Guest Blog: Magic the Cat with Some Serious News

Magic the Cat here, back for another post. There is something wrong with one of the old lady cats—the one they call Marie.

What? I have to do this again? Okay-fine. Richard wants you to know he is the guy who wrote The Swords of Faith, about Richard the Lionheart and Saladin clashing during the Third Crusade, and that he put up a bunch of posts about something called “The Pillars of the Earth” – yada/yada/yada. You happy now? Good. Let’s get back to the important stuff.

Something’s wrong with old lady cat Marie. Yes, yes, I told you in my first post she used to hiss at me when I was a kitty. She doesn’t really hiss at me anymore, though she’s still not exactly warm and welcoming. But she was here first. This was her territory when they brought me here. I watched her, saw where she went, saw the best places for a cat in this territory. I did learn from her, even when she was rude to me. And now there is something wrong with her.

She’s thin, so thin. If you rub up against her, you can feel ribs under fur. Her torso puffs out as she seems to work hard to take breaths. But, she still has the energy to push ahead of me to get to the food first. I used to push her out of the way—I’m stronger and quicker. Lately, I’ve been letting her go in front of me. I could dominate her. She’s so fragile. But I don’t.

The humans did something scary a few days ago. They put her in the box with the handle. The last time I remember that thing, my sister and I went to that place they call the vet. Like I’ve said before, I came back from there with parts missing. I wondered what parts they might take from Marie. How would they try to take her struggles away?

They came back. Marie came back too. I saw no parts missing. They pet her all the time and bring her extra food, table food and treats. (I will admit I have scored a few of those snacks myself, just hanging around in the vicinity. Yeah, why not?) They make sure she has water right wherever she lies down, even outside on the lawn. They pay a lot of attention to her. I hover around her; some of that attention rubs off on me too! It’s okay. I set aside my other concerns for now. Even Richard doesn’t seem like such a jerk in this situation. Marie perks up when she sees him. It was Richard who put her in that box to go to the vet. I wouldn’t have gone in that thing without a fight, but Marie didn’t even offer a protest. And believe me, that old lady cat isn’t shy about protesting most of the time! But she trusts Richard. Well, I’m not so sure about her judgment on that. Carrie’s better than Richard—I know that for sure. So Marie isn’t perfect; she doesn’t possess all cat wisdom. But I want to see her healthy. I hope she gets that way soon.

She's over there, in the shade of that bush. I'm standing by, just in case...

The fact is she still struggles. She spends most of her time outside, in soft shady areas, sleeping. The humans check on her constantly. They keep on bringing treats, and water. They pet her and say goofy, mushy things to her. I spend time near her. I don’t get too close—she still thinks of me as an intruder. But I know something else. I believe she’s glad I hang around near her. She doesn’t get up and rub up against me like she does when Richard comes to see her. (Ecch—rubbing up against Richard?) But she’s glad I’m here.

I’m still pretty young. I don’t have a lot of experience with this. But I don’t think a cat can go on like this. So what will happen? I’m going to wait close by to see.

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It’s been two weeks. That grouchy old lady cat seems to be getting stronger, strong enough to keep up those short little snarling meows, like something is always bothering her. She’d stopped doing that for awhile. She’s strong enough to start doing it again—are we supposed to be happy about that?

But she still seems real thin to me. I see when the other old lady cat, Nala, catches something to eat. The creature she catches stops moving. And then, when we eat it, if Nala decides to share, it’s gone. Can that happen to cats? I mean, being gone.

Two times now, I’ve watched the humans come out with a bubbly drink inside of long stemmed glasses. They surround old lady cat Marie and clink the glasses together before drinking, smiling, even laughing, petting her, bringing her more treats. What strange creatures they are—these two-legged cats with no fur (except on top of their heads, or in Richard’s case, on his face—looks ridiculous on him), these two-legged cats we call humans, just to keep things straight.

She never shows it, but I really believe she is glad I am here with her, nearby.