As the holidays approach, it seems that many of us have stories to tell about our cats. I am enjoying these stories and have a story of my own to add. It's true there is no commercial or religious association between Christmas and cats but any cat lover has at least one picture of the family cat or cats, peering out of the branches of the Christmas tree with a tinsel wrapped nose and a wild look in their eyes.
I have been without many things in my life, without money, without a job, without friends or a husband. I have never been without a cat. I have started out three times with a new husband and I always had at least one cat by my side. I have always been fortunate to find men who liked cats. My second husband actually considered suing for custody of our cat Gladys. Gladys was a very charismatic cat. Thinking back on my childhood, I wonder at my love for cats as both my parents viewed cats as slinky, sneaky animals. My cat was only allowed in the house during the harshest weather while the family dog sat at our feet come dinner time. All my cats found me, except one. They appeared as starving, bedraggled kittens in the bushes, or at the back door seducing me with that plaintive meow that only kittens have. Neighbors would report sightings of stray kittens in case I might need another cat. I never had more than three cats in my house but the soul of a cat lady lurks inside me and I always feel sad when I have to turn a stray away. Before Lance, all my cats were outside cats, only coming in to visit and eat. They all lived long lives. Gladys, a grey long hair and excellent mouser lived to be twenty two. Abby, a Siamese mix who liked to gift us with snakes lived to be twenty. Frisky, a black and white calico allowed our daughter to dress her up in doll clothes and would sometimes disappear for days at a time. We thought she might have more than one home. Then there was Lance.
Lance was the exception to the rule in more ways than one. I found him, staring out of a cage at the mall pet store. He was the only cat left and clearly unhappy.
He was a beautiful marmalade kitten. Until that day, it was my rule to not buy pet shop animals. Many friends of mine had done so and ended up with sick, sometimes psychotic pets. I remembered all this as I watched the kitten in his cage, pacing in circles like a tiny tiger. Even as I considered my friends misadventures with pet shop purchases, my feet were taking the rest of me into the store, up to the counter. It is amazing how fast your wish for something can become reality, even when you know better. The store clerk assured me that the kitten was healthy and had been given all its shots. So Lance became the first and only cat I bought and I was soon on my way home with a kitten instead of a shower curtain,
At home, Lance was welcomed into the family. My husband showed him the food and the litter box. My other two cats, both picky old maids, retired to their favorite hiding places to sulk. It was clear Lance would be a big cat as he was all paws and whiskers. Of course, it was only a matter of weeks before the pet shop curse hit in the form of a respiratory infection. He became sick on a Sunday so we made a visit to the Emergency Animal Clinic. The diagnosis was a severe infection and he was kept overnight in a cage with an oxygen feed. This was followed by a week long stay at my regular vets as he needed long term antibiotics and supervision.
Upon recovery, Lance quickly became a member of our family. He grew to be a very affectionate cat who seemed to be channeling a cocker spaniel. There was nothing aloof or predatory about Lance. He was an ever moving ball of orange fur who wanted nothing more than all the attention he could get. Gradually our older cats came to accept him and all was well for two years.
Three months after Lances’ second birthday, he appeared at the door after his usual evening outing. When I opened the door, I saw that he was not walking but instead dragging his hind legs behind him, he was headed for the food dish. He did not seem to be in any pain. Settling Lance in the cat carrier, we made another trip to the Emergency Clinic. Once there, we had a long wait as it was a busy night with many injured and sick pets waiting their turn. I noticed one family with somber faces, huddled around an older German Shepard who lay, panting on the floor its head resting in the lap of a young girl with tears in her eyes. Silently we waited our turn. After what seemed like hours, we were called into an examining room. Since Lance could not stand or walk, X-rays were taken and we were once again in the waiting room. The family with the German Shepard was still there but the dog was gone. As I watched, they slowly put their coats on and left the clinic. After another long wait, we were called back to a conference room. The consensus of opinion was that Lance had either been grazed by a car or hit with something. His spine appeared to be bruised but not seriously injured so we were asked to leave him there for over night observation.
