She's back.
Yes. Our so-called cat has returned again.
On the plus side, she doesn't seem to need anything amputated or any sort of veterinary care that would cause a $1000 vet bill. On the negative, she's totally emaciated again. Seems that she comes back only after she's digested all of her muscle mass, her organs have shriveled to little pebbles, and her guts are already basically guitar strings. THEN she decides, "hey, why not head home and get a snack?" Only THEN, when death is standing over her with a sickle at the ready, when she's seeing the tunnel, does she come home. I can't figure out the extremely low-grade survival instinct of this cat. But in any case, here she is.
She left on March 8, I see from an old blog entry on the subject. This reminds me that the first time she pulled this, the vet mentioned that a cat can live without eating for about ten weeks. So, true to form, she's been gone almost exactly ten weeks. From the looks of her, she hasn't eaten so much as a spider in that time. You can feel every single bone, not just spine and ribs, but femur, tibia and fibula. Her dusty fur is all disheveled and clotted with burrs.
She appeared maybe ten days ago, a rainy Wednesday night when Ben and I were driving down the driveway for our date. He spotted her in the rain soaked bushes. I briefly considered trying to catch her, but Ben pointed on the non-romance of that concept. I let it go quite easily, not wanting to wallow around in the wet underbrush in my nice clothes, presumably a futile effort anyway. I hoped (?) that she would get herself to the garage, like any sensible cat… but… Anyway, to my amazement a few days later she did appear in the garage.
I called her and she emerged from a gap in the wood pile. I fed her and petted her and did a cursory medical exam. Just emaciation. I brought out her heated cat bed and settled on a plan of giving her a small single serving can of cat food a few times a day– this after realizing that her dessicated stomach is about the size of a lima bean, and I was inadvertently feeding an unsavory black and white tom cat with her leftovers.
Now I have a new cat problem. Bagheera is a very brilliant, sane cat. He's shown himself able to be indoor/outdoor with aplomb. He comes when called, usually, and knows enough to sit in front of the door and meow when he wants to come in. So the last few nights, he's been staying out past bedtime, and I've been concerned about him. So I've been going to the door and calling him. ANd guess who comes trotting out of the garage, happy as you please? Saying, "Oh, you called? Here I am!" A couple times I have let Bagheera in, and kept her out, and she's sat there on the stoop gazing in with her glowing green "I'm just a poor little hungry kitten" eyes. She wants to be a part of the family again! I dread letting her back in the house, for fear of peeing issues– among other things!
I mentioned this problem to Ben. I began, "Zane Grey wants–" and he said, "No." I said, "She really wants to come in—" And he said, "No. She's like a drunk. You can't keep trying to save her."
So… I think we're working out the new arrangements. She has many comforts of home in the garage, such as food and heated cat bed. It's basically summer. I've been petting her frequently, and even spent some time with the kids on the grass the other day, trying to brush out her burrs. She purrs intensely when she sees me. I think she's happy. The little dingbat.