Introducing Buster Keaton!
This is Buster, Buster Keaton. He's been with us since I nabbed him out of the back end of a pickup truck parked across the street in September of 2004. A farmer had seen this kitten in his yard, but his dogs treed it for two days. When he finally got it out of the tree, the kitten dashed into his house and asked for food. Obviously, some idiot had dropped the poor thing off in the country to fend for itself. It was dirty, smelly and infested with fleas. But it was also a friendly and chatty little thing. So he drove it into town to give to our neighbor, who already had three cats she didn't want. It was early on a Saturday morning and I heard his cries from our back yard. When I went to investigate I came home with a new kitten. YAY! Oh, yeah, and we also own the neighbor's three former cats as well.
There used to be an old post in my archives with photos of Buster as a pale little kitten playing with a fur mousie. They were interspersed with stanzas of commercial jingles devoted to Buster's cuteness, like the Oscar Mayer weiner song and the Fig Newton song. But I can't find it any more. It might be one of those posts which LJ sent off into cyberspace while I moved all my old stuff over from MySpace (which I dislike).
So. Buster's four years old now! Here he is in one of his favorite positions: lying on his back ready for belly rubs.
He's just so loving and affectionate. He never causes problems with any of the other cats. In fact, in spite of his 14-pound stature he's a bit of a fraidycat, being easily intimidated by the more assertive feline members of the family. He loves to play. Some of his favorite toys are shoestrings, fur mousies, the laser light and...toesies.
He adores bare toes, no matter who they belong to. I'd go so far as to say he has a toe fetish, and it's such a hoot to watch him really getting into it. If he sees me heading for the shower he trots in ahead of me and softly cries for toesies in his breathy voice. When I give him my bare feet he starts licking my toes, which of course sends me into fits of giggles. He'll rub his whisker pads on them, too, while making pad-pads on the floor. It's practically a dance he does, licking, mewing and shifting his weight while kneading. And I must pet him while he's doing this. He insists. Oh, the ecstacy he reaches! Heaven forbid I should try to walk once he starts. Have you ever tried to walk with a cat clinging to your ankles? 'Nuff said.
Lately he's had a problem with hitting the litter box. I've seen it in several locations (he has access to five boxes in the main house). Then I noticed him going in and out so frequently that he was getting no rest. Then he was straining. So he went to the vet yesterday and today and they found a whole lot of blood in his urine. Poor tyke. But they're not finding any evidence of bladder crystals or elevated white blood cell count. So they can't really treat him with antibiotics. Instead of a Uti or bladder crystals they think he has a vague syndrome called Lower Urinary Tract Disease. Nobody knows what causes it, except that environmental stress makes it flare up. And once you get it you're prone to recurrences. So they sent him home with some Metacam for the pain and said that if it doesn't clear up on its own within three to five days I should bring him back for another urinalysis and radiographs to make sure there are no crystals.
Ah, my sweet Baby Blue Eyes. Since this started he's been hanging around me a lot, sleeping near my chair and sometimes asking for "The Lap of Love", which is a rare treat for me. It must make him feel better to be comforted by me. I hope he feels better soon.