Jumper's wellness trip
Iam deviating from my usual style in today’s column. Back in the 80’s we rescued a tomcat named Jumper, for obvious reasons. At times, Melissa referred to him as “Jaws” for yet another obvious reason. We lost him to old age in the late 90’s long after the experience you are about to read.
But in order for you to understand his unique personality, I am allowing Jumper’s ghost to tell the story from his own point of view.
Jumper “Jaws” Miles is my name and recovery is my game in this story Brenda is telling you today. In October of 1987, I had to have a “procedure” performed by my doctor. Don’t be fooled by this innocuous term—in reality, my Houston veterinarian cut on my body…in a very tender spot
Skip this paragraph if you do not fancy learning all the details about my feline operation. But, if the topic doesn’t put you off, let me begin with a bit of background. (Google ‘blocked tomcat’ and you’ll learn more than you’ll ever want to know about the condition.) Let’s just say it’s not uncommon for neutered tomcats that are a tad overweight to require surgery for the removal of “crystals” in their urinary tracts. Not me, though. I developed crystals, plus stones. Thus, an even larger incision was required. The following is the story of my ordeal.
After spending the night in the animal hospital postsurgery, I came home late Saturday morning. While lying around the house at what I was certain was death’s door, I endured pain, but not well. I didn’t want to eat (not even real tuna fish out of the can—i didn’t even dash to the kitchen when I heard Brenda’s electric can opener! This was a first and caused my humans great concern. Neither did I want to drink and they noted my litter box was as dry as a dust storm in the Dirty 30’s. Following a miserable night, I made my way to the back door where I indicated that, despite my discomfort, I wished to take my regular constitutional walk around the yard.
However, that Sunday morning was anything but usual. First of all, Brenda remained in her nightshirt following breakfast. She didn’t dress up, spritz herself with perfume, grab her Bible and Sunday School quarterly and accompany Freemon to church. Did that mean I was dying and she wanted to be there during my final moments? What I really wanted to do was hide under the big oleander bush in the back corner of the yard. If death was knocking I didn’t feel it would take long and I really didn’t want Brenda to see it. You see, she’s a really high strung female and, though I love her, she becomes very emotional when she gets upset. At any rate I felt the presence of the Grim Reaper growing closer and he would surely finish me off before she found me.
Wouldn’t you know it?
Before I could crawl all the way under that low-hanging branch at the back (which I expected to be my final resting place) I heard the fast patter of purposeful footsteps. Brenda was on my trail and before I could make myself totally scarce, the pulled me out by the hindquarters (OUCH!) and swept me into her arms amid my anguished protests.
Within minutes, I was in the cat carrier and we were headed down Memorial Drive. and turning on that street that led to the animal hospital. I was admitted as a Sunday emergency. I won’t bore you with my details of the following week, but let me ask if you are familiar with a thing called a catheter? While insertion of that medical device may have been a necessity for my wellness journey, it certainly was uncomfortable living with it for six days. I wished many times Brenda had just left me under that oleander bush.
Although they might have phoned, Freemon and Brenda never came to visit me. Not once did they come to see about me that entire week. Talk about lack of parental concern! At first, I was hurt by their callous lack of attention and then thoughts of my various misdeeds surfaced in my memory. Were they still mad that I jumped on top of the piano while they were at work and I knocked over that antique thing Brenda was so proud of? After all, it did still work though Brenda cried that the little pendulum which swung back and forth and fascinated me so never kept quite the same time after its fall. Nevertheless, I held my orange tabby chin high, telling myself over and over that I didn’t need them. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I recognized that I needed them long enough to pay my substantial hospital bill.
Finally, late Friday afternoon, I was stuffed back inside my cat carrier and hauled to the front desk where Brenda and Freemon waited, all smiles. Brenda spoke her “baby cat” talk to me through the bars, telling me how good it was to see me. She noticed right away that
I had also lost weight. I refused to make eye contact. “GET ME OUTTA’ HERE!” was the message oozing from every hair on my orange head.
Wielding her checkbook, Brenda asked the vet’s assistant if I’d bitten anyone while I’d been an inmate. (You see, in the past, I was prone to give a nibble now and then to test their full attention.) I especially loved to startle my “sister” Melissa ‘cause I recognized she was the parental favorite.
“Oh, no,” the pretty young assistant said, “He was just as loving as could be! What an adorable cat!”
Brenda looked alarmed, shocked actually. She turned to Freemon all wide-eyed, poked him hard in the ribs and said, “I told you Jumper was really, really sick.”