Hopefully this will be my last post about Begley’s thyroid. Hopefully because he’s just had his fifth weigh in and blood test and the results are in. He’s comfortably in the normal range for his blood test. He was also within normal at the last test in November but the big news is that his weight has bounced back to 5.51kg, which I think is Begley’s ideal weight. He doesn’t need to be weighed and tested for another four months and with any luck that’ll just be a formality. His stomach seems to have settled down on the current dose so we just carry on with the tablet routine.
I could just have said that on Twitter but I decided on a post because I’ve got a story about another cat for you. I mentioned in Little Hero that I know someone whose cat was diagnosed hyperthyroid and she completely refused to take the tablets. They tried various strategies but nothing worked and everyone involved thought surgery wasn’t an option for her. It wasn’t long before she was so sick she had to be put down. I was talking to him again and he’d remembered a story from years ago. He had friends with cat who’d recently been diagnosed with diabetes. He’d agreed to cat-sit while they were on holiday, which meant staying in their house because they lived a couple of hours away.
On his arrival, they produced the insulin syringe and explained he’d have to inject the cat every day. He started feeling pretty anxious as he looked at that syringe (I’ve always dreaded the thought of either of my cats being diagnosed with diabetes for the same reason). The cat sounds like he had quite a similar personality to Begley. He was happy and laid back but shy. He only really got along with a small number of people he knew well and his novice catsitter/nurse wasn’t one of them. He just hadn’t spent enough time there. I’d be equally nervous about anyone trying to give Begley tablets in those circumstances.
So, the cat’s owners left and the time for his injection rolled round. His catsitter sat him on his lap and picked up the syringe, expecting the cat to make a run for it. The cat just sat, perfectly still, waiting. He put the needle in. The cat stayed put. He accidentally bent the needle (which must have hurt, surely?). The cat gave him a look but stayed still. Finally he got the injection done. Despite his being a virtual stranger and his initial incompetence with the syringe, the cat came back each day and placidly sat through his injection.
The cat was about Begley’s age when he was diagnosed with diabetes. He lived to 17. Some cats just know. I wish for his sake that his own cat had been one of them. I feel strange about thinking it but I’m relieved it was Begley and not Ciara who was diagnosed with a long term condition. Begley’s always been good about these things but Ciara’s always been a monster. She has to be bundled up in a blanket to be given tablets and squirms to get a paw through the neck hole. She can spit a tablet across the whole width of the lounge and a male vet trying open her mouth to put a worming tablet down her said she has unnaturally strong jaws. If it ever comes to it, I’ll mould her beloved Red Leicester round her tablets and hope for the best.