Fleas: Part 2 -- Sammy

   

L-R: Hissy Missy (my Tortie'),  Sammy (Siamese) and Gracie (Gray and White)

     As anyone reading this blog is aware, I recently acquired 3 new family members about six weeks back: my feral cats. I'm going to use the term only once in this post, as it's become the running joke between the friend who delivered them to me that my cats are broken as there is nothing feral about them.(We can thank his girlfriend for holding them while little and blame me for thinking for 2 seconds I was gonna have a critter around these parts that I didn't at least try to tame.)

     In case you haven't met them, their names are Gracie (gray and white), Sammy (Siamese) and Hissy Missy (a brindle colored cat, also known as a "tortie"-- personality for which is unmistakeable.)

(i.e. In addition to their distinctive coloring, torties also have a reputation for unique personalities, sometimes referred to as “tortitude.”  They tend to be strong-willed, a bit hot-tempered, and they can be very possessive of their human.  Other words used to describe torties are fiercely independent, feisty and unpredictable.  They’re usually very talkative and make their presence and needs known with anything from a hiss to a meow to a strong purr. Author's Note: Hissy Missy has these traits in spades. I've never seen a cat hiss and purr simultaneously, but she does, which netted her her name...)

     But today's story is about Sammy...

     Given the fruit basket turnover of alpha energies and hormones (i.e. Rosebud's in her last week of a three week heat cycle...Thank GOD!) life around here has been more topsy turvy than usual. (i.e. Rosebud, though safe from being bred by a family member, has acclimated quite nicely to air conditioning and as a result, has learned (when put in the pen) how to jump out, so she's been in the house with Rosey and me for the past week. As a result, Boo has retreated upstairs, totally confused as to where this Rosey-clone came from; the new kitties (who have not met Boo, as their jobs were SUPPOSED to be keeping mice at bay) have been in the basement, where they are allowed access to the great outdoors in the day. (Although given the jungle gym of stored furnishings and ductwork, they are blissfully content to play indoors where it's cool.) But because they can go back and forth, from outdoor to in, they have contracted a nasty case of the"fleasles".

     Fleas, as every pet owner knows, are a nuisance to any fur bearing critter, and they are particularly bad here in the South. My dogs have flea collars (more on this in my next blog). As for Boo, he gets the occasional back-of-the-neck "spot on" formula, and we keep a flea comb handy, but given he's not intermingling with the babies in the basement, he's relatively safe.

     So with a gorgeous day to do it in, I set out to bomb the basement (for those unfamiliar, go to http://www.wikihow.com/Flea-Bomb-a-House; this is not for the faint of heart, but given the complexity of the situation, it was the only real choice) moving my trio of playful teenage kitties to the back deck, (which simultaneously turned my indoors into a life size pinball machine with Rosebud as the ball.) Suffice it to say it was not a quiet afternoon, though fortunately, the kitties, were un-phased by Rosebud. (I wish I could say the same about my furniture.) 

     Next up: treat the kitties.

     Running across a year-old tube of flea formula, I checked the label to confirm it could be used on kittens, but to be EXTRA cautious (fully knowing this might not rid me of all the fleas, but it was a start), I divvied the one tube among 4 cats (Boo, upstairs, got a tad; the three kittens got a tad; note the formula was to be used entirely on one full grown cat; again, I THOUGHT I was being safe.) Turns out...not so much.
      Coinciding with this event, was the fact that this was going to be the kitties first night in the great outdoors. I had cleaned, moved (even painted) the Igloo house that once sheltered Rosey's puppies their first night outdoors (If you aren't familiar, these are weather resistant dog houses shaped like an igloo, supposedly to keep animals from jumping on them, though my goats have mastered this to perfection)...In short, I was both excited and relieved to be finally shifting my growing kittens onto their intended turf. They could stay on the porch, huddle in their igloo, or climb down a tree if they wanted. It was, in fact, kitty paradise. Last step of the process: apply the flea formula (1 tube, divided by 4, with Boo getting half because he's HUGE, and the remaining 3 kitties getting a third of the other half, making that ....? Someone else can do the math.)

     The next morning (Sunday...another beautiful day), I go outside to check on the babies to find only one there to greet me. (Three guesses as to which one: yep. The tortie.) Hissy Missy is swishing and swaying and doing the tail-around-your-leg thing, hoping he's gonna get all three bowls of food I've toted out. The other two are nowhere to be found...though I could hear them.

     Gracie, was directly under the deck, poised to pounce, guestimating the leap between porch rafter and log pile. Sammy, on the other hand, had made his way back to the familiar basement door where he was hunkered down, crying and shaking uncontrollably.

     At first glance he appeared to be traumatized by something. I picked him up and held him close, as he continued to shake and purr simultaneously. "It's OK Sammy....It's OK...It's OK...I'm sorry I left you outside...Did something scare you? Who scared you?" (Rosebud had not been out without a leash, though clearly in the country, any number of animals prowl at night. I'm wondering "Maybe a possum?..But on closer inspection, there were no wound marks...nothing to indicate physical damage.)

     Placing him on the floor, I watched him stumble, then stagger, his little body spasming as he tried to walk. Fortunately, he did eat, though the water part seemed to confuse him. Suddenly it dawned on me: he wasn't  traumatized: he was toxified!

     I raced upstairs for my Dawn detergent and a clean towel to scrub whatever residual flea formula I could off his little blonde body, which did not resist (unusual for a cat). "Hang in there Sammy! Hang on bud...Mommy's SO Sorry.... I am SO sorry, Sammy, I'm SO SORRY..." (I'm crying and scrubbing...crying and scrubbing.)

     I guess it was subconscious. (I didn't google till after.) But something from all the animal rescue footage I've seen over the years must've kicked in (visions of the Valdez oil spill in particular). After 2 - 3 round of washing and rinsing (fleas flowing off the little guy like crazy) I patted him dry as I held him and rocked his little body, that twitch every so often out of sheer reflex. I went for a dropper and got a few rounds of goat's milk into his little brown mouth; then I bundled him up as I went to gather the other two to keep him company. 

     NEXT came the google search. And I searched. And I searched. And I searched. There were plenty of links on how to SPOT flea formula toxicity...Hotlines to call so folks could confirm your symptoms (which I didn't need; I knew what I was looking at). But sadly there was no real advice as to what to do about it after the fact. So I called my trusting vet friend, Dr. G, who, though now retired, cared for my every childhood pet from dogs to cats to hamsters and is the wisest man I know when it comes to caring for animals. While I could not find the packaging (I feared I had tossed it in trash I had already hauled; fortunately, I DID find it later) Dr. G already surmised what was happening, assuring me that if my little guy pulled through (and eating was a good sign) that the good news is, the damage would not be permanent.

     This story ends on a good note. (Thank you God.) If you ever encounter this situation, the good news is the effects are not permanent. What I feared would do irreversible damage to little Sammy's nervous system, fortunately proved unfounded. Today, Sammy is back to his bouncy, normal kitty self, playfully enjoying both outdoors and in with his fellow partners in crime.

     That said, today finds me on a mission to study the ingredients, not only in the toxic formulas I will no longer be using, but in the alternatives, which, if I can grow it, I'll be making myself. 

     (And if I do...I'll let you know.)