Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love

by Kristen Nelson

  “Steve is the best, Fang,” I told my big cat. The alarm clock started to buzz. “He even remembered to reset the alarm.” Fang followed me into the kitchen as I prepared another meal for Snowflake. Although my body was stiff from a night on the floor, the nausea was gone. I felt much better.

  When I opened the door to the bathroom, Snowflake opened his eyes for an instant. Unfortunately, his condition had not improved during my three-hour nap. His temperature was still only 99.8, even with the heating pad and hot water bottles. His skin still had an unhealthy yellow glow. Although he drooled during every feeding, he hadn’t vomited again. I was especially grateful that he didn’t have any more explosive diarrhea.

  “Time to update your mom and dad, Snowflake,” I told him softly after finishing his treatments. Snowflake blinked and went back to sleep. I dialed the Olsons’ number on our kitchen phone. It had a long cord that stretched all the way to the bathroom.

  “Olsons,” Margaret answered.

  “Good morning, Margaret, this is Dr. Nelson calling with an update on Snowflake.”

  “Oh, Dr. Nelson, thanks for calling. How is he?”

  “About the same, I’m afraid.” I tried to sound alert but knew I wasn’t at the top of my interpersonal communication game. I could hear an electric razor in the background. “The only new development is diarrhea. He had a really bad episode last night, and I’m afraid it splashed onto my bathroom wall.”

  “I am so sorry,” Margaret replied.

  “Me too. It was a mess to clean up.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Margaret repeated. “If it will help, I would be happy to come over and clean it up for you.”

  What a sweet woman, I thought. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve already taken care of it.” I paused. “Besides, things happen.”

  “Don’t you mean, shit happens?”

  “I was giving you the cleaned-up version,” I said with a chuckle. “You seemed too proper for the actual phrase.”

  Margaret laughed.

  “Me, proper?” she repeated. “That’s a good one.”

  “Today we’ll send off more blood on Snowflake,” I said, then paused to plan my next words. “I would really like you and Scott to visit Snowflake today. Last night he gave me another scare, and I would hate to have him…”

  “Don’t say it,” Margaret interrupted me. “He’s going to make it. I know he is.” I waited for her to continue. “Scott will visit him on the way to work. I’ll come as soon as I get off work. Tell Snowflake we love him, and we’ll see him soon.”

  “I’ll let you tell Snowflake,” I said. “Wait a few seconds while I get the phone in position.” I stretched the cord until the phone reached Snowflake’s head. “OK, Margaret,” I said loudly, then waited. Snowflake pricked up his ears, tilting them back and forth, listening for the source of the sound. At the same time, his eyes opened wide, exposing the yellow sclera. I leaned down toward the phone.

  “He’s listening to you, Margaret. Keep talking.” Snowflake continued to search for Margaret. His head spun in all directions as he sniffed the air. Five seconds later, his ears zeroed in on the phone. He sniffed the receiver, then started to purr. I returned the phone to my ear.

  “Margaret, he figured out where your voice was coming from and started to purr.” I started to choke up. “He really loves you.” I heard Margaret sniffle and clear her throat.

  “I love him, too,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t let him die, Dr. Nelson. Please don’t let him die.”

  I felt my stomach lurch into my throat. “I’m doing everything I possibly can for him, Margaret. Now it’s up to him.” I hung up the phone with a heavy heart. Snowflake’s prognosis remained guarded.

  Chapter 7

  Louisa and Peeper

  Through the lobby windows, I spotted Scott Olson pacing. He walked from the front door along the row of lobby chairs to the cat examination room and back again — the same path every time. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he walked. Deep wrinkles covering his forehead made him look much older than 55.

  “Hi, Scott,” I said as I walked into the clinic carrying Snowflake. The clock behind the counter read 8:45 a.m. “Sorry I’m late. Snowflake was drooling from the 8 a.m. feeding, so I wanted to wait until he stopped before subjecting him to a car ride.”

  “We need to have a serious discussion,” he said, ignoring my apology. “Margaret is stressed.” He paused. “She can’t eat or sleep she’s so worried about him.”

