Our CH cats impact our lives in so many ways, and Elvis is no exception in Sho’s life. Read how Elvis wandered into Sho’s heart and family:
“De liddle cat, he shakin’ an’ shakin’, mon!”
My Jamaican friend did maintenance work at a nearby apartment building. Stray cats lived in the alley, and kittens sprouted like mushrooms.
Three little tuxedos were evicted from a storage room by the building’s owner. No mom in sight, they curled together under some bushes on their own.
One was different.
It walked oddly; wiggled like a worm in a bait bucket.
Anyone could see the little guy wasn’t gonna make it out there. I needed another kitten like I needed another kitten, so of course, the three came home with me.
Cere- what ?
Is it going to die? Will he get better? Enter the CH Kitty Club, and I learned.
The wiggly kitten lived. It did not need to recover; it wasn’t sick or broken. I had a CHer.
A year and a half later, my Elvis is my joy. I suspect he believes that all the other cats are sadly afflicted with ”Walking Straight Syndrome.”
When he was little, he moved in drive and in reverse; it didn’t matter, either way he got someplace and was happy to be there. The more excited he was, the faster he wiggled.
Like his namesake, Elvis oscillates at the hips. A neighbor smiled and compared it to one of those novelty plastic sunflowers sold at Walgreens a few years ago – the ones that wore shades and danced like a cobra.
Representing the younger generation, my son took one look, grinned and said, “Dub Step.” Go to YouTube.
His head bobs, his tail swings from side to side. His back legs tend to splay out to the sides, but they do catch up with him. He’s sort of double-jointed; he lays in seemingly anatomically impossible position sometimes, with one leg straight out behind him and the other directly ahead.
He explores every nook and cranny on the ground; he does not jump. He can pull himself up onto the bed, hand over hand, when he’s in the mood.
We’ve had various litter box options, but since defaulted to newspaper – a few thick sheets and some torn strips. What works is placing the paper down and propping a “showcard” against the wall over it, forming a half tent.
This affords a sense of privacy as well as a way for him to steady himself between the board and the wall.
I also steady him while he eats.
Absorbed in his food, the hind legs slide out to the side, which bothered me more than it did him. By hooking a thumb and middle finger around both knees, I hold them in place.
As he’s grown, Elvis has become more comfortable and confident in his body.
He takes medication to control a seizure disorder (unrelated to CH) and has learned to hide the little pill between teeth and cheek, pretending to swallow. If I’m not diligent, he waits until I set him down and then, ppppppttthhh!
Supervised outdoor time in the yard with his friends is an evening ritual; we cherish these adventures.
Elvis is his own man.
I don’t think of him as a cat with a disability, rather, I think of him as my Elvis, who I wouldn’t change for the world.