It’s against my long-standing blog policy to correctly name anyone in my house who’s not dead. But the orange cat isn’t in my house and I want you to get the graffiti right.
So, yes, big news. The orange cat is not dead! That motherfucker went to the vet and got blood drawn like a champ and his numbers are, in the vet’s words, “incredible.” No sign of any kidney problems, which is apparently remarkable in a cat his age. The vet was blown away that he’s never had any medical problems in his whole long life. And, indeed, this is the first time the Butcher and I could recall ever taking him to the vet for anything other than maintenance crap.
So, if it’s not physical… well, she’s not sure it’s not physical. She’s testing his blood for thyroid problems and she does think his arthritis probably sucks. But that can all be fixed with medication. Which, get this, you can just rub on the inside of his ear. No trying to shove fucking pills down his throat.
But she thinks he may be getting a little senile, he may just not be adjusting to not having the Butcher around, since he was primarily bonded to the Butcher, and being old and slow, he may be feeling overwhelmed by the other animals, especially the dog.
If only there were a pet-free house where his favorite person lives…
Oh, wait.
So, the orange cat lives at the Butcher’s house now. And we’re going to see how that goes. But judging by all the adorable Instagram photos, I think it’s going to be good for him.
I can’t tell you how relieved I am that he’s alive and that we could make an easy switch in his life that makes him happy.
Tiny Cat Pants 
What great news. That’s fantastic!
Yay! Go, Hobbes!
YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!
I’m so happy to hear he’s all right. He’s one tough kitty, isn’t he?
Given his, “oversee things to make sure they’re done right,” tendencies, I keep getting mental pictures of him watching to make sure they feed baby correctly and, down the road, making sure the baby doesn’t feel lost when exploring under his own steam.
Any updates on Plumbing Cat?
I went to see the Butcher and his family yesterday and everything about it reiterated that this was the right decision. First, I was there for three hours. He didn’t come out and see me until the end. Whereas, when the Butcher would show up at my house, the orange cat would be right there to great him. Second, he was following my step-niece all around and hanging out on her bed. He seems very, very delighted to be the only animal. Third, and most inexplicable to me–he’s walking better. You can still tell he has arthritis in his hip, but he’s not crouching as much.
And I do think he’s feeling relief that he can keep track of their poor, ugly large mostly furless kitten.
As for the Stunt Cat, I saw him a few days ago sitting on the front steps, but when I tried to go up to him and talk to him, he bolted. But I did get a good look at him. He’s an orange tabby–which I already knew–but he’s not very stripey. I’m hoping he’ll let me get a good look at him someday, because a sparsely striped cat is a cat I want to see.
I think he’s got to be feral. He’s just not at all people friendly or even people tolerant. But, if that’s the case, I will say that he must be a damn good hunter, because he’s the most solid feral cat I’ve ever seen in person. He’s built more like the feral cats you see hanging around wharfs where there are steady supplies of fish trash to be had than he is a barn cat. So, I’m very curious as to whether someone’s feeding him or what.
That’s so many kinds of great!
Your update sounds like the astonishing change when I brought my current cat home. She’d done so well in her foster home full of people and other animals, and clearly had no fear of even the giant Great Dane and was friendly and polite to all people and animals when formally introduced. But the rescue society had seen it all, and when I came looking for a cat who would like my extremely quiet and solitary home with only me in it, everyone suggested this cat, particularly since I’ve had experience and good success with cats who hide for weeks at a time, which they rather thought she would do at first — she did a lot of stress hiding in her rescue family’s home.
None of us were prepared for that magical transformation of the right environment at the right time. It was instantaneous. She trotted everywhere at my heels like a happy puppy, thrilled with the whole world of a house with only us in it, greeting every day (even every hour) with me like a little kid on Christmas morning. (It probably didn’t hurt that I treated her like an honored war hero because she’d kept her kittens alive and healthy under circumstances that brought her to the brink of death.)
It’s interesting that you can’t always know, either, in advance, without trying the options. It was reasonable to think that Hobbes would be more stressed out by changing houses and by a child and a baby. But it turns out in his extreme old age he prefers them to other animals and he’d rather have his Main Human than avoid changing houses, which is also reasonable.