  “I’m worried, too,” I said softly. “He’s really sick, and I don’t know if he’s going to make it.” Scott sat down on a chair under the cat breed poster. He looked at the floor in silence. Kim and I exchanged glances but did not speak. We both knew from experience that people react to and process bad news in many ways. We continued to wait in silence. After another 15 seconds, Scott cleared his throat.

  “Is he suffering?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

  “He is not in acute pain like patients with broken bones or pancreatitis. But he is nauseated and uncomfortable, especially after a feeding.” Scott returned his gaze to the floor.

  “I need to get him back into the incubator. Why don’t you come back with me?” I suggested. “I think he’d enjoy seeing you.” Scott reluctantly followed us to the back.

  Kim helped me disassemble the carrier and transfer Snowflake into his home away from home, the incubator. Scott stood at the doorway to the treatment room, unsure if he should come any closer. The doorbell rang from the lobby.

  “That’s probably Bianca’s mom,” Kim whispered.

  “Keep her up front,” I whispered back. Kim hurried off to the lobby. I motioned for Scott to join me at the incubator. I reached inside and stroked Snowflake’s head without touching the feeding tube. “Snowflake, wake up, buddy,” I encouraged the cat. “You have a visitor.” Scott remained motionless by my side, unsure what to do. I withdrew my hand and moved back to make more room for him. He inched closer to the incubator and slowly extended his right hand toward Snowflake. When his fingers touched Snowflake’s head, Scott looked up at me. I smiled my most reassuring smile and nodded to encourage him. Scott reached under Snowflake’s chin and rubbed it with his index finger.

  “He likes to have his chin rubbed,” he said. Snowflake suddenly lifted his head and stared at Scott. The cat’s purring rose over all the other noise in the room.

  “Looks like he’s happy you came to visit, Scott,” I observed. The man continued to rub his pet’s chin without speaking. Scott’s eyes glistened with moisture, which he blinked away. Margaret wasn’t the only one worried about Snowflake. I patted Scott’s back three times to reassure him. Snowflake turned his head to the side for Scott to reach an especially itchy spot. Scott leaned into the incubator to accommodate the request. He ran his fingers from Snowflake’s chin along his jaw, then up behind his ear.

  “Every morning, Snowflake sits in my lap while I eat breakfast,” Scott told me softly. “When we first got him, he tried to lay on my newspaper. But eventually, he learned to lay on my lap.” Scott’s voice began to quiver. He pressed his lips together and blinked. “My routine is to take a sip of coffee, pet the cat. Read one paragraph, pet the cat. Eat a forkful of eggs, pet the cat. I miss him so much.”

  “Isn’t it amazing how they train us?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Scott nodded and blinked several times.

  “We’ll recheck Snowflake’s blood today. I should be able to tell you more when we get the results.”

  “Please call me right away.”

  “Absolutely. Snowflake’s due for another feeding in five minutes. We should probably let him rest now.” Scott held Snowflake’s head in both hands and looked into his eyes. Snowflake winked twice and purred. Scott rubbed the cat’s chin one more time, then let Snowflake’s head rest on a towel.

  “Get better, little buddy,” he told his sick cat. “I love you.”

  I escorted Scott back to the lobby. Stephanie
waited by the window, holding a thermos and a book. Once Scott was gone, Kim brought her back to the treatment room for the morning visit.

  I got to work seeing my appointments. Our last morning appointment belonged to two very special patients, Louisa and Peeper Lindstrom. The girls needed their annual checkups before heading to Florida with my folks. The previous fall, I discovered that Peeper had periodontal disease that could lead to tooth loss. I instructed my parents to brush her teeth and sent her home with poultry-flavored toothpaste and a brush. Now I would see if my parents listened to me.

  At 11 a.m., dad rolled into the parking lot in his large red truck used to pull their fifth-wheel camper. As was her custom and preference, Louisa, a Lab mix, rode shotgun, gazing out the passenger window. Peeper, a terrier mix, stood on her hind legs with her fronts on the back of the seat, scouting for squirrels. Peeper had a thing for squirrels.

