The Cat Came Back

If you're as old as I am, and listened to a wide variety of music starting in the '50s, then you'll recognize the above title as the title to a New Christy Minstrels song dating back to sometime in the '60s.

The cat came back,
Meow kitty,
Meow so pretty... 
The cat came back.

The New Christy Minstrels were a group of seven or so musicians and singers headed by Randy Sparks who sang lively folk songs during the '60s. They were very clean-cut looking and recorded several albums. I have several of those albums, a few of which were combined into CDs. I've put some of the music on my iPod (Yikes! You still use an iPod?) and every so often on random play "The Cat Came Back" pops up. I know all the words.

(Trivia: Barry McGuire, who made a hit single of the dystopian 60s song, "Eve of Destruction" came from The New Christy Minstrels.)

We have always had cats. In my nearly 50 years of marriage, my wife and daughters have had up to three cats. We currently have one "inside" cat, Cosmo, and one "outside" cat, Socks, who was a stray that we took to feeding thinking the cat matched Reuben, whose picture was plastered on lamp posts in the area as missing in 2017.

A phone call to the number on the poster revealed that no, we didn't have Reuben. But we now did have a new friend. And we've been feeding her in the vestibule ever since, a neutered female, tuxedo tabby, who has packed on the pounds and loves us now, rather than hissing at us. Socks will not be roaming anymore. She's got it way too good.

Cosmo, is a neutered, butterscotch male tabby picked up from the shelter by my daughter Susan in 2006. His shelter name was Noel, but somehow the dry cleaner's name from Flushing, Cosmo, because his name. He was somewhat skinny, but filled out into a nice size cat that stays with us indoors. His fur is exceedingly soft, and he likes to be petted. By all accounts he is a handsome cat, with none of the "chowder head" features usually associated with male cats. I've said he's as good looking as Cary Grant. He has no idea what I'm telling him.

For years and years my daughter wouldn't let Cosmo out. He got out once, and came back busted up from chasing something up a tree.  We were constantly telling him, "Cosmo, you can't handle the outdoors." He has his claws, and not just because it's now illegal to remove them in New York. We would never do that to him, despite some slightly shredded living room furniture over the years.

Eventually, my daughter Susan moved out, got married and my wife and I took care of Cosmo. No custody battle ever ensued. At some point a few years ago, we said to ourselves, "why can't he go out?" And now he does. He never leaves the property, and always comes to either the front or back door and lets you know when he's had enough fresh air. He doesn't chase anything up a tree anymore. He's now about 17 years old.

And because we've had cats for so long, we recognize when they may not be feeling well. We've had to put a few down as they ran out of nine lives. By my daughter's accounting, Cosmo has now worked his way through six lives, shedding the most recent one when we were getting convinced he was not going to make to Labor Day—maybe even the weekend—and took him to the vet this past Tuesday..

Luckily, my daughter made friends with the sister of a lifeguard she once worked with who is a vet, and who gives us a bit of discount on the medical portion of the visit. 

In 2019 Cosmo exhibited all the signs of being on the way out, and began acting crazy. Turns out his thyroid levels were screwy, and with the administration of thyroid medicine that I wind up giving him orally through a syringe twice a day, he's been fine. Until Tuesday.

It's been exceedingly hot, even in an air conditioned house. Cosmo was throwing up in several places, missed the litter box and soiled the bathroom floor, and kept hiding in the closet or under the bed. He was listless, and surely not himself. His appetite was off by a lot.

A 7:30 P.M. trip to the vet in Sayville was made. Susan and I were prepared for bad news. Cosmo was examined, pronounced to have a good heart rate, had his temperature taken, weighed (he's lost some weight since March 2022; a little less than a pound) and commented on that he was a little dehydrated. Oh, and that he was good looking.

He was taken in the back for his blood to be drawn. We were informed that a phone call tomorrow with the blood work results would tell us where to go next. The bill, even with the discount, was $195, mostly due to the anti-diarrhea medicine and blood work, which alone was $108.

The call came early on Wednesday to my daughter. Was this going to be the end of Cosmo? No. Not even close.

The $195 cat had perfect blood work for his age, and is basically a poster cat for one who is somewhere near 17 years old.  Like Mark Twain, news of his demise was premature.

He spent Tuesday night being a little more active, moving from  his usual spots for his "naps." He was eating a bit and drinking water early Wednesday morning. He even went out for a few hours, perhaps to tell whoever would listen that he's still around.

Once again, this cat fooled everyone. Well, at least us. We're still glad we took him to the vet. He now gets something in addition to his thyroid medicine for 10 days or so. He's still a bit listless, but the heat isn't doing anyone any favors.

A while ago, my oldest daughter Nancy had a Maine Coon cat that she needed to take to the vet. He was not looking good, despite not really being an "old" cat. She didn't get to bring him home, as he needed to be euthanatized right then.

Unlike Cannonball, Cosmo made a round trip, and so far doesn't need another one. The cat came back. He wouldn't stay away.

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