When we returned the next morning, the doctor in charge was grim and the diagnosis had changed. Lance was suffering from a fractured spine. We were told that his only hope was spinal surgery which would have to take place within the next few hours. We were referred to the state college animal hospital ninety miles away. It was Sunday but the contact there said they would see Lance if we could deliver him immediately. We were also told that without the surgery, Lance would have to be put to sleep.
It was the two Sundays before Thanksgiving, cold and cloudy. As we drove to Columbia, Lance slept a medicated sleep in the cat carrier and my husband and I gave each other pep talks on modern animal medical practices. Three hours after leaving the Emergency Clinic we were sitting in the waiting area at Columbia listening to the doctor on call explain the process, the risks and the possible outcomes. The doctor was a woman and a teaching professor at Columbia. Her assistants were student interns. Lance, she explained was suffering from a partially severed spinal cord. The tissue around the cord was rapidly swelling and that swelling would soon make surgery impossible. If we choose to proceed, she would attempt to insert a pin to reconnect the spine. Lance being a young cat, was a good candidate for surgery but even the best outlook suggested a much subdued life if the surgery was successful. Lance would probably never run or climb stairs, jump or play again. If we were lucky, he would be able to walk, use the litter box and eat. We needed to make a decision. Now. We thought about our house, a split level with lots of steps. We thought about the other cats, how would they react if Lance became an invalid? We thought mainly of Lance, would he be happy with this new restricted existence? In the end we agreed to the surgery. We were told to go home and wait. If Lance was able to use the letter box within forty eight hours of the procedure, they would considerate it a success. Otherwise, they would recommend he be put to sleep.
It was a quiet ride home and a quiet evening. Neither of us wanted to think that we might lose Lance. Three days after the surgery, I heard from the doctor. Lance was up and able to use the box. We could come and get him on Saturday.
While we waited for the intern to bring Lance, the doctor explained his at home care and his medications.
It would be weeks before he could walk and we needed to restrict his environment, she suggested a play pen.
She also described manipulations we could do as he sat in our laps, pulling and pushing his back legs to keep the muscle tone and last she reminded us not to expect too much.
If the pin healed in place and he could walk, she felt we should be happy.
As she finished up, Lance arrived and was set on the exam table in front of his carrier. All the fur covering his back had been shaved off and we could see the stitches along his spine.
He immediately dragged his body into the carrier.
He was ready to go home.
At home, we had constructed a Lance cave out of a playpen with a plywood cover to keep the other cats out. There was food, water and a small litter box. Gently we lowered Lance into the playpen. He immediately fell over and went to sleep. For the next few weeks we had a set routine. We changed the litter, and water before we went to work. We gave him his medication after dinner while I held him in my lap and gave him the suggested leg exercises. He seemed to know this was good for him as he never fought us. As the days passed he became stronger, able to push himself up to a standing position and within three weeks he was trying to claw his way out of the playpen.
A month after the surgery, we let him out of the playpen to see what he would do. It was immediately clear that he could walk and also clear that he was not going back to the playpen as he crawled under the couch. From that day on he continued to heal, far surpassing the doctors forecast. Within two months, he could go up and down the stairs. At six months, he was running and making small jumps.
When the surgeon did her final checks, taking another X-ray and noting his movements, she was amazed at how well he was able to get around. She said she had never seen a cat recover from this type of surgery to the extent that Lance recovered. I have my own theory about Lance. No one told him he would never run or jump again. He didn’t know he was not supposed to be able to climb the stairs. As he recovered movement, he wanted more and the more he moved the more he wanted. So he just kept trying.
There is a postscript to this story. My cats no longer go outside on their own. We built them a play garden with a six foot high fence so they can no longer run free. It has been almost ten years since Lance was injured and I still see him, sitting on the window sill in the living room, with a look in his eye that says he would go back out there in a minute if I would just open the door.
