Cat Musings – Why the Struggle is Worth the Reward

". . . I would see him on the catio as he darted around, crouched low to the ground as though an unseen enemy was stalking him."

 He had spent most of his time hiding literally for weeks. Sick or injured animals will do that, you know. It’s part of their survival instinct whenever they feel vulnerable. But Eli didn’t just feel vulnerable. He was miserable, and it broke my heart. It wasn’t just the

incessant itching and scratching. It was the self-inflicted wounds on his face that would fester and weep, then finally begin to scab over only for the new flesh to be assaulted again by his needle-sharp claws. The methylprednisolone shots didn’t seem to make much

difference anymore, but the antibiotic injections surely helped keep infection at bay. I was grateful for that. He was eating and drinking water too, but I rarely saw him when he would sneak out of his hiding spot under the sofa for a brief bite or drink. During my recent trip to Oklahoma City, my catio camera caught him outside only a couple of times. Before that when I was at home, I would see him on the catio as he darted around, crouched low to the ground as though an unseen enemy was stalking him. It seemed to me he was trying to get away from whatever was making him itch, as though changing his location on the catio might give him some relief. He never relaxed, like the other cats, soaking up the sun or lying stretched out in a shady spot under the patio sofa while the fan spun above.

 It seemed like a very long time ago since he had ventured into my room at bedtime, jumped up on my bed and flopped down against the pillow beside me, the motor inside him humming, and waited for me to extend my hand and stroke his little head and body. I missed that. I missed his little trills when he wanted attention but was too timid to demand it the way Samson or Josephine did. He was completely withdrawn from everything, and I worried that the little cat with the huge green eyes filled with trust for only me would never return.



On my last visit to the vet with him, I scheduled a follow-up appointment immediately after my trip so that my veterinarian could apply a set of “Soft Claws” to his nails. Made of silicone, the claws are actually tiny caps that fit over the cat’s claws and are secured with glue, much like press-on nails for people. They are soft and smooth, and they come in a variety of colors, naturally, so your cat can be the fashionista of the neighborhood, and they’re supposed to last six to eight weeks. I admit I was skeptical about this solution to Eli tearing up his face. I couldn’t imagine that he would tolerate something foreign on any part of his body. It might turn his attention to his claws instead of his itchy face, but only for as long as it would take for him to rip off all the offending artificial nails.

To my surprise, he doesn’t even seem to notice them. Supposedly cats can see shades of blue, so one would think all of the cats have noticed his bright blue claws – blue and orange were the only two colors available when I ordered the packages for Eli – but none seems to have taken notice of that either. Best of all, his behavior and personality have returned to normal for him, and in some ways, he almost seems like a different animal.

 For instance, a few days after his spa treatment at the vet, I walked across the living room to peer out the patio doors, and there he was inside a cubby on the tall cat tree, his body limp and relaxed, like a contortionist, in a ridiculous position, the blue tips of his paws poking out of the cubby hole. His head was turned upwards and his mouth was ever so slightly ajar. And he was sound asleep. I stood and gazed at him for several minutes, smiling to myself because he looked like a normal cat...just a normal cat for the first time in longer than I could remember.

 Every evening for the past several days, he hops up on my bed, walks to the pillow next to me, and plops down in that comical way of his, purring like an engine, and lets me pat his head, scratch under his chin, and stroke the length of his slender little body, right down to his thin monkey tail. When he’s had his fill, he curls up on the soft throw at the end of my bed and stays there most of the night. As silly as it sounds, I think I sleep a little better now that he’s back to being himself.

 I have always had a heart for animals. If one is suffering and I can do something about it, I will do everything in my power to make it better. Some might wonder why I would bother with an animal so elusive, one that, even after more than six years, has never sat on my lap purring or rubbed my legs affectionately. It’s Eli’s shy and elusive nature that endears him to me; his pure trust and affection that makes me feel so special. Seeing him enjoy life the way only a cat does is reward enough for me.