A cold is a cold is a cold, right? Nothing to worry about; everyone gets them; drink lots of fluids and eat some chicken soup and it will be all better in the morning (or in a week). Mostly that's true, unless you're a cat with FIV. Then, having a cold becomes a whole different ball game.
Elroy has been sick for about a week. It started with his tell-tale nose. I may or may not have mentioned this before, but Elroy's nose seems to have nine (or nineteen) lives. He has a chronic viral infection that flares up maybe once a year, which causes a small sore on his nose to appear, which eventually turns into a large sore, which eventually flakes off. I mean no disrespect when I say this, but it kind of looks like Michael Jackson's nose, post multiple surgeries, when it happens. It's like a small crater appears, which eventually gets filled in again. It's not a pretty sight, and we hold our breath until it goes away every time, fearful that it's going to turn into something worse.
This time, it kind of did. It turned into a really bad cold. You know how you have those really bad colds where all you want to do is lay around and sniffle and leave the torturing world behind? Elroy had that kind of cold. Except that, bless his courageous little heart, he chose not to do that holing-up part. The poor cat would knock out a dozen sneezes at a pop, be wheezing through his highly congested sinus passages, and would still want to hang out with his big buddies and the other cats. He did a lot of sleeping, sure. But he also tried to play when everyone else was, and he never missed a meal.
Conventional wisdom says that when a cat is still eating and drinking (which he was) that you should just let a virus run its course. Mostly that's what we do with the other cats. But because of Elroy's suppressed immune system, we don't really have that option. There's always the risk that a bad virus could be his downfall, if his immune system doesn't kick into gear and fight it off. We called the vet, who got a list of his symptoms and told us to hang tight--there was really nothing he could do at this point. Finally, when colored discharge started appearing, the vet prescribed Elroy some antibiotics. It was a relief to me to get them. Not so much for Elroy.
The first time we grabbed him to give him his new meds, he was hanging out on the bed in our bedroom. He figured out something was going on straightaway (sorry, I've been watching too much Downton Abbey) and jumped under the bed. Sean had to lure him out with treats, while I hovered on top of the bed with a towel to trap him in when he came out from under the bed far enough in search of a distant treat. Finally he did, and Sean was able to squirt the foul-tasting pink liquid into his unwilling mouth. The second time, I grabbed him on the guest bed, and the third time, we had to stealthily convince him nothing was up before eventually catching him on the couch. Luckily, it was just a three-day dose, because he was going to learn to steer clear of us in the evening.
I fully expected a loss of trust from him, but then this morning, he sat beside me as I typed this, gazing up at me with what looked like an expression of love and gratitude to me. He's obviously feeling a lot better. Still sneezing and snurfling, but much more back to his old energy level (which is prodigious). It's like he understands that we were helping him, which is pretty astonishing, considering that even now, there are still days when he gets spooked and will run from me. He trusts us 95% of the time, but every now and again, the feral cat part of his psyche will show itself, reminding us that not too many years ago he was an outside cat that we couldn't touch. It's amazing really, when I think about it.
Elroy was an inspiration to me during his illness. He took care of himself, but he also refused to let himself be taken out by a cold. It's like he instinctively understood that life is precious, and there's not a minute to waste. I could learn a lot from that brave little guy.
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