by Sharon Lee
White with black ears and a magnificent tail when he arrived, Max! aged gracefully into a cafe-au-lait wonder, despite his odd hearing. Max! and Kodi hit it off quite well – attraction of the opposites – and that helped later on when Kodi's "textbook" macular degeneration took her sight. The house adjusted to Kodi's state by leaving most things where they were and by creating designated box zones – places Kodi avoided because things changed and she might run into them there.
Eventually, Nicky slowed and slowed more and more, until he'd about recall that he was eating and sometimes fell asleep at the task. He crossed the bridge, as did Patia and Kodi.
Along the way, though, had come our first Maine Coon cat, Mozart. Mozart's old position – he'd been first cat at a house on the southern coast – had been eliminated when his mistress brought in something called a "husband." He came to the Cat Farm via air-taxi to New Hampshire, and then a ride to Maine in the Blazer. Patia ruled the roost... but for some reason, as defensive as she'd been about her food with all the other cats, Mozart could tuck in beside her and eat from her plate while she was eating. Mozart's first days in the Cat Farm were noticeable because he disappeared into the basement's drop ceiling, coming out only at night, and for the absolute fear he showed of Steve's feet when Steve had boots on.
As time went on and local stores went in and out of business, The Animal House opened in town, and began to feature visiting catstaff from the local shelter. Artie at Animal House tended to an open cage policy, and young Scrabble, a streetwise veteran at an estimated age of 14 months, came to be a counter-top regular, comfortably sleeping next to the cash register... and taking note of Steve each time he came in, daintily stretching and bowing. Artie swore that it was only Steve she did this for, and a visit by Sharon seemed to confirm this, so eventually Scrabble came to the Cat Farm to takeover a vacancy in Steve's co-piloting chair.
And that is the kind of place Hexapuma came to, a house where window seats were put in for the cats, where accommodations were made for Kodi's blindness and for the declining jumping ability of Patia and Nick, where cat sitters meet and greet before they take on the responsibility, where it took clear clinical evidence that, for whatever reason, young Dulsey was not thriving here before we decided to return her to the disposition of the home cattery...where she apparently found a place more suitable to her constitution.
Hexapuma's move to East Winslow came together at the end of an AlbaCon. Driving a few miles west of the consite on a Monday, to the Neptune Diner in Oneonta, NY, where the Blueblazemobile arrived at breakfast time, the Cat Farm contingent met and admired him for the first time. At that point his right eye still tended to be over-dry and his ears needed daily drops and frequent cleaning as a result of his surgery. Once the change of cat carriers was made, Hex sat alertly behind the pilot and co-pilot in the Forester, and after awhile allowed the miles of interstate driving to lull him to sleep. On arrival at the Cat Farm he was shown the facilities … and settled right in, despite the early dismay of Scrabble and Mozart, who had become accustomed to a two cat household.
And so Hexapuma went from a large cat-centric cattery situation to a quiet country situation. His "bad" eye became less bad and eventually stopped developing daily crudspots; his ears seemed improved, his demeanor, always acceptable, became even better as he made his way from a cat-couch sitter to a people couch sitter, and began even to take part in the nightly catpile on the bed.
Yet something was still not quite right. His ears were... not always good, and sometimes were odorous. He wasn't gaining weight as fast as expected, and he often shook his head in a way that showed he wasn't pleased, and he scratched himself in an effort to get at something bothersome below his ears. Thus, after months of pouring various antibiotics into him, our local vet suggested that it might be time to attempt a surgical solution – one that he wasn't comfortable in performing himself.
Adventuring to Portland, Hexapuma met the vet and staff with his usual straightforward interest. The diagnosis confirmed, the prognosis was indeed continued trouble if something wasn't done. So the die was cast, and his affected ear was drilled, scraped, and cleansed of a number of polyps, (which should not return). He came through his operation with panache, quickly disdaining the "cone of shame" or "Elizabethan collar" he was gifted with.
After 10 days, and a trip to the local vet, Hex is confirmed as doing well. His bare neck and ugly scar are giving way to fresh fur, and his hesitant sitting under the kitchen table has given way to a return to his normal social self. All is well!
All is well, except that the Cat Farm's finances were hard struck. Thus, the book you have in your hands, a special editon of The Cat's Job, with Hexapuma's photo on the front cover, of which $5 from each of the first 400 copies goes to pay down the cost of his surgery and the last few months of antibiotics and local vet bills.
And that's part of where Anthony Trollope comes in, because as you see, we in the tale all have our parts, as ordained by our background and breeding and family history, with Scrabble taking the brown-cat in charge role, Mozart taking the handsome elder-cat role, Hexapuma taking the rakish young cat with a problem survived role, and Sharon and Steve taking the long-time cat people role. Our stories began before you knew us, and now that you do know us, you know our stories continue, with ripples moving through history. Thanks for riding the wave, thanks for reading, and thanks for your support.
-- Steve Miller and Sharon Lee
writing from the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory
April 2010