Jim bought a new desk last week; Shelby has helped him to arrange his belongings and is ready to assist with transferring photos from the camera.
Shelby has been with us for nearly 6 weeks. Although she recovered from the worst of the sniffles with which she arrived, I was concerned that she wasn't thriving as well as she should.
Shelby's follow-up appointment at the vet clinic for her second round of shots was scheduled for November 19, and I decided it would be good for her to have a check-up.
Our vet clinic is restricted to 'curb-side' appointments, so this meant bundling Shelby into the cat 'suitcase' and handing her over to the vet tech at the door.
After a wait Danna [vet tech and vet's wife/office manager] reappeared to say that Shelby had an upper respiratory infection which should be treated with antibiotics.
I expressed my concern that Shelby might be feline leukemia positive and it was agreed that testing would be a sensible precaution.
The desk provides a good vantage point.
I had a book with me, but found that I couldn't continue reading.
Years ago Howard brought home a Siamese kitten who in spite of having her inoculations was harboring the incurable pan-leuk virus. As her health worsened we had to put her down, but not before two of our dear older cats were infected.
Remembering this, I worked myself into a near panic state of mind.
[It is worth mentioning here that my late Mother lived by the maxim that if one expects--and braces for--the worst scenario, anything less is a happy outcome!]
My mind lurched from the possibility of having unwittingly brought home a kitten who in a month's residency might have infected our other cats, to the prospect of having to allow Shelby [if infected] to be put down on the spot without my being allowed in to hold her.
Even as I fretted I reproached myself; we have three extended family members and a friend currently under-going chemo/radiation for cancer. As I anguish and pray over their illnesses, how dare I go to pieces over the possibility of losing my kitten?
Its a rhetorical question, a situation of quiet guilt that pet lovers must deal with.
Fifteen minutes later the clinic door opened and Danna came toward the car, cat carrier in hand.
I stumbled into the bright sunshine, inwardly braced. Danna called out, "The test is negative!"
Gratefully I handed over my credit card and installed the carrier on the front seat of the car.
Shelby had been cultured for worms and though there were no active parasites, she'd been given a cautionary dose of wormer which had caused her to drool copiously. Her ears were laid back and she gave a pathetic 'Mew' when I spoke to her.
Shelby has been good about the twice daily doses of antibiotic--a bit less cooperative when I have to apply ear mite medicine and clean her ears.
She seems to have two extremes of behavior--either going full tilt, scampering, chasing a plastic toy, hurtling through the rooms with Clancy, or--stretched out flat in a sound sleep.
Shelby is naughty.
Nothing on my desk is safe; papers are tugged from folders, the corners nibbled and torn; pens are pawed from the big mug, various cords are attacked. If I push her off one corner of the desk she pops back on by a different route, her head bobbing behind the monitor.
Human bedtime signals a feline uproar--Shelby and Clancy thunder through the house, skid across the rug, sending my line-up of slippers and shoes into an untidy scramble beneath my dresser.
A tiny white paw pokes at the book I'm reading, a leap takes her to the bedside stand where a lovely tipple of books, spare spectacles, a box of tissues, cascade to the floor.
When I finally click off the reading lamp and slide beneath the covers, the shenanigans continue until I feel the soft weight of a small body landing on the bed. Shelby gives a muted 'Purr-upp' and settles, long stripy tail curled over her face, seldom moving until near dawn.
Capturing a blurry photo when Shelby is busy--checking out a desk drawer.
I will help you type!
[The lining of her ears is still a bit irritated in this photo, better now.]
Whenever anyone goes near the sunroom door Shelby rushes to her bowl and does her 'starving kitten' act.
A typical pose--always soliciting human attention.
Who could resist this little cat face?
We aren't trying!