Mollie Hunt's Blog, page 81

23: LUX ��� THE DIAGNOSIS, MAY 13, 2014

Lux���s outburst had put a wrench in the works for the Cat From Hell episode, which had wrapped on the joyful note that Lux was a normal, if misunderstood, cat, now to be adopted by quiet cat people with whom he could live happily ever after. That no longer rang true; would the couple still want to adopt without the assurance of a happy ending? Reassessment was necessary and some re-filming needed to be done. Again we set up in my kitchen; again we sat around my grandmother���s table and talked about Lux. These are the takes you see in the episode.

It was nearly 7:00 when we got the call. Jim and I met Jackson and the film crew at Lux���s veterinary clinic where the results of the tests were to be revealed. If Lux was okay, Jim and I would pick him up from the medical center where he was still sleeping off his encounter and take him home; if he wasn���t��� well, we had to wait and see.

Our wonderful vet, whose name was given in the show but I withhold from this blog since I don���t know if she would appreciate the publicity, took us into the surgery where we stood around an examination table, awaiting the word. She��explained that all tests had come back normal – no tumor or anomaly in Lux���s brain. There were no problems with his spine either. He was a fit young cat.

She��then told us��about a syndrome she knew of called Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome* which could manifest itself in different ways. She considered Lux���s case to be atypical, because usually cats didn���t act out violently, but it wasn���t unheard of. FHS is a seizure disorder and can be treated with medication. It might take a little work to find the right combination for Lux, but hopes were high and we were more than willing to try.

A funny incident: As we were filming in the lobby of the vet clinic, a TV news truck rolled by. Lux���s story was still secret at this time and would be until the show aired, so everyone held their breath, wondering if we���d been found out. Lux was a big deal in Portland, and any news crew who uncovered his whereabouts would have had a story. The news truck slowed and we saw them look our way. They pulled into the parking lot across the street and took another pass, this time at a snail���s pace. We were sure we���d have some explaining to do. Then they sped off, never to be seen again.�� Oops on them!

*”Feline hyperesthesia syndrome, also known as rolling skin disease, is a rare illness in domestic cats that causes episodes of agitation, self-mutilation, and a characteristic rippling of the skin when touched. It is often described as a seizure disorder but the cause is unknown. During an episode cats show a number of typical signs, including skin rolling or twitching, self-directed pouncing, or aggressive behavior such as biting or attacking the tail. There may also be pupil dilation, vocalization and a general increase in activity.” Wikipedia

22: LUX ��� CAT SCAN, MAY 13, 2014

 

It was actually an MRI, not a cat scan, and we were set to meet Jackson Galaxy and his producer at the medical center. It was a perfect May day, warm and sunshine-filled. We had picked up Lux from boarding and he seemed sweet as ever. My heart went out to him and I felt no fear. That���s a lie ��� I felt fear, the same as I���d been feeling for the past two long agonizing weeks, but it wasn���t his fault and I was damned if I���d let it color my time with him. Hopefully later in the day, the mystery would be solved. We would find out the cause of his outbursts and work on the cure. Then everything would be good again.

Like any medical procedure, there was the interview with the doctor and then the long wait. It was going to be several hours until the anesthetic wore off and we could pick Lux up so we went to lunch at a vegan place since Jackson and the producer are vegan. I had kale salad of which I ate only a few bites. Not that I don���t love kale, but along with the other manifestations of my anxiety, I had quit eating.

Still, it was a good time. As wise and knowledgeable as Jackson is, he is also a good listener. He���s interested in what other people have to say. We talked about the shelter system; the ASAP (Animal Shelter Alliance of Portland*) who had banded together all the local animal welfare groups, making a drastic difference in euthanasia rates; as well as other things, some having nothing to do with cats!

Then we went home to hang on for the news.

