The Patience of St. Farticus

The cat formerly known as The Old Man has been beatified by Boyfriend as St. Farticus.

I like that. It means that, come the inevitable, I'll be able to justify the devotion of a tiny shrine to his memory; perhaps I'll manage to inter him in a wee reliquary {reliquarium?}, endow him with a brief hagiography, maybe ascribe a few small miracles...

* * *

A few weeks ago St. Farticus made it known, politely but firmly, that he could no longer willingly participate in the bi~daily pill ritual.

Up to that point, he had been patience itself. He would willingly walk into the bathroom when I beckoned, knowing full well what to expect. {And don't tell me he not smart enough to know what's coming. Last Sunday morning when I called him into the bathroom, he dove under the bed ~ because on Saturday morning when I called him in, he wasn't pilled at all; he was bunged straight into the carrier and carted off to the vet.}

When I had to pill him, he never bit me, he never clawed me, he never growled, he never hid, and he never held a grudge; afterwards he was quite content to allow me to pick him up & cuddle him, and carry him to his food. {Some mornings he would jump up and ride on my shoulders as if he were a Maharajah in his howdah, and I the elephant that supported the world.}

But every day he became progressively more and more closed~mouthed; and then he began to place a paw gently against my hand as I tried to pill him...

I've seen him more than once turn around and whap one of the other cats when he'd been pissed off; often wondered why he didn't just turn around a whup me upside the head during a pilling session.

Usually I take it for granted that he understands what's going on, insofar as he's capable; so I don't often try to see things from his unique kittykat perspective. I just credit him with having a great deal of human wisdom, and I'm sure that's true to a respectable extent... however...

Years ago I heard an interview in which Jane Goodall discussed the early days of her research with primates. She had been studying a band of apes and sending her notes to her peers for review. And {if I recall correctly} she said they advised her not to make observations that anthropomorphized the apes; in place of saying something like, "the ape was angry" she was instead to say "the ape behaved as if he were angry."

The idea behind this advice was to ensure first of all that her observations were not dismissed outright by those who firmly believed in the distinction between human and animal. But for those who just as firmly believed in the indistiction between human and animal, this was also an issue of objectivity; one must not project one's own perceptions onto the beings whom one observes.

What I took away from that interview was that we can learn more by interpreting animals in their own context than by imposing a human frame of reference on them; and that we shouldn't grade our respect for the dignity of animals on whether or not they have human qualities.

So while I'm happy to refer to St. Farticus as if he's a cat~shaped human, I understand it does him a disservice if I don't also try to see things from his particularly feline point of view.

And that's when I realize...

... this animal, who hasn't attended a single philosophy class in his life and has never been taught to "turn the other cheek" or that "patience is a virtue" because "the meek shall inherit"...

...this animal, who doesn't know his thyroid from his prostate and doesn't have the faintest idea what the heck a pill is for...

...this animal, who may or may not be able to surmise why the big hairless cats behave as they do...

...all this animal knows is that twice a day he was confined him to a room and had something bitter shoved down his throat. Every now and then he's caged up without breakfast and taken to where other big hairless cats poke cold thin noses right up his rear end, lick off a section his fur with an extremely sharp tongue, and stick a long thin claw under his skin. All this courtesy of yours truly.

And yet somehow it doesn't seem to have adversely affected his attitude towards me.

That just boggles my mind.

* * *

Because life~long medication is a possibility with feline hyperthyroid, there are companies who make pills in a tasty treat form. And when Old Man St. Farticus first began his medication, that was what I wanted to use.

For some reason, the vets at my clinic seemed to feel strongly that we ought to go with the normal pills first, and use the treats as a last resort. I don't know why. Perhaps they felt they were doing me a favour financially, as the tasty treat format is more expensive.

But they are worth every penny. Been using them for the last few weeks and nary a bad experience. I'm almost tempted to think that radiotherapy isn't really necessary now; we've hit the right dosage & he likes eating his pill/treats.

Still... I'll call up the DMV in February to find out where they're at with their Radiology program. And we shall see what we shall see.

And if we can cure it, I shall call St. Farticus the patron saint of radioactive felines. :)

Posted by edgar at January 5, 2004 10:53 AM