This is Maddy. To the rest of the world she's a very ordinary little black cat. To me, for fifteen years, she's been my close friend, a source of constant amusement, and the inspiration for the name of my very first heroine in my very first novel. Two weeks ago Maddy had to have her left eye removed after developing an ulcerated optic abscess. The operation went well (I spent all day pacing up and down with my stomach in knots, as you do), she came home two days later and, the vet said, was on track to make a full recovery.
Maddy looked awful. Half her face was shaved away, she had six huge stitches in a sort of gash shape from the top of her head down to the tip of her nose, and she was very wobbly. However, after a couple of days of TLC she started to make progress. She'd eat a little and venture outside occasionally and the other cats stopped giving her a wide berth because she reeked of VET. Then she changed. With no warning she started clawing at her face, shaking her head violently and falling over. She couldn't eat, drink, walk or even stand up. Every time I put food down for her, she'd lower her head to it and then jerk it frantically away almost as if she'd just smacked her face into an invisible glass wall. She hid behind the sofa, hunched up, looking terrified.
I rushed her back to the vet who checked her over and said he'd never seen such violent and distressing reactions, that the eye socket was clean and clear, there was no indication of an infection, and that unless she'd had a post-op cerebral bleed he had no idea what was going on, but that he was very worried. He wasn't the only one...
Two days later, with Maddy's violent shakes and panics getting worse, and still having not eaten or drunk anything, I took her back. The vet removed her stitches, checked her over again, said she wasn't in pain but was very weak and he had no idea what was going on, and said he didn't hold out much hope for her survival, and that it might be kindest to have her put to sleep...
Now, at that point there was no way I was going to let her go. Not until I knew there was no alternative. If she'd been in pain then yes, of course, I'd have agreed. But as she wasn't... I took her home. She crawled behind the sofa. And I crawled with her. And for an entire week that's where she stayed and - for most of it - so did I, just talking to her and stroking her and reassuring her. I reckoned that it was vital for her to have fluids more than anything, so spent ages syringing water into the side of her mouth. We both got soaked but at least she got some of it. Then, still talking to her all the time, and stroking her, I smeared pate round her mouth and on her paws and the side of her face. At first she just panicked, but I persevered to the expense of everything else. For seven days I did nothing - certainly no writing or housework - but sat with her in the darkness, smearing food on to her and talking to her until she gradually, very gradually, started to lick it off.
After another two days she crawled from behind the sofa and, keeping her away from the other cats, I put the food on a saucer in front of her. She went through the violent shying away/head shaking thing again, but then - amazingly - started to hook the food off her plate with her paw and eat it with her "fingers". Not much, admittedly, but some. I was so encouraged by this breakthrough (yes, I cried) that I started teaching her to stand and walk too. Just supporting her underneath her tummy and moving her forward inch by inch, and putting her into a litter tray and holding her steady. And after another day she could do this on her own too.
Then she started eating normally from her dish, admittedly very, very slowly with her head all skewed round at an odd angle, but she was eating and drinking and walking unaided...
By the end of last week, Maddy was back to normal. Yes, she's finding it a bit odd only having restricted vision - but this hasn't stopped her resuming her tree-climbing and bird-watching activities. As I'm typing this she's chasing butterflies in the garden. She's the first in for food, the first one with a clean plate, the first one on the bed at night seeking out the snuggliest spot.
Now I'm miles behind with the TWTAH edits, the house is a tip and The Toyboy Trucker is beginning to look like beans on toast - but I'm making no apologies. Maddy's back, I'm ecstatic - and I'm thinking, should the writing take a nose-dive, of setting up in business as a cat-whisperer.....
