Running Chick

Say hello to Simon. 

He’s your average 15-year-old housecat – sleeps (a lot), eats, poops.  He’s slowing down in his old age, but every once in a while he manages to race around the house like his tail is on fire.

Recently, I’ve started to notice changes in Simon’s behavior.  They started out rather subtle.  He’s never been a very talkative kitty, but all of a sudden, he started vocalizing.  I thought it was cute.  I encouraged him.

Simon:  meow

Me:  meow

Simon:  meeyow!

Me:  meeyow!

Simon:  MEEYAAAAOWWW!

Me:  MEYYY…oh wtf I’m a crazy cat lady.

Anyway, a few months of that and I noticed that he was doing it all the time. Loudly. While staring at me.  Or staring at Josh.  Or staring at the wall.  Or staring at the ceiling.  Did he want food?  No.  Did he want water?  No.  Did he want to be picked up?  No.  Did he want to be played with? Petted? Brushed? No, no and no. 

Then he started pacing.  In the middle of the night.  Off the bed, down the hall to the bathroom.  Then downstairs.  Then, back upstairs & to the bathroom.  Then back to the bedroom and up on the bed.  Then sit there for two minutes and start all over again.  Did I mention this was in the middle of the night?

Then he got really, really clingy and anxious.  He followed me everywhere and if he couldn’t find me, he’d start with the loud meowing again.  If I was outside shoveling off the deck, he’d freak out.  If I went outside via the basement, I would hear him meowing from the other side of the door.  When I’d come inside, he’d stand at the top of the basement stairs and meow loudly at me.

When I started to notice he was losing weight, I decided that it was time to visit the vet.  I’d been reading up on elderly cats and figured it was senility.  Or maybe he was going deaf.  Or maybe both.

Two hours, two blood tests and $260 later, we have a diagnosis.  It’s not senility.  Or deafness.  It’s hyperthyroidism.  I’m not going to do it justice explaining it in technical terms, so you can refer to the information from the fine folks at Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine for all that.  Basically what it means is that he’s got an overactive thyroid gland.  It’s fairly common in kitties of his age.  To determine whether or not a cat has hyperthyroidism, the blood is tested for an enzyme called thyroxine (T4).  Normal levels of T4 are between .8 and 4.  Simon’s level was somewhere above 7.  The clinic’s scale only went as high as 7, so that’s as accurate a reading as they could get.  But, the results were pretty clear.

So, the news is good and bad:

• Bad:  Hyperthyroidism is incurable.
• Good: It’s easily managed with drugs.
• Bad: The drugs are in pill form.
• Good:  The drugs are really small.
• Bad: The dosage is twice per day.
• Bad: Simon does not like taking pills.

The drug he was prescribed is called Tapazole (Methimazole). I gave him the first pill when we got home from the vet’s yesterday.  I was able to do it quickly and I’m pretty sure the pill was down before he even realized what was going on.  I was hoping for the same success this morning, but Simon caught on to my shenanigans and he was ready for me. 

I lift kitty onto counter, get his butt in the crook of my arm, pry open his jaws and quickly get the pill as far back in his throat as I can get while still avoiding his razor sharp teeth.  Kitty spits the pill onto the counter.  Try again, this time kitty is a lot more squirmy.  And stronger.  Pill in.  Kitty spits it out.  Again.  Pill in.  Pill out, and stuck to the side of his mouth.  By this time, the pill is wet and dissolving in my hands.  DANG IT.  Again!  Pill in.  Kitty spits it half-way across the floor.  Kitty secretly laughs at my incompetence.  How he’s even getting it out of his mouth is beyond me as I’m holding it closed.  TF!  Finally, after the fourth (fifth? sixth?) try, the pill goes down.  THANK GOD.  I might have more of the pill on my fingers, though.

Not one to let my cat outwit me, I prevailed tonight when I decided to hide the pill in some chunks of tuna (credit goes to Josh for this idea).  There was a moment when, while he was chewing, he got this very perplexed look on his face and I thought that maybe he figured out my evil plot, but he appeared oblivious. 

Or maybe he did realize what was going on and he’s secretly plotting to suffocate me with a pillow while I sleep. Oh well, at least I got that pill in him!

Today I ordered some chicken flavored pill pockets, which are little hollow treats that you can slip the pill into.  In theory, Simon should be so thrilled with the treat that he’ll gulp it down without even noticing it’s not really a treat.  He can be a finicky eater, so I don’t know how well this will work.

The vet says that I should start to see improvement in as little as a week. I have to take him back in a month to get his T4 level tested again to see if the pills are working.  If so, yay!  If not, I don’t know what the next step(s) will be.  I’ve had this little kitty for 15 years and he means the world to me.  Rest assured, I’m willing to try pretty much anything to keep him around for as long as I possibly can.