*���ASAP stands for the Animal Shelter Alliance of Portland, greater metro area. This acronym was chosen because the mission of ASAP is, indeed, one of urgency. Our mission is to end the euthanasia of social, healthy, and treatable cats and dogs in our local shelters by collaborating on spay/neuter programs, educational and outreach efforts, and the promotion of humane alternatives for feral cats. In the past 7 years, ASAP has reduced euthanasia in Portland’s shelters by 76% and now saves 91% of cats and dogs ��� making our community one of the safest for pets in the nation!��� http://asapmetro.org/

 

20: LUX ��� A SHORT GOODBYE, May 2014

Lux continued to have outbursts. We tried giving him the meds, a combination of anti-depressant and an anticonvulsant/ analgesic, but it was difficult. We didn���t want to rile him by stuffing them down his throat, and he refused to take them in food. He was eating only sparsely.

Another strange thing about Lux���s outbursts was that they lingered: even after he calmed down, he would still be aloof, unresponsive, almost as if he were in a different world. It was a sad, scary world; I could see it in his eyes.

And I was still in hell, though I walked and talked like a normal person when I was required to. Still went to work, but kept to myself. I stuttered, forgot common words. People who knew me, knew something was wrong, but how could I tell them I was crazy? How could I tell them I no longer wanted to work with cats?

My life was so built around my care of cats, and now that was over. I���d see a kitty on the street and joke, ���Careful, that thing is dangerous,��� or ���Look out, it might attack!��� Funny? No, heartbreaking. I was afraid, and what was worse, I had no idea if I���d ever get over it.�� On May 10th, I wrote:

“This incident has changed the way I look at cats.”

Between my fear and the inability to feed Lux his meds, it was decided he would go into boarding where he could be watched and cared for by professionals. It was a nice place where everybody knew and loved him, and I had no doubt it was for the best. I would have breathed a sigh of relief if I hadn���t been so ashamed of myself. Stripped of my cat-persona, who was I?

I visited Lux on Saturdays. We met in a room where Lux – Mr Lucky on the records because he was still a high-profile cat ��� would prowl and sniff. I���m not sure he cared that I was there. I believe he did, but my emotions were confusing and probably confused him even more.

Luxie had been set up for an MRI of his brain and spine, and Jackson would be flying up to Portland for the procedure. Everyone hoped it would show something, then hoped it wouldn���t. What would we do if he had a tumor? Animal Planet had been more than generous so far, but would they spring for surgery?

……………..A bridge to be crossed if we got that far……………

 

19: LUX ��� CAUGHT IN THE VOID, MAY, 2014

 

The trouble with being in hell is that everything else goes as usual. Bills need to be paid, meals cooked, obligations fulfilled. And as I sat in that doctor���s office while the nurses cleaned up my wounds, I knew I had a cat to go back to. A crazy cat. A 911 cat, whom, to complicate matters, I loved with all my heart. I had seen the anguish in his eyes as he threw his fit. I wasn���t the only one in pain: Lux was in his own hell. There had to be a reason, and Jackson promised we would find out what it was.

That was good and all, but meanwhile, demons were eating my brain. Time had gone pear-shaped. Any stimulus was too much. To think ahead caused anxiety and fear, a glut of emotion so intense it was nauseating. Within the next few days, I quit my volunteering duties at OHS and Hospice, I stayed away from facebook and the gem game I like to play on my phone ��� even those little popping lights were too much for me. I canceled every appointment I had, no matter how important it was or embarrassing to bow out. I stopped writing my book. I made appointments with my therapist, begging her on her voicemail to fit me in. Then I laid low.

I continued to visit Lux in his room but was fearful every time which I���m sure he sensed. We couldn���t let him out anymore, which he hated. Something had to be done and fast.

Jackson put me in touch with a local vet who was familiar with Lux���s case and had seen him before. She prescribed medication to relieve his symptoms and talked about possible causes for the unpredictable behavior, such as a brain tumor or anomaly, a pain condition, or a seizure-like event where all the nerves fire inappropriately, creating a pain/fear reaction. There would have to be tests. Though Lux had been extensively tested during the weeks before he came to me, there was more they could do, and Jackson wanted to do all of it. He was not about to let this wonderful cat suffer.

………continue…………

 

18: LUX ��� FRAGILE MENTAL HEALTH & A CAT, MAY 2, 2014

May 2nd, 2014 is a date scorched into my brain. That is the day Lux attacked.

