Two weeks ago, the Dilbert daily cartoon featured Catbert (the evil HR director, no idea how they could have come up with that character), and they were complaining that they had whisker fatigue. It is a cartoon, but I looked it up anyway, and it turns out it is a real thing where cats become over stimulated because their whiskers are touching too many things (such as the edges of their food bowl), and there is a booming market for whisker fatigue food bowls (and other oddities alongside them such as cat grass). Who knew.?
In the meantime, Sniffles had become fussier than ever about his food. He hadn’t been well, and it hadn’t just been furballs he had been bringing up, and he had been able to go to the toilet through the eye of a needle. He also disappeared for twenty-four hours, which is unlike him. Well, unless we need to take him somewhere, such as the vets, or a cattery, in which case he will disappear until exactly five minutes after you have cancelled to vet’s appointment or the stay at the cattery, at which point he will saunter up to the door without a care in the world.
He had taken to wanting to get his name changed. He was named Sniffles as a kitten by Nathan as he sniffed everything. Suffice to say he could easily have his name changed now to trip hazard, such is his penchant for laying in the middle of the hall and only moving to get underfoot as you try to get around him.
Anyway, he hadn’t been eating, and he hadn’t been washing himself after pooing. Helen was getting worried because there were similarities to his sister before she died, and so she had a vet’s appointment for the Thursday, but such was Sniffle’s pathetic-ness she brought it forward to the Wednesday after he didn’t eat until some food was put on the floor, at which point he wolfed it down. And he point blank refused to eat from his bowl. Whereas usually when he flings food out of his bowl by accident, he won’t eat it after it is on the floor. He also then accepted eating off a plate.
Some of this would suggest he is the Amazon of the cat world and because he heard us talking about whisker fatigue, he is now showing up with some of the symptoms. (Although to be fair, he always did have a spaced-out expression on his silly little furry face.)
Then after finally eating he went to try and find a spot to wash himself. There are comfy seats all over the house, and blankets out, but no, not for him, he found Helen’s footrest, hard plastic and very big bobbles on it, and perched himself on that. Quite possibly the most uncomfortable spot in the house.
Prior to this Helen had suggested that WE might want to give him a bath to wash his fur (he had looked somewhat horrified and ashamed when Helen had lifted his tail and saw what was stuck to him). Meanwhile, I’ve heard tales of cat washing, so being of sound mind I responded in the only way possible, “What’s this WE business?”
Saturday night he had been curled up on the sofa for a long time. I was watching copious amounts of Mock The Week, and Helen was out at a ninety’s night at the Hawth with friends. When she rang to ask for a lift home, Sniffles was suddenly up and interested. He is fascinated by how Helen is in the little device I’m holding against my face and comes to investigate where the little feeding woman is. Which kind of shows what he thinks about my bowl filling skills.
The cat had been leaving a trail of destruction in his wake (well sloppy excrement everywhere), and as I appear not to be able to see it or smell it, there was a real danger of me standing in it at some point, which I just managed to avoid.
So, he went to the vets, turned out he just had a stomach upset, so a couple of injections later he was back at home after a couple of rides in the basket of doom. The vet had said not to wash him until he was recovered, and Sniffles took it upon himself to clean himself, mainly it would appear by wiping his backside on any soft surface he could find, a quilt cover and a blanket washing later he has cleaned himself enough so there isn’t any more trail of stinkyness.
He’s almost back to usual now, whining to be let in, whining to be fed, whining to be let out. And woe betide if you don’t let him in quickly enough, as he then turns his back, stays on the wet tarpaulin in the rain and ignores the open door until you sit down again. Happy that he’s disrupted your call he then disappears, only to appear around the front of the house waiting to be let in.
Addendum
Sniffles is fully back to usual behaviour. Helen and I attempted to leave the house and head to Tilgate this evening, only for the little shite to appear as if by magic and follow us up the road. Helen made three attempts to corral the little sod, but don’t worry about Sniffles, he can move when he has to, and hid in a front garden on Southgate Drive. The only sensible option to prevent further following and him deciding to lie down in the middle of Southgate Drive as he is wont to do was to double back and sneak out via Malthouse Road. He was waiting on the doorstep when we got home, and once in proceeded to give a version of cat dressage in the kitchen.