  Dad parked on the far side of the lot by my car. He hooked a leash to Louisa’s collar and tucked Peeper under his arm. Although it looked uncomfortable, Peeper seemed to love it. She put her front paws on his flannel shirt while her back legs swung with every step.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lindstrom,” Kim greeted the trio.

  “Please call me Gordy,” he replied. He walked over to the scale and placed Peeper on the rubber pad. She immediately stood on her back legs and begged to be picked up.

  “No you don’t, little rascal.” Kim happily guided Peeper’s front legs back onto the mat. “We want an accurate weight.” The digital display stopped at 19 pounds. Peeper immediately jumped back into Gordy’s arms. “You’re next, Louisa,” Kim instructed. The dog sank to the floor when she realized it was her turn. Kim coaxed her onto the scale with a dog biscuit. Louisa never refused food, even the healthy clinic treats that we served. She wolfed down the cookie in one gulp, then searched the mat for crumbs.

  Kim led them through the cat room into the pharmacy/lab area. When they walked by the aquarium, the golden angelfish raised his fins and swam up to the front of the tank. Louisa stopped to investigate. The fish tried to attack her through the glass. She stared at the angry fish for two seconds, then continued on, leaving behind a large nose print. The fish swam slowly around the tank, daring her to return.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” I pulled a chart out of the plastic wall hanger.

  “Take your time, Krissy,” he replied. I smiled and disappeared into the dog exam room. Allie waved at dad, then followed me with a syringe filled with pink fluid in her hand. Our next patient needed a rabies booster.

  Louisa and Peeper hung close to my father. They knew from last year that bad things happen at the clinic — no amount of treats were going to fool them into believing otherwise. Dad wandered over to the birds for a visit. Bongo stayed in the middle of her perch, eyeing him nervously.

  Windsor slid down the bars of his cage to the lower feed cup and chirped loudly. He remembered Gordy from his visits to the farm. Dad would let Windsor out of his cage when he had coffee. The young bird crawled up and down his shirt, chewing on the buttons. If the dogs got too close, Windsor would assume the attack position with his yellow crest flattened against his head, fan his wings and open his beak. If the dog didn’t back off, he’d go in for the kill — a quick bite to the nose. Ouch! Poor Louisa had learned the hard way not to mess with Windsor.

  After saying hello, Windsor bowed his head and closed his eyes. Dad reached a finger between the bars and scratched him. The little gray bird savored the attention until Louisa’s nose appeared by the cage. Windsor assumed the attack position, ready to defend his castle. Dad pushed her nose away before Windsor could draw any blood. Louisa was a very, very sweet dog but did not finish at the top of her obedience class. Most times, it seemed she thought with her nose.

  “OK, I’m ready for the girls,” I announced as I left the dog room. Peeper and Louisa flattened their ears against their heads and looked for a place to hide. “Who wants to be first?” Louisa hid behind dad’s pants while Peeper tried to jump out of his arms. Kim looked at me and giggled. Although this was the first time she met my dad and the girls, Allie had told her all about them.

  Dad brought my reluctant patients to the middle of the room for their examinations.

  Kim unclipped the leash from Louisa’s collar and knelt by her side. Louisa immediately rolled onto her back with all four paws high in the air.

  “Wheezy,” I commanded. “You need to stand for exam.” I patted my leg with my hand and Louisa jumped to her feet. Kim quickly placed one arm under her abdomen to keep her from going down again, holding the collar with her other hand. Louisa stood perfectly still while I examined her ears.

  “Good girl, Wheezy,” I encouraged her before moving to her eyes. I shone the strong light into her left eye, past the brown iris to the back. Brilliant streaks of orange and yellow came into view. The vivid colors reminded me of some of the paintings at the Walker Art Center, wild and abstract. I switched to the right eye and repeated the process. I spun the dial on the ophthalmoscope to focus on the optic disc. My face was only three inches away from Louisa’s when the optic disc came into view. “Her eyes look …” Louisa suddenly licked me, right across the lips. Dad and Kim found it hilarious. I wiped my mouth on my lab coat sleeve, speechless. Louisa tried to lick me again, but this time I managed to push her off to the side before she reached my lips. Kim and Dad laughed harder. Louisa sensed I wasn’t happy with her greeting and rolled onto her back as a sign of submission. I performed the rest of her exam and even drew blood with her upside down.