Things started out calm and quiet. Though I had been trepidatious at first, Lux seemed over his outburst and back to his friendly self. A little too friendly, I realized after the fact. He was craving attention and affection. I was happy to give it to him, hoping and praying that yesterday had been a fluke, a mistake, a hallucination ��� anything but a prelude to the behavior that caused a grown man to call 911 on his cat.

I was working on my computer, Lux beside me, on top of me, on the keyboard, on my lap. He was hyper so we played for a while to diffuse the energy of the big young boy. Finally it was time for me to make dinner.

I got up and started for the door. Instantly Lux began to growl, and before I���d walked two steps, he was in full-blown outburst mode again. Adrenaline hit my system, and I moved faster for the door. Yes, I was scared shitless! He rushed me from behind, clawing one ankle and biting deeply into the other. I screamed and pushed him away, got through the door and closed it. He threw himself against the door, trying to get at me.

In tears, I called Jackson and Jim. I didn���t care who I talked to so long as someone helped me make sense of what had just happened. I knew I had to get medical help for the bite: cat bites can be terribly infectious and I needed antibiotics immediately, but if I went to emergency, they would put Lux in bite quarantine, and that would be all sorts of bad. In the end, I went to my clinic where a doctor who happened to be a cat-lover let me convince him both wounds were scratches and though deep, didn���t require a report to the county. Lux remained anonymous, I got my antibiotics, and all was well.

All was not well. Since I was a child, I have been prone to anxiety and panic attacks. They come more rarely now, but the event with Lux threw me head-first into the abyss of mental anguish. It happened��so fast I didn���t know what hit me. For those who have suffered mental disorders, you know. For those who haven���t, consider yourselves blessed and take my word that the best description of the place I go without a moment���s warning is hell. Hell. Though his attack had instigated, it wasn���t Lux���s fault, nor was it mine, but I was in hell.

…..continuing………..

 

17: LUX ��� ARROGANCE UNDONE, MAY 1, 2014

On May 1st, Lux had his second outburst, the first being when his family called 911 on him. Since I���d met him a month before, I was silently but condescendingly laughing at the original event, thinking his people had overreacted, that they just weren���t as cat-savvy as me. As time wore on, it had seemed more and more likely that the outburst had been wildly blown out of proportion ��� after all, the baby pulled Lux���s tail. We all knew that babies shouldn���t be left alone with cats for that very reason.

I was arrogant. I admit it. I paid for my shortsightedness.

Though Lux didn���t attack during the brushing incident, everything about his stance was fearsome. In all my cat experience, I���d never seen anything like it, and I���ve seen a lot of cats: Feral cats; fraidy-cats; angry cats; cornered cats; injured cats; and starving cats, fighting for scraps. Lux���s outburst was not like any of them.

With shaking hands, I called Jackson���s producer, the OHS media person, and my husband. Lux���s howls had cut off and now there was only silence from his room. As I sat on my couch, cold fear pressing at my heart, I knew this was a pivotal event; that nothing would be the same.

Jackson got back to me immediately, wonderfully compassionate and sad that this had happened. He never once questioned my cat-handling ability and for that, I was thankful. I personally felt like the hugest failure on earth. What had I done wrong? I kept going over those moments preceding the outburst: Had I done something to precipitate it? I continued to come up with the same answer: No.

Jackson gave some instructions on what to do next, and when Jim came home, we went to visit��our boy. He was still anxious and aloof but no longer vocal. We spent some time with him but he seemed to be in his own world. After a while, his anxiety began to mount. We fed him, made sure he had water and toys, and left him to it, hoping that the night would calm him.

It didn���t.

16: LUX ��� THE CAT FROM HELL, MAY 1, 2014

Colored Pencil Drawing, Bouquet by Laurie Rohner

 

 

It was May 1st, May Day, when children make flower baskets to leave��on a��loved ones��� doorstep; when girls dance around a May pole, and spring perfumes the air. Okay, maybe that���s a bit old-fashioned, but it was a lovely day. Sun streamed through the big windows, glistening on Lux���s fur as I readied him for a photo shoot with the Oregon Humane Society���s media person who was going to do a feature on his success. I had brushed him many times before, because being an extremely long-haired cat, (the fur on his tail is 4 inches!) he needed consistent grooming to prevent hairballs. He liked it. I thought.

