I stepped onto an entryway rug decorated with sunflowers in shades of yellow and orange. In Minnesota, it’s the custom to leave your shoes at the door to keep the dirt outside. I reluctantly removed my boots and left them on the rug. Thank goodness, I wore black socks.
The front door opened into the living room with a big picture window in the center. Two high-back chairs flanked a fireplace at the far end. The worn fabric exposed the wood on each arm. Lining the mantle were silver and gold trophies with blue ribbons clipped to their bases. A well-used sofa lined the wall opposite the picture window. Piles of Cat Fancy magazines covered the coffee table.
In the corner, I saw a cat sleeping on the shag carpeting. Her calico coat blended in so well with the rust carpeting that I almost missed her. Two more cats perched on a table below the picture window. A variety of cat toys littered the floor. Although the decor needed updating, everything looked clean. Why did it smell so bad?
“Before we get the kitten, I want to show you something,” Sonya said with a glimmer in her eye.
“Thanks, but I must get back to the clinic.”
“It will just take a minute,” Sonya insisted. I followed her through the dining room into the kitchen. Wild sunflower paper covered the walls. The avocado appliances matched the stems perfectly. Bright orange cafe curtains hung over each window with a plastic sunflower suspended from the valance. Sonya redecorated the house when she bought it with her husband in 1974. After the divorce, she barely had enough money to raise her son, let alone redecorate.
Sonya opened a door off the kitchen and beckoned for me to follow her. Two steps down the narrow stairway, the smell of cat urine grew stronger. The back of my throat started to burn. I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and held it to my nose. When we hit the landing, my eyes filled with tears. I blinked several times while my pupils adjusted to the dimly lit basement.
Lined up against the back wall, I saw four large cages with blankets hung between them. Each cage contained several perches with a soft bed on the top one, a water bowl, a food bowl and a litter box. Kernels of field corn filled the box. Although the corn was cheap, it provided no odor absorption whatsoever.
Large tomcats rested in the first three cages. When they saw us, they jumped from the upper perch to a lower one at the front of the cage. They rubbed the bars and meowed for attention. The fourth cage was empty. I felt a cat rub against my legs. Sonya bent down and picked up a handsome brown tabby with folded ears.
“This is Jack, my new breeding tom,” Sonya said. “I traded two kittens to get him.” She held him in the classic show pose with his body stretched between her hands.
“He’s gorgeous,” I said, studying his round face and stout body. “The swirls in his coat are so crisp.”
“Yeah, I got him to strengthen the tabby markings in my lines,” Sonya said. She scratched his head before returning him to the floor. “I let each tom have the run of the basement for six hours. I don’t think it’s fair to keep a cat cooped up all the time.” While Sonya introduced me to the other boys, I watched Jack scurry over to the wall by Sonya’s washer and dryer, lift his tail and spray urine. Yuck! There’s nothing worse than urine from an intact tomcat. Now I knew why her house smelled so bad!
We went back upstairs, and Sonya showed me to a bedroom that she had turned into a cat playground. The small room featured a carpeted climbing structure in the middle. A small white cat with a pink nose sat on the top perch watching another white cat claw a scratching post. Balls, bells and feathers hung from strings attached to the structure. A water fountain gurgled on the floor next to the closet.
“What are you naming the kitten again?” Sonya asked as she closed the door behind us.
“Radar,” I answered.
She laughed and shook her head.
Across the hall from the playroom, she ushered me into another bedroom she converted into a kennel area. Wire cages stacked on top of each other lined the long narrow room. Each cage was about five feet long by two feet wide. One end contained a food bowl, water bowl and a bed while the other had the litter box.
“Meow, meow, meow,” the cats called to us. They rubbed their bodies along the sides of their cages. One orange tabby poked her paw through the bars, trying to touch us.
“These are the girls and their babies,” Sonya said, touching the orange tabby’s paw. “And Radar is over here.” She pointed at the upper cage to my right.
Inside, I spotted a white cat with large patches of silver striped fur and ears folded tight against her forehead. Behind her, Radar sat quietly listening to the room. He looked just like his mom with one exception — his ears stood straight up.
