Cats and crocodiles

Before treatment ...

Over the past few days I have been trying to give my cat antibiotics in the form of tablets.

This is not a new hobby, taken up in Covid desperation, but the necessity of forcing the cat to accept treatment which she clearly thinks is not necessary.

The cat in question is an awkward cat, unsociable and ill-at-ease in surprise company. She needs at least a week’s notice to psyche herself up for a random visitor, and usually bolts out of the door as soon as she senses anyone bolting in. She is not amused by surprises of any kind, and treats people with suspicion. Her antennae are continually scanning the horizon for potential threats.

An un-cuddlesome cat, undemonstrative and by nature eremitic.

You get the picture.

So persuading her to take a large tablet, broken into two doses to make up for its tennis-ball proportions, has been something else, and a great test of ingenuity versus the cat.

Grind it up in food ? Fine. But she tales one sniff and disappears. Hide it in food as large chunks ? That worked once, but not a second time. We found the food completely gone, and the tablet left only slightly licked. The cat has such a sensitive tongue. Who knew ?

Blow the tablet into her mouth ? Well, possibly, but what if she blows first ? And how do get the tube into the mouth of a wriggling and irritable feline ? Might as well try with the tablet itself.

The Trojan approach ? Like the Greeks, hide the tablet in something nice cat sticks, dreamies, pill pouches, whatever. Well perhaps. But she fears the Greeks even when they bear gifts, and the Trojans only pulled in the wooden horse just the once. She paid attention.

Instead, it was the daily struggle of getting the cat into a tight embrace, having her look wildly around, and gently opening her mouth, popping the tablet in, closing the mouth and gently massaging her throat until she swallowed. Even then, she managed to eject the thing after swallowing three times out of five.

It is hard to believe how tricky it is to open a cat’s jaws when she prefers them closed. They seem glued together. Possibly wired.

And it was then I remembered crocodiles. As a kid I would occasionally see acts, or read about them, where some intrepid and faintly lunatic showman (always a showman, women clearly having much more sense) would wrestle a crocodile by holding its jaws shut with his arms. This always looked terrifying. Heroic and nuts at the same time.

Only later did I discover the obvious. Biting animals, like crocodiles, don’t need strong muscles to open their mouths. In fact they are relatively small. What they need to catch and chomp prey are enormous muscles which bring downward pressure to close the jaws and disable the unfortunate victim. Though I have never tried it, if you can catch a crocodile unawares and wrap your arms around its closed jaws, it will be completely unable to open them. Parcel tape might work just as well. If however, the crocodile catches you unawares, well, the story has a different ending.

And the same is true with cats on a smaller scale. She may be much smaller than me, but she has muscles which specialise in closing her mouth and keeping it closed when, for example, someone wants to feed her tablets.

No wonder if has been a crowbar job. I will be glad when she has recovered, and when she no longer dives under furniture when she sees me coming.

 

... after treatment