Dealing with drama queens in the household
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Manohra, Mekhala and Phantom have one thing in common: they all hate talking their medicine
WILD CHILD Manohra is returning from the vet’s tomorrow after being treated for 20 days for an infection.
Without my knowing, the little cat has had the infection for months, quite a long time and now difficult to cure. Even with her long-term treatment, we won’t know if she’s completely well.
I’ll have to watch her carefully. Will she still attack the other cats, especially Yoyo, whenever she can? More importantly, will she urinate all over the place and not in the litter box?
I’m hoping she’ll return to being the sweet-natured, carefree cat we once knew.
We may still not be sure. So much of Manohra’s behaviour may arise not only from her infection but also from her determination to claim territory – hers and everyone else’s. She can be a real drama queen.
If we have to continue her antibiotics, I’ll have to figure out other ways to catch her and give her the pills with the least stress possible.
Each animal has its own personality. I didn’t have the space last week to tell you about Mekhala, my white lady with feline Aids (Fiv). She takes medicine every evening to boost her immunity.
This cat is so intelligent! She can recognise when I’m preparing the medicine, and then she disappears under the sofa. I’ve countered by preparing the medicine a few hours in advance, so that she forgets, comes out of hiding and falls asleep, when I can catch her easily.
Now, she’s figured out that trick too. When I want to pick her up to give her the medicine, she knows. Really. I can pretend to be walking to the door. I can start walking backwards. I can call the dog.
Mekhala snaps out of her sleep – and disappears under the sofa.
I have another trick, though. When the cat hides under the sofa, what do I do? Nothing. I just wait.
After a few minutes, she comes out and jumps on my lap. She hasn’t forgotten; she just wants attention, even if it means taking medicine.
I’m not completely successful giving medicine to all my animals. Phantom, the elderly eight-kilo hulk, simply will not accept pills or even gels from my hand.
He doesn’t bite or scratch or even scream, but somehow, what should go into his mouth never does.
Phantom, being elderly, sometimes suffers from constipation. The treatment is easy. You give your cat some furball gel, a mild laxative that helps clean up the digestive system.
At first, I hope that Phantom will like this gel and lick it from my finger. He hates it, running into a corner with his back to me, his ears flattened, his tail lashing back and forth. I try mixing the gel in his food, but he refuses to eat at all.
The next day, I try again. This time, I brush the corners of his mouth with the gel, hoping he’ll eventually lick it off.
He looks at me in surprise and disappointment. Then he stands up. He shakes his head to remove the gel. His neck arched, his shoulders stiffened, he walks in circles, but it won’t come off.
The next day, I find the gel smeared all over the floor. I try another way, putting the gel on top of his paws.
This time, he arches his back and stumbles around. “I can’t walk!” I think he says. He’s another drama queen.
In the end, I never get the gel in his mouth. Finally, I mix his senior catfood with some high-fibre food, which clears up the boy’s digestive problems and which he really likes.
The solution is a bit more expensive but much less stressful. The boy loves his food.
