Fuzz “Klepto” Lightyear has taken up a new hobby, burglary. Anything is fair game, but his favorites are hair scrunchies and eyeglass cleaner cloths. My son is at his wit’s end with Fuzz’s stealing. He has begun a “No Open Door” policy when it comes to the furry beast, but somehow that hasn’t stopped the thievery.
Manchas has also had enough of Fuzz. In order to maintain his substantial girth, he steals whatever is left of Manchas’ food after he has licked his own bowl clean. Manchas gets royalty incensed at this and punches him. Fuzz remains unfazed by her ol’ one-two.
Cocoa is also fed up with Fuzz. Although Fuzz has at least 50 places where he can comfortably slumber, he’s decided that the best place is to nap on Cocoa’s blanket. No amount of harassment from Cocoa will move Fuzz once he’s settled down for a snooze.
Manchas confirmed she was not pregnant by going into an agonizing heat cycle. She was miserable. Fuzz was annoyed. Cocoa was baffled. We were at our wits’ end trying to find something to calm her. Fishy treats lasted all of 2 seconds. Catnip was sniffed up in record time by Fuzz.
We were extra careful to keep her in the house. Her last escape was stressful for everyone. And now that we could confirm she was not pregnant, we needed to make arrangements for her sterilization.
The space capsule came out and we corraled Manchas in it. She hated it. She hated the ride. She hated the sun and shadows. She hated the traffic. She hated the dogs at the vet. When it was our turn, we explained that she didn’t like men and that she was very fast. The vet, who was a woman, made a special note that she would take care of the operation or at least the anesthesia administering, rather than passing it off to her dad, the head vet and that she would make sure that when the capsule was opened, it would be in an enclosed space.
Since Manchas had eaten at 5 that morning, the operation couldn’t be done until later that afternoon. So we left her there, still in the space capsule, to be picked up at 5 p.m.
We were first in line when the vet opened his doors and rushed inside for our little Manchas only to find out the vet had FORGOTTEN to give her the operation. She was still in the space capsule in the corner of the shop. He said he’d do it right then and to return in an hour. So we did.
She was totally wigged out, as is to be expected after such a trauma. The ride home was terrifying for her. When we got her home, she insisted on dragging her body from one end of the room to the other–shadows spooked her but she seemed to recognize Fuzz, Cocoa, and my feet. I tried tucking her in her basket, but she kept getting out. I finally just let her situate herself for the night–and I don’t know where she slept. Her face was filthy in the morning.
The next day she could walk better but was in obvious distress. She didn’t want to eat. Fuzz was ok with that–more food for him he thought. The vet gave us pills to give her in lieu of a daily shot since I know she wouldn’t be riding in the space capsule ever again. I tried dissolving it in milk, but she wasn’t interested. She wouldn’t eat it mushed in her food either.
By day 2 she was up and around and starting to eat. She was even more tolerant of my son and husband, at least as tolerant as not running from the room every time they approached. My son even said she let him pet her and PURRED for a few minutes. Now that’s something. By the end of the day, she had managed to remove her bandage, but she wouldn’t let anyone check her surgery site for infection. She wasn’t having any of those pills either. So we kept an eye on her and hoped for the best.
About a week after her operation, you couldn’t even tell she’d had some major trauma. She was back to her regular, curious self. She even curled up with Fuzz again, now that those hormones were out of the way. They took up playing hide and seek in the mornings after breakfast. Manchas has a decided advantage though. Not only is she more fleet of foot than lumbering Fuzz, but she isn’t blind in one eye. They both seem to enjoy the game though, so no harm done.
For the past several months, I have been after my husband to make arrangements to get Fuzz and Cocoa neutered. To be fair, he did go to several vets to ask about the procedure and costs, but dragged his feet about actually getting it done. Men!
Anyway, the constant pissing battles between the two of them (Fuzz and Cocoa) had me pulling my hair out. I was constantly wiping down the furniture legs and washing the blankets. Then, our little kitten Manchas went to heat! AAAAHHHH! We really had no idea how old she was since we found her living out in our woodpile one day. But obviously, she was old enough to go into her first estrus cycle.
Fuzz was immediately confined to the front porch area. Cocoa was sent to spend more time outside with the Puppers. However, I’m not sure that we took quick enough precautions. This week little Manchas has been off her food and shows every sign of exhibiting kitty morning sickness. Yes, that’s really a thing. I expect we’ll have little Fuzzinators before too long.
Anyway, my husband was finally motivated enough to get appointments for the boys’ deballing. We loaded Fuzz Lightyear up in his space capsule for launch. Cocoa got to sit on my son’s lap for the ride to town. Each procedure cost $400 pesos. Cocoa came back home first, all woozy. He spent the rest of the day resting in his soft, cushy bed. A bit later, Fuzz arrived home from his first space mission. He was bound and determined to go outside, even if his legs wouldn’t hold him. He fell, rather than walked down the three steps to the front porch, but by golly, nothing was going to stop him!
The boys had some pills to take the edge off and reduce the chance of infection. Cocoa didn’t even notice his pill hidden in his food. Fuzz however, started foaming at the mouth when he accidentally licked a piece of food that had touched the pill. So then we had to try force feeding. If you’ve ever tried to give a cat a pill, well, you’ll understand the issue.
After two days, Cocoa started itching, so we had to put on the ‘cone of shame’ so he wouldn’t tear out his stitches. He HATED it. It took him a day or two to even figure out how to walk, but by the end of the week, he had learned to weaponize it. He found that if he swung his head hard enough, the cone provided an extra umph in our tug of war games.
Fuzz developed an infection on the third day after his operation. So back to the vet he went. A few shots and some more pills later, he seems to be no worse for wear.
FINALLY, Cocoa returned to the vet for the stitches to be removed. It seems cats and dogs are stitched up with different types of stitches. Fuzz didn’t need to have his stitches removed because they were the dissolving kind. Cocoa did.
Once the stitches were out, we watched him for a few hours, and when we saw he wasn’t going to further injure himself, the cone came off. Fred and George Pupper were mighty pleased with the cone’s removal as well. When we would go for our walks, they both tried to completely ignore Cocoa. The cone must have freaked them out.
The pissing contests have ended, thankfully. Cocoa still is having problems with his aim. He pees near, but not exactly on, the pee pad. So I still have some cleaning to do, but not nearly as much. Whew!