If you’ve been following my column at all – and my feelings won’t be hurt if you haven’t – you’ll know that 17-year old cat Buddy is suffering from feline dementia. I first noticed the symptoms about a year or so ago: disorientation, confusion, anxiety, and increased meowing, among others, but I had no idea there was such a thing as feline dementia until I went online and Googled it. Suddenly, all those times he would wander into the loo and meow at the wall began to make sense. And the increased vocalizations at night were now explained as well. But how do you make a cat understand that his mind isn’t working well anymore – especially since he seems to be losing his hearing, too – ? Our conversations go something like this:
“Bud! You senile old git! What’s the problem?”
Nothing makes sense anymore, Kelly!
“Bud, you’ve been meowing at the same wall for ten minutes, now.”
How long has it been there, Kelly?
“The entire time we’ve lived here, Buddy.” Twenty minutes later, we’ll have the same conversation, and then again a time or two in the afternoon.
I’ve noticed that when I’m in my home office, Bud will often come and join me, sitting on the floor behind my chair as I type. Every now and then, I’ll reach down and give him some pets, and he seems satisfied with our interactions. Eventually, though, he’ll make his way into the loo again and howl at the wall until I go in and gently move him toward the door.
I know that there are medications that can help with feline dementia, but the hubs would never go along with it. He likes the cats but not that much! Our conversation:
“I’m not spending money on a drug for a senile cat!”
“Honey, you can hear how distressed he is, every single night as you lie in bed listening to all of his howling.”
“He’s old. He’s senile. How much longer do you think he’s going to live?”
“A whole lot longer than you if you don’t stop being such an unmitigated tightwad.”
I don’t actually say that out loud, but I think it with sufficient emphasis that he should be able to read my mind.
His objection isn’t about Buddy per se, his objection is to the fact that it’s always something. As in:
What do you mean you need a thousand pounds-worth of dental work?
What do you mean the car is making a funny noise?
What do you mean we need to buy a new pump for the duck pond? And on and on ad nauseam until he gets to the core of the matter:
“It never ends, does it? Every time I put money in the bank, another expense crops up.”
Well, he’s not wrong. But here’s the thing: the man was married once before. Together, they bought a home and raised three children. So where exactly was the hubs while all of those expenses were going on? Where was his outraged indignation at all the school fees, the medical issues, the mortgage, the car payments, the clothing, the utilities, the mobile phones for three adolescent girls? Evidently, he was saving it for his second marriage. But I digress.
I read on Facebook recently a tale of a cat who was diagnosed with kidney disease. The woman who wrote this tale is a respected author who wrote a cover blurb for one of my books. Her thoughts on the diagnosis were interesting to me. She mused over the question of whether to spend money on expensive tests when she very probably wouldn’t agree to expensive treatment. The cat’s elderly, it’s still eating sufficiently, and it’s quality of life hasn’t seemed to diminish just yet. She decided to do sub-cutaneous saline treatments and special cat food, and see how things go. It seemed like a sensible decision to me.
Her decision got me thinking about Buddy. While there’s not a lot that can be done for cats suffering from dementia, the main suggestions don’t involve any money at all, but rather, an increased awareness on the part of the cat owner: maintain your pet’s healthy lifestyle, and provide plenty of mental and physical stimulation; avoid sudden changes in their daily routine, and try not to move anything around in your home – especially furniture, litter trays, and food bowls. I would add to that catnip.
I decided to try it on Bud, who always went wild for the stuff in younger years. He would get a whiff, then literally tear through the house, gaining momentum until he raced across the sitting room and leapt up onto a window valance. It was his signature move. He doesn’t tear around like that anymore, but he still enjoys a good whiff.
I broke off a couple of sprigs, the other day, brought them into the house and rubbed the stuff on his preferred napping spot. I also gave him some to chew on, and surprisingly, the it seemed to calm his distress. It calmed him enough, at any rate, that I brought some in from outside to spend the winter in a sunny spot by a window. Now, he can have fresh catnip leaves all winter long. I can’t say with certainty that this approach will work for your senile cat, but it’s worth a try. If it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul. If it does, the stuff grows like a weed – probably because it is one – and the more you ignore it in your garden, the better it will grow. Happily for Buddy, I’ve found catnip plants growing all over our garden, which means he’ll have a goodly supply next spring and summer, as well.
Until next time, be sure to enjoy some cuddles with your feline friend.