“Wow, he’s grown so much since I last saw him,” I exclaimed. “His markings are gorgeous.”
“Yes, I like the silver mint on white coloration,” Sonya replied. “It shows well, which is why I got Jack.” Sonya reached inside, let Radar sniff her hand, then picked him up. “Sorry that his ears didn’t fold, but I’m guessing you won’t mind. I mean, if you don’t mind the blindness, you wouldn’t care about his ears.” She laughed again.
“I don’t mind at all. I think he’s handsome just the way he is.” I gave Radar a quick hug and placed him in the carrier. He left dusty footprints on my coat. “Thanks again, Sonya, for taking care of him.”
“I’ll be stopping by to check on him. I’m still not sure this is the best solution for him. I mean,” she paused. “How will he get around?”
“He’ll learn to see with his other senses,” I told her. “Once he has the clinic memorized, he’ll run around like a sighted cat.”
Sonya frowned.
“You’ll see.” I tried to reassure her.
I wrapped a towel around the carrier to protect Radar from the cold. He sat inside, blissfully unaware of the radical change coming his way. His mother rubbed against the bars, still begging for attention. Would she miss Radar, or was she happy to have the rambunctious teenager moving out of her space? It was hard to tell.
Sonya opened the cage door. “Come here, Missy,” she said, picking up the cat. Missy scrambled onto her shoulder, wrapping her body around the back of Sonya’s head. She peered at me from under Sonya’s hair. “Sure you can’t stay for a cup of coffee?” Sonya asked.
“I’m afraid not,” I replied. “I need to get back for the afternoon appointments.” I walked to the front door with Sonya trailing. “Thanks again, Sonya.” I hurried down the walkway to my car, placed the carrier on the passenger seat and strapped it in place with the seatbelt.
“Time to go to your new home, Radar,” I said while starting the engine. “I’m sure Genny can’t wait to meet you.” As we drove off, I noticed Sonya standing in the picture window with one hand over her mouth and a tissue in the other. Missy remained on her shoulders, the cat’s tail wrapped around Sonya’s forehead. I leaned over the carrier to wave goodbye. Sonya waved back and dabbed at her eyes.
Radar rested in the carrier without making a sound. I pulled the blanket off the left side, exposing the top half, removed the glove from my right hand and inserted my index finger through one of the ventilation holes. Radar sniffed my finger, then rubbed his cheek against it.
“Hey, little buddy,” I said to him in soothing tones. “Do you remember me? You fit in the palm of my hand the last time I saw you.” Radar purred loudly while I rubbed his neck. “I think you do.” I drove the rest of the way to the clinic with one hand on the wheel and my other hand on the crate. Radar leaned his body into my fingers for the entire trip.
When we arrived, I saw two faces peering through the front door. Allie and Kim waited eagerly for Radar. Neither one had spent much time around a blind animal, and they were eager to see how Radar would handle the lack of vision. I bundled him up before removing the carrier for the quick walk across the parking lot.
“What took so long?” Allie asked. She shivered against the cold winter air while holding the door open. “We were beginning to worry you skidded off the road.”
“I’ll bet that smells good,” Kim said with a giggle. She took the carrier from me and placed it on the counter. “Radar, are you in there?” she asked while unwrapping the carrier. The kitten sat facing the back. Kim reached through the metal bars of the door to pet him. When her long fingernails touched his fur, he jumped. “Sorry, Sweetie, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Radar turned around and sniffed her fingers.
Allie opened the door, let him smell her hands for five seconds, then swept him into her arms.
“Phew, he stinks,” she said with a wrinkled nose. Radar nestled into her chest, purring like a chain saw. “Besides a bath, what do you want us to do with him?”
“He needs a FELV, FIV and FIP test as well as CBC, chemistries, urinalysis and a fecal,” I replied. “He’s also under quarantine for two weeks.”
“Two weeks!” Kim said, taking the kitten from Allie. “That’s a long time for such a cute little guy.”