 

 

Suddenly and without warning, he began to hiss, and not the cute little breathy hiss I���d seen previously. His ears flattened to his head; his eyes dilated until there was nothing but black; the hair on his back stood up straight, making him look more like a wolverine than a cat. The hiss became a moan and then a yowl, banshee-like and eerie. I dropped the brush, not believing what I saw. I tried petting his sideburns which he usually loves, but he just got louder. He was possessed, not the Lux of the past 3 weeks. Not a Lux I had ever seen before.

This was Lux, the 911 cat.

I grabbed Little, who had been sitting on the bedside, and left the room. Behind the closed door, Lux continued his tirade, screaming up the empty walls.

��

 

15: LUX ��� 3 WEEKS OF BLISS & A PITFALL, APRIL 2014

This story continues in the past. We are still back in April of 2014, nearly 9 months ago. Some of the memories waver; some fade. Some are seared on my consciousness like a brand of fire.

After filming My Cat From Hell in my kitchen, life went back to normal. Jim and I were just two people with a new cat in our family. We began to expose Lux to other rooms, other stimuli. We introduced him slowly to our other 3 cats with varying degrees of acceptance. Lux hissed, but was detached; Little, the most gregarious of my clowder, began to play with him. Watching the two chase each other up and down the cat tree was pure joy. Lux had never met another cat before.

I quit taking notes and heard very little from Jackson. Life went on, soft and furry. Friends came to visit, and I introduced Lux as his alias, Mr. Lucky, which I thought rhymed with Luxie. I always wanted a cat named Lucky, and��in that time and space, we thought Lux was the luckiest cat in the world. He had escaped euthanasia and was found to be a normal cat. He now had a forever home where he could come out of his shell and thrive.

Unfortunately life threw us a few curves, a few stumbles, and a major pitfall. On May 1, 2014, Lux had another outburst.

��

 

DESERT: BLOSSOMS AND BOMBS

I need to write about the desert, my time there, over forty years ago.

Palo Verde, California on the Colorado River where it is slow and slim, banks woven with brambles where the muskrats lived. Twenty miles farther south was the turn off to the old miners��� cabin, perched on the cliff of a deep wash. I lived there for the winter of ���72.

The desert isn���t the Spartan place it���s said to be. In fact, I found it endlessly fascinating. Looking out over the low desert to the Chocolate Mountains, I could watch the sand storms crawl toward us, erasing the landscape like an artist expunging his work. Cactus bloomed at twilight, colors so vivid they shimmered blood-pink in the flash-orange of the setting sun. In the morning, they were no more than a twist of pale petal; by noon they were gone.

I was there for the lushest spring in 20 years though I didn���t know it at the time. Somewhere I still have a sketch book of flowers, tiny and delicate. The seemed no match for the harsh desert, yet they defied the heat and desiccation long enough to put down seeds of their own. Those seeds would��lie in the sharp stone until the next saturation, possibly another 20 years.

 

 

I got my water from Midway Well. Once a week, I���d hike the 2 miles down the wash to the truck, a ���55 Dodge with the tenacity of a bulldog, then drive the rest of the wash to the well. I filled an aluminum garbage can with water, glorying in its the liquid vivacity as I had the rare bright sun in my Pacific Northwest home, then haul it back to the cabin. The truck always made it; not all of the water did.

The cabin was on BLM land which butted up to a navy bombing range. Rarely did I hear the bombs, and then only a boom in the distance. Once, however, the impact was so close it shook the house. I swear I saw the boards fly apart and death look me in the face; then as if by magic, the scene reversed and the damage repaired itself. I looked again and it was all back in order, all but my racing heart.

 

 

I had a cat and a dog. Hound Dog was��an unfortunate untrained mutt who barked at nothing, then hid when the burros came. Cat-Man-Do was a stray kit I found the parking lot of the Palo Verde general store. I fed her a sandwich and she bit my hand. Loved her forever after.

