox-like, thus earning her the name given to female foxes. She seemed to know her name and respond to it from the very beginning. As near as I could figure, she seemed to be about a year old.

Just as tigers have striped skin, Vixen also has sections of black and pink skin; two pink toes with all the rest black, for example. There are even black spots on the inside of her mouth. Her ears look like someone flicked orange paint off a paintbrush onto them, both inside and out. She could be easily spotted from a great distance by that yellow chest, which glowed like a beacon when I spied her sitting in a drainage pipe beside the duck pond one afternoon. I stepped outside and called to her; she gave a little cry and came running straight over to me, circled around and came up beside me, where she let me pick her up and carry her inside. And that was that.

When the time came to move into another apartment, I took both cats to the vet for baths and de-fleaing (this was in the days before the back-of-the-neck treatments we have today), then over to the new place. Vixen was still pretty feisty and didn't like to be touched or picked up. But she was smart as a whip! The cats loved going out onto our 3rd-floor balcony, but were showing a troubling tendency to stand with their front feet on the outside of the lower rail, peering over onto the balcony below. With a fear that they'd jump down there, I kept a close eye on them and stopped them, admonishing, "No back feet on the railing!" Vixen took this to heart. A few months later, I was standing on my balcony talking to a friend, who casually propped her foot on the railing. Vixen pranced over to her and started swatting my friend's foot, claws sheathed, as a reminder of "No back feet on the railing!"

Vixen loved being out on the balcony and would often chew off the tips of my aloe plant. Loved it, that is, until the weather turned hot and humid. As soon as that hot air would hit her in the face when the door slid open, she'd pull back, turn around, and head back into the air conditioning. Smart girl. She loved playing with tennis balls, which she'd grab with her claws and sort of throw for herself. My other cat was another story; she hated him. When he'd stand at the door and yowl to go outside, she'd get an annoyed look on her face. After a few minutes, when she'd had enough, she'd go over and swat him in the face a few times, then sprint across the room. He was always too shocked to chase her. Many was the time I'd find a chunk of his fur on the floor where she'd gotten him good with her claws.

When we moved to Atlanta in the mid-90s, we had a southwesterly facing sunroom. She'd spend every afternoon there, basking in the warmth of the sun. I swear, it made the orange spots in her coat more vivid. Little by little, she got more comfortable sleeping on the bed with me, although it was always at the foot and not near my other cat on the opposite pillow. She also became more accustomed to being held and petted, and even came to enjoy a good brushing...but not for long. When she'd had enough, she'd walk away, and woe be unto the one who tried to stop her. Out would come claws and teeth, and that old feral personality would emerge again.

After my other cat died, I worried that she was growing bored alone all day while I was at work, so I took to leaving the TV on for her...on Animal Planet, of course! She paid attention to it, too, because she changed the way she bit after watching shows on there. Before, she'd grab your hand with her claws and pull it toward her, then sink her teeth into it so she had you trapped. But after watching a fair number of snake shows on TV, she began striking and pulling back, just like a snake would do. It was fascinating...albeit no less painful!

These days, she's become a grand old lady. Her hips give her a little trouble, and sometimes she loses her balance when she first stands up. The brilliant colors in her coat have become slightly duller, more faded with age. She no longer jumps up on any furniture, including the bed. There's no more batting of tennis balls or clawing the sofa. She still enjoys combing her face on the little arched brush I gave her one Christmas; I think it's her favorite gift she's ever received. She loves her canned food meals, and has become accustomed to getting them at least three times a day. But she also still loves her "crunchies", which she swallows whole since her teeth aren't what they used to be. She stands in her litter box and whizzes over the side, a behavior I've addressed before in this blog. For the most part, she's healthy as can be and can often be found curled up and sleeping in her bed underneath my desk. That's where she is now, in fact.

So raise a glass with me to toast 21 years together with my best girl ever, my little Vixen! May she go on for many more years to come.

Kittycat Rule #7

"An extra-large helping of breakfast is never as delicious as a second helping of breakfast that requires Mom to serve me twice."
Anyone who's ever had cats knows that they love their little rituals.  Vixen used to have one with my mother, every morning and evening, with her canned food.  Now that my mother's no longer with us, that duty has fallen to me.  And so it goes in the kittycat world.  The rituals continue, even if the players change.