“Two weeks,” I reaffirmed. “And be sure to disinfect yourselves after handling him, including your clothes. I don’t want any cross-contamination.”
“Come on, Radar. Let’s get you away from that mean mom of yours,” Kim teased. She tucked Radar under one arm, took the carrier in her other and headed off to the treatment room.
“There are a few people who want to talk to you right away,” Allie informed me before following Kim. “You might want to call them before appointments.”
Radar sat still for his blood draw and urine sample, but now came the real test — a bath. Kim stood by the bathtub, wearing a protective smock. Radar rested in her arms while the water warmed, his ears focused in on the strange noise. When the temperature felt good on her skin, Kim placed the kitten in the tub. Radar tried to scramble back into her arms when his paws touched the slippery porcelain.
“OK, little buddy, here comes the water,” she warned him. She turned his rear end toward the faucet and let the water run on his tail. Radar flicked his sturdy tail from side to side, spraying water all over the walls. Kim used a cupped hand to divert the stream over Radar’s back. Radar arched his back but didn’t try to escape. He reached his head around to lick the water on his short coat. Kim let him taste the water before pushing his mouth away. When his entire body was wet, Kim placed a dab of shampoo in her hands and rubbed them together. Radar stood alone for 5 seconds, then meowed.
“I’m here, Radar,” Kim reassured him. She massaged the shampoo into his coat, starting with his head working back to his tail. Radar leaned this way and that to make sure she got all the itchy places. His purrs echoed off the tub, attracting the attention of an unwanted visitor. Genny stood on her back leg, braced her front paws against Kim’s leg and tried to get a peek at the newcomer.
“Allie, can you come get Genny?” Kim yelled. Upon hearing her name, Genny scampered into the treatment room under the bank of cages. “Never mind.”
Kim let Radar soak in the shampoo for 10 minutes before rinsing him off. Radar walked back and forth under the faucet, letting the water hit him all over. He even pawed at the stream of water with his front left paw. Kim rinsed him and then rinsed him again to make sure all of the medicated shampoo was gone. When she turned off the water, Radar’s head jerked up toward the faucet. He listened for 10 seconds, then stood on his back legs and pawed the air below the spout. When he lost his balance, he circled around the drain but kept looking up at the faucet.
Kim wrapped Radar in a warm towel with only his head showing. She carried him back into the treatment room and toweled off most of the water while he stood on the table. Now the big test. She plugged in the blow dryer, set it to low and turned it on. Radar listened intently to the strange noise. After two minutes, she held the dryer two feet from him and let the warm breeze blow over him. The gentle air currents lifted the hair on his back. Radar wiggled his nose but didn’t try to run away. Slowly, Kim moved the dryer closer and closer until the force made his hair move like the wind in a field of oats. Radar played with the wind, trying to bite it twice. Kim directed the force at his feet. Radar jumped around, trying to put his paw on top of the wind.
“Hey, what are you two doing?” I asked as I entered the room.
“Radar liked his bath, and he loves the blow dryer,” Kim reported. “He sure doesn’t act like he has a handicap.”
“In his mind, he doesn’t. Being blind is normal for him. I am willing to bet that he’ll use his other senses to get into just as much trouble as a sighted cat.”
Radar sat on the table while I examined him. I expected to see ear mites, but his ears were clean. Sharp baby teeth filled his mouth from front to back. Dark brown stains started at the corner of both eyes extending to down to his nose. I used a cotton ball to remove a piece of dried discharge.
“What’s causing those stains?” Kim asked. “I really scrubbed them, but it made no difference.”
“Even though Radar does not have eyeballs, he still has tear glands,” I explained. “Without the globe to push the tears into the opening of the lacrimal duct, the fluid accumulates in his eyes and then spills down his face when he tilts his head forward.” I bent down to smell the area. “Did you notice he has a sweet smell?”
Kim nodded.
“That’s because yeast love to live in the warm moist secretions.”
“Is there any treatment for it? I mean, can we put ear medicine in the socket?”
