Oldies--Tugs

 

Tugs is a tiny torti and one of my super oldies here.  

She's still hanging in there, at 18 to 19 years of age.

Tugs hails from the Lebanon Shovel Killer Christian Neighbor colony.  Long time ago.

I was helping an old woman in some disgusting cottages (they were not maintained by landlord, even could smell gas leaks inside) when I trapped Tugs and many others.   A neighbor had come over and told me he would be happy to kill the cats with a shovel.   He played in a Christian band at his church, he boasted.  If the cottage conditions disgusted me, his offer did so even more.

I was determined to get all the cats to safety and did so, although it was tough, as usual.  Tugs and Mums, her sister, never got homes and remained with me.  Mums died a few years ago, but Tugs, the tiny tough girl, who took nothing off anyone, is still alive.

First her best friend Starry died, after a vet discovered she had lymphoma.  Then her other best friend, Slurpy, died, after a vet said her seizures were likely from a brain tumor.  Both Starry and Slurpy were tortis, like her.

This is Tugs, on the left, with her friend Slurpy, way back in 2012

Sweetie Tugs today

Tugs is skinny and rarely grooms herself anymore.  After Slurpy died she wanted to be on my lap a lot and that's fine by me.  As I've discovered in many older cats, her claws grow rapidly.  I have to trim them frequently.   Yesterday, my two oldest girls, Tugs and Tweetie, both 19, got in a swinging match over chicken.  They both love it.  Tugs claw stuck in Tweetie's ear.  Tweetie never blinked as Tugs tried to get her claw free.  Tweetie was too focused on procuring her share of the chicken pieces.

The indignities of old age.  I know them well.

Tugs bestie now is Otto, a middle aged male who is a big goofball.  

He has decided to be tame to me, but only on my bed.  He will high pitch meow when he wants/needs some love from me.   Tugs and Otto are frequently side by side on my bed.

The weather here has been lovely for a few days.   One day I just laid out in my old zero gravity camp chair and thought, as I relaxed, how much I love that chair.  It's so comfy and the sun so delightful.   I had it out in the driveway by my car.

The weather changes tomorrow, with instability that may produce thunder storms.  Then the news said we could get up to an inch or more of rain by Sunday.  Next week, highs in mid 50's.  The good news is the forecast changes fast around here.

I got the rest of my back lawn cut down with the weed eater day before yesterday.   I knew I'd pay for that with my back today.  I am.  My back isn't half as bad though now.

Evenings with this pleasant weather I sit out in the cat yard and toss treats to the cats and play with them, with a wand toy.   Little Dragon, also middle aged, Prissy from the Quartzville road cats, and Gigi are my main players.

Fantasia had some sort of event two days ago and now acts scared of me.  She's very old too.   Her sister died a few years ago,  and her mother before that.   Over a year ago, some brain event or dementia (according to vet) caused her to constantly howl.  That ended and she's been doing ok for a few months but now this, which fits with the dementia.  She still eats and drinks but acts like I'm a stranger.

Glorious old age.

Little Thunder, whose age is unknown, is back to coming up on my bed nights for a few minutes, after a hairball scare that had me confining her to the bathroom to get fluids and vegetable oil and catlax, to help her dislodge the blockage.   She seems good now.  I was so worried she'd never be back up at night for the routine snuggles after putting her through the fluids and forced laxative (vegetable oil), and for a few days she didn't, but now its back to normal and my heart skipped a beat for joy.  Cats who come here feral or from traumatic situations if confined for medical treatment often won't eat and revert back to human avoidance.  So its a little tricky to judge how they're doing if confined like that, whether its due to confinement or whatever concerned me in the first place.

As we get older, constipation can be issue.  She's overweight, so hairball season, which is in full swing, is a time I try to keep better eye out for struggles with blockages.   I have some hairball dry on the way from chewy.

One vet told me, decades ago, that in my life, I'd see more cats die from undiagnosed hairballs and parasites than from anything else.  I've never forgotten his words.

Tugs, Tweetie and Fantasia won't be with us here much longer.   I love them.  They've had great lives here with many friends.   

Tugs has my admiration.  She overcame her grief with each friend's death over the years by just finding another friend.

Friends are a comfort and a joy in old age.  Tugs knows that.  I do too.