Ophelia has been ailing again. She didn’t want to eat. I offered to help by eating Ophelia’s food but you can imagine what the Mom said.
Ophelia nibbles. My mom keeps coaxing her to eat more. Ophelia stopped purring.
So my mom took her to the vet today.
“I don’t think Ophelia is thirteen,” she told the vet. “I think they lied. She acts like a 17-year-old cat. She’s all bony.”
The vet agreed: Ophelia has taken on the qualities of a very old cat.
“Here’s the thing,” my mom said. “You’ve got an old, fat cat. You want to give it a home. The cat is 11, 12, 13 or more. That sounds OLD. So you mark the cat’s age down to 9. Single digits. Now she’s more adoptable.”
Even so, my mom never tires of saying, Ophelia spent 30 days in a cage in the Seattle SPCA. She was lucky to get adopted at all.
So my mom is back to giving Ophelia fluids and medication. Ophelia’s got that smug look, like, “I’m gonna win this one! No more dry food.”
Look at this impertinence. My crate has been placed in a corner of our living room because my mom can’t figure out where else to put it.
So Ophelia decides she wants to drink from MY water dish. Ophelia has always liked drinking from dishes, glasses and cups that aren’t hers. She drives my mom crazy: she drinks my mom’s ice water, iced tea and even iced coffee. When she doesn’t find anything to drink from my mom, she goes to my crate. She has a perfectly good water dish of her own, right on the floor next to mine.
Ophelia’s shape is a little odd because some of her fur was shaved for her ultrasound. It’s growing back very slowly. She doesn’t seem to notice, but we do.
Ophelia has always been the Queen. I’m just the princess. Life is tough.
Is this scene getting old? I think so, but the mom remains enthusiastic.
“Gracie, you and Ophelia are getting along so well!” she exclaims. “We need to capture this moment.”
Fine, mom. You just interrupted our nap. Ophelia may be a spoiled fluffball, but she knows exactly how to hook our mom. She’s mastered “cute.”
“Hard to believe Ophelia was once a miserable kitty in a small cage,” my mom says. “When she first came she waged war on Creampuff. Her fur was a mess. And now…”
Right. After hundreds of dollars of vet bills and top quality food, we have a fat, furry housemate who clearly enjoys her life with us. She jumps up in my mom’s lap. She inherited Tiger’s position as dominant cat. Luckily Creampuff is too ditzy to care.
And I don’t care who runs the household, as long as Cathy’s schedule gets dictated by my treats, walks and naps.
Look who’s on a home page – top story of Your Organizing Business! Our own housemate. My mom wrote a blog post about how starting a business is not unlike adopting a cat. To illustrate, she used the photo of – who else? The cat who inspired the story: our own expensive adoptee.
Ophelia is a 15-pound, 11-year old cat. As you can see, she’s still pretty frisky, especially when my mom adds some catnip to her favorite toy. We were hoping for more gymnastics. I gotta admit it: Ophelia has some really cool moves.
Thank goodness dogs don’t do drugs. We canine princesses have to maintain our dignity.
This one’s been watched over 5 million times. Good grief. My mom says, “Now you know why I never, ever feed Ophelia and Creampuff in the morning. They aren’t trained to get food as soon as they wake up…or as soon as I wake up!”
Okay, here are our two feline housemates. They’re engaged in their favorite activity: eating. Ophelia may be the champion but Creampuff isn’t exactly holding back. They’re both so absorbed in feeding their furry faces. They don’t even notice they’re co-existing peacefully, side by side.
My mom loves these scenes. “See?” she says. “Even full grown cats can learn to get along.”
Yeah, yeah…so what’s the big deal? Ophelia’s been here for over 2 years now. Nobody’s gotten killed. No blood has been shed. Occasionally we hear a yowl…very rarely these days. They’re settled.
But I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more photos of these cats. Ten years from now, we will see two senior cats, side by side, and my mom will be reaching for the camera. “Oh look, Gracie! They’re getting along!” she will exclaim. Picture #1000 ready to roll.
Even my mom was surprised. She picked up the Week In Review Section of the New York Times to catch up on current events. Right on the front page of this section was a big story about a stray cat the author found in India. It’s the old story about a scraggly cat that recovered, with the help of a lot of love and good food.
Ophelia was a little scraggly when she came to live with us. She wasn’t exactly starving like that cat. She weighed fifteen pounds. She had an eye infection and she hated Creampuff. Now she’s got a healthy coat, she tolerates Creampuff and she still weighs fifteen pounds.
“The cat in the story liked to roam around,” my mom said. “That would never work here.”
We all feel sad about Creampuff sometimes. This ditzy calico loves the outdoors. With the right owner, she’d be an indoor/outdoor cat, my mom says. Alas, she’s destined to spend her life inside, as a city apartment cat. She seems happy. She purrs a lot.
And after all, what choices did she have? She wouldn’t have survived another month at that shelter. Let’s not go there.
But we’re still puzzled. How does a cat story merit all that space in a distinguished newspaper?