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Tommy Bobble:
A CH Kitty Story
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This is a story about an odd little kitty. About two
years ago one of my outdoor kitties became pregnant. She was a sweet
tabby Manx named Trixie. While she was in labor, she was in a panic,
crying and circling around. She ran behind a chair in the corner of
my room, let out a big scream, and jumped straight up and over the
chair. Dangling out her backside was a partially-born kitten. She
ran in circles some more until the kitten dislodged and literally
skidded to a stop at my feet. She then ran off and hid.
My twelve year old daughter was clearly grossed-out. "Eeww,
it touched your foot!" Sure enough, this kitten, still bloody and
encased in it's birth sac, was lying right at my feet. I knelt down
and tore the sac away from the kitten's face with my fingernails,
and stroked around the nose and mouth with the edge of my tee-shirt.
The poor little wet thing sucked in a breath and started breathing
air. I wrapped it up in a dish towel and went in search of the
mother, who was in another bedroom giving birth to two more kittens
in a closet.
I placed the kitty in with the mother, and she finished
the job of cleaning up. I imagined that the birth of the first one
was particularly painful, and having had two babies myself without
the benefit of drugs I could well imagine her distress.
Trixie was a very good mother from then on, and I
delighted in watching the three infant kitties, two Manxes and one
long-tail. After about two weeks, however, the three kittens were
acting strangely. Their heads seemed to "bob" in unison as they
found their way to their mother for feeding time, almost as if they
had palsy. I had seen plenty of kittens and watched them every day
as they grew and thrived, and their heads never shook like these
kittens.
Worried, I did an internet search under "neurological
defects in kittens", and immediately found the problem. These
kittens apparently had Cerebellar Hypoplasia, which is caused by a
virus attacking their cerebellum as they are growing in utero. The
extent of their neurological difficulty is in direct relation to how
soon the virus got to their developing brains. The cerebellum is the
part of the brain at the base which controls movement and
coordination. In cats, this part of the brain is fairly large,
because cats need a great deal of coordination to survive.
I have to admit, I was bothered at the sight of them.
It was almost creepy to watch their heads flop about as they tried
to find their way towards something. Some of the websites advocated
putting the kitties to sleep, as they could have difficulty with
simple things like using the litter box and jumping up on things.
After thinking about it some more, I determined that
the problem was not with them, but with me. I had an expectation of
perfect kittens, and anything less than that was disturbing to me
and I didn't want to accept it. However, it was my fault that these
kittens were born, because I didn't spay the mother in a timely
manner, and so I determined that I was going to love and accept
these kittens no matter what difficulties they may have in life.
The funny thing was that the two male kittens (one long
tail and one Manx) continued to have a severe head bob, while the
little Manx female outgrew it by the time she was four weeks old.
These two males, however, seemed to have the sweetest, most loving
personalities I have ever seen in cats. They were very trusting,
almost going limp when you held them, and they didn't mind being
held for a long time. They simply relaxed and purred and looked at
you with love. The little female, however, was as timid and jittery
as her brothers were mellow. I chalked it up to the various changes
in their brains due to the virus.
We named the little female Tinkerbell, the long-tail
Smokey, and the Manx Tommy. These kittens were pathetic to watch as
they tried to eat from a dish, because any time they concentrated on
something their heads would flail wildly, so eating was a
hit-and-miss affair with half the soft food flying off their lips
and landing on nearby surfaces. As they would run and play, their
heads would bob so severely that they would run zigzag and end up
bumping into things. Nevertheless, they were so darling and so
loving that it was impossible not to love them just as they were.
As they grew, the kids would let them out sometimes
and, unfortunately, we had neighbors who hated cats. Smokey had a
bad habit of going to their house (of course) and using their flower
bed as a cat box. One day, the neighbor came over, furious, claiming
that Smokey had dug up all her flowers. I had a hard time believing
this, and I knew there were dogs loose in the neighborhood as well,
but I couldn't convince this neighbor it was anything other than my
cat.
That night we tried to find Smokey, but to no avail.
I'm not sure if the neighbors did away with him, but we never saw
him again and it broke our hearts. I then resolved to keep the
others inside where they wouldn't incite the wrath of these nasty
neighbors.
As time went by, Tommy became my constant companion,
and the favorite of the girl's friends who came to visit. I used to
joke with newcomers that Tommy was a special breed of cat called
"Bobble-Head", and he was very special and expensive. They delighted
at his sweet and friendly nature and the funny way his head would
bob when he looked at things. He was quite clumsy, though, and
knocked things off countertops with regularity. He would also fall
off window ledges and furniture occasionally. Watching him climb a
tree was a sad affair indeed. It was like watching a fat basset
hound rather than a cat. He had no idea where to put his feet and
his head would bob pathetically as his claws desperately tried to
find branches to hold onto.
Over the ensuing months, Tommy and his sister Tinkerbell became
my shadows, following me from room to room as I went about my daily
routine. Tommy, in particular, is incredibly attached to me, more so
than any other cat I've ever owned. I suspect it's because he was
the kitten who was tossed at my feet so long ago. I remarried a few months ago,
and Tommy is very jealous of my husband. We cannot express physical
affection in front of Tommy, as he will stand there and meow in
protest, then try to get in between us. He comforts me when I am
down, makes me laugh, gives me lots of purring and head-butts and
cat-kisses, and I cannot imagine being without him. I tell him that
he is the most handsome cat ever, and his eyes half-close in vain
agreement.
I think back to my first impression of Tommy and his
litter mates, and I feel a bit ashamed that I had such a negative
reaction to them, because they are such lovely animals. Even
Tinkerbell, in her sweet and shy way, is very attached to me, and
loves nothing better to curl up by my head when I sleep and purr
loudly. She is very coordinated, but jumps at the slightest noise. I
try not to be noisy around her, and I speak to her in soft tones.
She needs understanding just like her less-coordinated brother does.
When I vacuum, she will run in terror, while Tommy can barely be
bothered to lift his head in concern.
The lesson to be learned here is a very old one, but a
very important one: Never judge a book by its cover. If I had
followed the advice of some "authorities" and had those kittens
euthanized, I would never have known the joys and the sweetness that
these kitties give me every day. Sometimes, when Tommy's head stops
bobbing and he looks at me with absolute devotion and sweetness, my
heart catches in my throat and I am dumbfounded by the beauty of it.
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