Category Archives: Crazy Cat
**In case you were wondering – Bugsy, the Insane is much better. He’s eating (a little) again, and keeping it down, and he even ‘attacked’ Hubby last night, rolling on his back for skritches and a short boxing match.**
No, it wasn’t me.
It was my darling, diabetic, geriatric cat – Bugsy, the Insane.
You’ve read about him here before, I’m sure.
He’s 13 yrs. old and diabetic. For some, as yet unknown, reason he began rainbow-projectile vomiting all over the carpet in my room, the hall, the living room, the front entry, hubby’s shoes….everywhere, in the middle of the night this past Saturday.
Since he repeatedly emptied his stomach contents, his blood sugar levels dropped and he began pacing, screeching << yes, screeching, yowling, drooling, alternately flopping on the floor and getting stuck under furniture on Sunday.
I didn’t panic (much) as I’ve seen this before.
The solution to a sugar crash is the rapid ingestion of sugar.
Sugar ingestion..in a cat.
In a cat, totally unaware of his surroundings and 1000% stressed.
A cat with sharp teeth and claws.
On our first attempt hubby held Bugsy by the shoulder as I put some honey on my finger to rub on his gums.
The minute my honey-covered digit touched his gum he shook his head. Honey flew in my eye, in hubby’s hair, on both Bugsy’s paws and splattered on the floor.
It’s amazing how much of a mess a few drops of honey can make.
Undeterred, we tried again. This time we used a soft-coated baby spoon left over from grandchildren’s visits.
Hubby hung onto Bugsy again, and I attempted to aim the spoon in his mouth from behind with one eye open. The other one had by now begun to harden shut with honey.
Right on cue, Bugsy shook his head, but this time I was prepared and shove the spoon between his teeth as he did so. He bit down on the spoon, wrenching it from my hand, and flung it across the room.
It hit the dog and she scampered across the floor, losing her footing and crashing into the kitchen table.
I had been holding Bugsy’s jaw, so now my hands and his facial fur were coated in drool and honey. Still, the spoon was empty and I was fairly certain we’d gotten enough honey in him if the amount on him was any way to judge.
We waited a while as he continued to pace and pant, but had stopped the drooling and yowling.
After a couple of hours he dropped to the floor in front of the back door and fell asleep. That was a good sign.
Within a few minutes he woke up, looked at me, and meowed in his regular voice. I was certain the crisis was passed, but knew from experience he would be exhausted and need careful monitoring.
As he began to become aware of his surroundings, he tried desperately to get the honey off his chin and chest. Without any success, I might add.
I washed his face, surprised at his tolerance, or maybe he was just too spent to fight any more, but forgot about his front paws where some honey had dripped during the battle royale.
Until he used the litter box, and came out with all manner of stuff stuck to them. So, here I am chasing him around the house with a soapy washcloth, trying to alternately clean litter/honey spots off the carpet and the cat.
Finally, I collapsed myself having gotten little sleep and then fretting over my beloved pet had taken its toll on me.
I had no sooner settled in to relax when I heard the unmistakable sounds of kitty rainbow-projectile vomiting again. I jumped up, ran into the room where the sounds came from – grabbing some old newspaper in the hopes he’d vomit on it and not my carpet – and promptly slammed my toe into the raised brick hearth around the fireplace.
Hopping on one foot, I still made it to Bugsy in time to slide the paper under him….which he deftly managed to sidestep, mid-puke, to deposit the contents of his tummy onto the carpet…….again.
By this time, mid-Sunday afternoon, I was honey soaked and very tired. Bugsy was sick and sticky, and the dog – Josey – was pacing the floor, clearly concerned for her human and her fur-brother.
Hubby had long-since decided this was a war he could not win, and retreated to the den.
Many hours, many spots cleaned later and all was quiet. I was sure Bugsy was on the mend, as he’d eaten a few bites of food and kept it down.
I slept like the dead.
And when I got up this morning, walked out of the bedroom rested and refreshed.
Right into a pool of vomit.
I’ve called the vet, and am waiting for a call back. She’s a wonderful vet, and knows a trip to her for Bugsy is a possibility but since it stresses him so much I’d like to avoid it if at all possible.
In the meantime, he’s confined to the utility room while I’m at work and wondering what I’ll go home to find.
The other day, at It Just Gets Stranger, I found myself in the unique position of having to act as assistant to Bugsy, the Insane.
You see, Eli was convinced he had contracted cancer.
From a cat.
Now you see why I read his blog.
Anyway, the following exchange took place…
Apparently, he’s a flamer.
I tell ya, I just don’t know what to do with him anymore.
What I do know, though, is the minute Bugsy, the Insane develops opposable thumbs I’m in real trouble.
We all are.