I shook my head. “When he gets old enough, I’ll surgically clean out the sockets and suture his eyelids closed.” I continued my examination by listening to the kitten’s heart. When Radar started to purr, Kim blew in his nose to stop him.
After palpating his abdomen, I finished by feeling his tail. Some Scottish Folds have a condition called “stiff tail”. The coccygeal vertebrae do not hinge properly, leading to a lack of full extension. Cats with this condition cannot lift the tip of their tail in a smooth arc. Sometimes, the condition is so severe that the tail is always kinked or twisted. When I ran my fingers down Radar’s tail, the last inch lacked a little flexibility. Cats with stiff tail are excluded from showing but otherwise do not seem to suffer from the condition.
“Sorry, Radar,” I said. I put my hands on both sides of his face and rubbed his cheeks. “No showing for you!”
Allie walked in carrying a stack of records. “These are your callbacks,” she announced. “I’ll put them on your desk.” She turned to go but stopped suddenly. “And your first afternoon appointment is here. I’ll put him in a room, then I’m outa here. I love having the early shift.”
“That’s not what you say at 8 a.m.,” I teased. Allie marched up front, ignoring me. “Must have a date,” I guessed. Kim smiled but said nothing.
Chapter 21
Ivan’s Girl
Rich Harris came home from work early because of the icy roads. He had noticed a reddish fluid on the bathroom tile. Ivan the Doberman urinated normally when Rich let the dogs outside. The snow looked yellow without any signs of blood. Rich had scooped up a sample of the snow in a plastic sandwich bag to show me. He also had scraped a sample of the mystery fluid from the tile onto a hunting knife. It definitely had a red tint to it.
“Hello, Rich,” I said upon entering the room. Ivan looked at Rich, waiting for permission to greet me. Rich made him sit for 15 seconds before releasing him. Ivan pranced over to me with a happy grin. I extended my hand to rub his head, but Ivan had other ideas. He swung his rear end toward me, wagging his little stump. After I scratched his back, he planted his rump on my foot.
“He seems pretty normal to me, Rich,” I said with a laugh.
“Ivan,” Rich called. “Come.” The Doberman looked at his owner to see if he really meant it before obeying. Rich rolled his eyes and smirked. “He knows exactly what I want him to do but he’s testing me. He’s such a butthead sometimes.” Rich ordered the dog to stand for exam. Ivan planted all four paws in a perfect
square, extended his head and perked his ears.
“Wow, did you show him, Rich?” I asked.
He nodded. “As a puppy, he won best of breed at a big show and came second in group, but he hated it.” Rich sighed. “So that was his first and last show.”
I started at Ivan’s head and worked my way back to his tail without finding anything unusual. I reached into the drawer for a disposable glove and lube. Now it was time for the procedure all males hate, the prostate exam! Rich knelt beside the dog’s head with one hand on his collar and the other on his head. I lifted his tail and tried to slide my gloved index finger into his rectum. Ivan puckered so tight that I had a hard time getting inside. I pushed forward but my finger was too short to feel his prostate. With a little help from my other hand pushing up on his abdomen, I could barely feel the posterior aspect of the round organ. Ivan didn’t flinch.
“I could only feel a little of the back part of his prostate,” I informed Rich. “Although he didn’t react, it felt more squishy than I would like. I’m worried that he has prostatitis.”
“But I’ve never used him for breeding,” Rich replied.
“Doesn’t matter,” I answered. “Over time, the gland hypertrophies from the testosterone, creating all sorts of problems. I’ll need to do some more tests, but if I’m right…” I paused to look at Rich. “He’ll need to be neutered. Without all the testosterone, the gland will slowly shrink.”
“No, I don’t want him neutered. All the people at Schutzhund told me it ruins their drive. I like his attitude.”
“Is that so? I distinctly remember you using the word ‘butthead’ to describe his attitude on several occasions.” My comment did not amuse Rich. He absentmindedly ran his hand over Ivan’s head over and over again.
“Rich, in my experience, neutering a dog does not change its drive, but it does improve their work ethic.”
Coated With Fur: A Blind Cat's Love Page 22