Last week my spoiled but lovable cat, Sam, had a personality change. It happened on Monday. Sam isn't allowed outside at all unless he's on a leash or in his Kitty Walk enclosure. He is 8 years old and would not have made it to 8 months if he had been allowed to roam free. Too many dangers in our neighborhood from cars and other stray cats, and dogs who sometimes race unaccompanied through the streets. I started walking Sam on a leash when he was 4 months old, and he loves it, rushes from anywhere in the house when he hears the jingle of the harness. He even jumps up in a chair to make it easier on the walker to fasten the harness and leash, and once it's on him, he dashes for the nearest door. But he didn't seem much interested in our Monday walk. I had to pick him up and put him in the chair to get on the paraphernalia, and at the door, he hung back. Not the norm for Sam. He never holds back for anything.
Tuesday, he wouldn't eat his morning treats. They're called treats because that's what he has always considered them: TREATS! He wasn't interested in wrestling on the raggedy rug in front of the sliding door, his favorite MO for play. It goes like this: I push a stick under the rug and he comes in hot, sliding under the rug after the stick, and giving the rug a few killing kicks with both hind legs. Sometimes he even turns a somersault. Not Tuesday. He sat in the middle of the room and stared at me like I was from Mars and simply blinked at the end of the stick poking out from his beloved rug.
Next, he wouldn't eat his kibble. Or his wet food. And he kept yowling from a distant room. I told Wayne if he wasn't better by tomorrow I was taking him to the vet. I know my cat. None of this was normal behavior. He seemed agitated. Grousing. He stared at us, seemed to want something from us and it wasn't the usual things like going out, or food, or play. I went to bed that night worried sick over poor Sam. Wayne chastened me, accused me of being a helicopter mom, which I most certainly am NOT. I do pay attention to my cat, and I can tell when all is not well. It definitely was NOT well.
On Wednesday, I noticed Sam licking excessively, and biting at his legs. And he was fierce about it, so I thought he must have developed an allergy of some sort. I thought about the new litter we had bought when our grocery store quit carrying his old brand. When I petted his head, he turned it and leaned into my scratching hand. So I checked his fur, down to his skin. Not an easy task but I saw nothing. I combed him but only came up with some loose summer hair he hadn't yet shed. And still he was grousy and indifferent to all the things he so much loves. I carried him around a lot. I thought he seemed feverish. He was certainly pitiful. And then....and then! While I had him in my arms, a flea walked out from the hair just above his eyes. A flea! A disgusting burrowing flea. On my mostly inside cat.
Wayne drove over to the vet for one of those ridiculously expensive topical applications you put behind your cat's head. Sam hates those things. He resents us for hours when we have had to apply them, so if we happen to be in the vet's office for a visit, I usually ask the doctor to do it. I would much rather Sam hold a grudge against the vet than me.
But anyway, Wayne brought one of those vials home, so we put Sam in his carrier, and through the top trapdoor I applied the topical between his shoulder blades. We made him stay in the carrier until it dried so he wouldn't lick it or rub it off on furniture. He was unhappy with us. He hollered at us every time one of us passed his carrier. For the rest of the day he hated us.
But...but...on Thursday morning, he got up a different kitty. He pranced around with his tail high, loving and happy, doing figure-eights through our legs, jumping in our laps, ready to wrestle with the rug, ravenous for his treats and kibble and wet food, eager to go out on the leash, back to his silly but sweet old self.
Guess it's time to spray the yard. Who knew a single, solitary flea could cause such misery and disruption? I'm just glad to have my old Sam back. And to maybe contemplate the possibility that... ah-hmmm...maybe there's a little bit of helicopter mom inside me after all.
LOL.
Onward....