  Now it was Peeper’s turn. I took her from Dad and placed her on the counter by the phone. The hair along her back felt stiff, like it had been sprayed into place. Mom must have been trying to hide Peeper’s mohawk again with mousse. Kim held Peeper’s head while I looked at her eyes and ears. “So now I’ll get to see if you’ve been brushing her teeth,” I said. Dad started to say something, but thought better of it. I pulled back her lips and was hit by an awful smell. Peeper’s premolars and molars were coated with tarter. The teeth in the front of her mouth looked pretty good, but the ones in back were nasty. Her gums were inflamed and painful to the touch.

  I cleared my throat and looked at Dad without saying a word.

  “We tried, Krissy, we really did,” he said. “But Peeper didn’t like it. I could do the front teeth, but she bit the brush when I tried to do her back ones.”

  “In dogs, the parotid salivary duct empties into the mouth right here,” I said, pointing to a small opening over the top of the carnassial tooth. “It’s important to brush all the teeth, but especially the ones located below this opening.” I wiped my fingers on a paper towel. “She needs a dental before you leave.” Dad nodded, avoiding eye contact with me. He stroked Louisa’s head while I finished the rest of Peeper’s exam.

  We did a blood draw and placed her on the floor. Peeper ran around in circles, relieved to be done. Louisa sniffed the counter, trying to reach the treat Peeper left behind. Kim asked her to sit. When her rear end hit the ground, Kim handed her the biscuit.

  While we waited for Kim to run heartworm tests on the dogs, Dad and I caught up on family news, golf and the upcoming drive to Florida. Eventually, the conversation turned to business.

  “How’s business? Are you keeping busy?” he asked.

  “Too busy. See the dark circles under my eyes? I’m exhausted.”

  “You do look tired, but you can never complain about too much business. I learned from my roofing company that business is always too much or not enough. It’s never just right.” He paused to make the point. “Businesses don’t stand still. They are either growing or drying up. Being too busy is a good problem to have.”

  “Well, this clinic is definitely growing. Besides the normal cases, I’ve been up the past two nights treating a sick cat.”

  “Is that why you look so tired?” Dad remarked. “I’ve never seen you this tired.”

  “That’s because you never
saw me during finals.”

  He laughed and nodded.

  “What do you think of Kim?” I asked.

  “She’s seems nice, but I have trouble hearing her.”

  “Yes, she has a soft voice and is a bit shy. I’m hoping she’ll come out of her shell with time.”

  Allie appeared in the doorway with a stack of records under her arm. “Hi, Gordy,” she greeted him, then each of the girls. Louisa trotted over to Allie with her tail whipping back and forth. Her nose went to the pocket on her scrub top where she kept treats. Louisa sat at her feet, fixated on the pocket. Allie laughed and petted her instead. When that didn’t work, Louisa plopped down and rolled over twice, then sat at her feet again.

  “OK, you deserve a treat for that,” Allie said, handing Louisa a biscuit in the flat of her hand to avoid being bitten.

  “We’d better get going, Krissy,” dad said. “You need to get back to work.” He smiled at me with a gleam in his eye. I could tell he was proud. Kim scheduled Peeper’s dental before he could sneak out the door.

  “Do we have Snowflake’s results yet?” I asked Allie.

  “No, the courier was late today. He said they wouldn’t be ready till 4 p.m.”

  “How did his morning feedings go?”

  “Same, he drools for 15 minutes after every feeding,” she answered as we walked into the treatment room. Goliath spotted us through the open kennel room door. He sprang to his feet and stood at the front of the first run, thumping his stump against his rear end. Allie walked into the kennel, reached through the gate and scratched his head. He stood with the toes of the surgical leg resting on the floor instead of holding it in the air.