I turned 21 at a bar in Palo Verde. I���d been going there��for months,��and the barkeep wasn���t happy when he learned I���d been under age the whole time. For a while, I sang in the tiny caf�� they called a lounge. I played my guitar (poorly) and belted out popular songs (with heart). A friend gave me a set of neon-pink hot pants for a costume. ���Oh, honey, this���ll get you the tips,��� she said, and she was right: one man paid me a whole 5 bucks to sing Sammi Smith���s hit, ���Help Me Make It Through the Night���. I didn���t know the words so I learned them off the jukebox.

 

I left my mining claim in the spring of 1973 with cat, dog, and a rat-shit trailer. A handful of opals still in the stone, some obsidian slivers, and a tiny bag of silver tailings were my only ores. Only the silver came from my claim: I���d traded a bottle of warm beer for the opals at a flea market in Yuma; the obsidian slivers were a gift. I made them into a wind chime, their pure notes pinging the hot night until I left them hanging from a Palo Verde tree at a roadside pull-off.

I��drove back to British Columbia. Behind me, the desert metamorphosed into a mirage.

 

COPY CATS – COPY KITTIES – COPY FELINES – it’s COMING SOON!

The release of ���Copy Cats���, the second Crazy Cat Lady mystery is getting close. I still need to look over and approve��my proof copy from the printer, a process delayed by the loss of the first sample, either from off my porch or delivered to the wrong house. I am fantasizing that UPS mistakenly dropped it at the door of a wealthy media person who is now going to look me up and offer me millions for the movie rights. Or maybe it���s lying in the bushes where the package thief tossed it when he found out it was only a book and the poor sod can���t read. In spite of the stall, I expect it to be out by the end of the month. I am also expecting an exciting celebrity endorsement! Can���t wait!

��In the interim, here is another selection from Copy Cats:

���My attention returned to the narrow door. Without anything that could be considered rational thought, I gripped the black ceramic knob, pulled it open, and stepped inside. The smell hit me instantly; not the dust and mold smell that saturated the other parts of the building and not the ick smell of someone���s dirty bathroom either. This was the smell I���d been searching for earlier: cat. Urine, feces and fear, so strong my eyes burned. And there was something else as well – biting, chemical – and I knew even in my blindness, I had found the counterfeiter���s lab.

The room was dark; the weak glimmer of the office���s low-wattage bulb made little more than a thin stripe that petered out a foot or so from the doorway. I felt the wall for a light switch and found one, old but functional. With a flip and a prayer, the lights went on.

I gaped at what can only be described as a kitty chamber of horrors. The mass of fluorescents shone cruelly down on the large space; it had never been a bathroom, that was for sure. Against the wall to the left stood a bank of cages, empty I was thankful to say. Across the back of the room ran a continuous workbench with shelves above and below. To my right hunched a huge set of concrete sinks. In the center of the room stood a stainless steel groomer���s bench the size of a banquet table.

I took a few steps into the room, then moved automatically to the cages, horrid tiny wire coops lined with filthy newspaper. There were twelve total, but only about half of them had been occupied. Those now contained nothing but the soiled paper – no food, no water bowls. The likelihood that someone had come along and cleaned up those items when the cats left was ludicrous, implying that the animals had been terribly neglected. I peered closer at a specimen of scat and judged it to be recent. At least one of the cats had been there not that long ago.

I turned to the work bench. Strangely enough, the white Formica was unexpectedly clean though cluttered, as if someone had been working there. I picked out a few standard items ��� combs, brushes, and claw clippers ��� alongside things I would hope never to see at my local pet salon, such as wire cutters, spray paint, epoxy glue and a rusty razor knife. The shelves, again spotless except for a light sprinkling of dust, were filled with bottles, jars, and cans of miscellanea. Some were labeled; others, ominously unmarked. A quart jar oozed a black-brown slime; a number six can with its lid partially pried open held something that reeked of ammonia.

I headed for the sinks to complete my circuit of feline hell and stumbled. As I caught my balance, I looked down to see what had tripped me and faltered again, this time reeling from shock. A booted foot������