Ruthie
is quite a cat. More dog than cat
really, at least behaviorally, she is named in honor of our adopted office
mother, “Big Ruthie” Michael.
Author: Dr. John Jones
My
first encounter with little Ruthie occurred at our reception desk one afternoon
last fall. A lady exited her car
carrying a small bundle. I recognized
her as one of our clients who owns a Golden Retriever, but this was definitely
not a large dog she was carrying. As she
walked through the door, the “mystery” was revealed---a tiny, longhaired,
calico kitten with distinct copper eyes.
She
found the kitten by the side of the highway.
Not knowing what to do, she brought it to our office. “We’ll find her a home,” I exclaimed. When Ruthie started to purr when I picked her
up, I knew full well that I just had.
A
recent near death run-in with a rat had put me on the recruiting trail for more
barn cats. I rationalized that this
little fluff of multi-colored hair would grow up to be an ardent rodent killer
and protector of my soul. Plus, there was something about this kitten that I
liked. Maybe it was because she liked
me.
Ruthie
spent the next few days in our office, building up her little body before
beginning her new career in the barn.
She loved being petted and held, with those orange eyes staring down
anyone in their path to do so.
Ruthie
seemed to enjoy barn life. She followed
me around, albeit slowly, while I did my chores. Once I found her in a pen of lambs being
“schmoozed” by several at the same time.
I could tell she literally thought she was “the cat’s meow.” However, it soon became evident something was
not quite right with Ruthie. She would
have “spells” where she became very listless with some spittle on her chin, and
at times even acted blind. But, she
always recovered and became “Ruthie” again.
One
Sunday morning my wife came out to the barn.
A short time later I saw her leaving with Ruthie.
“Hey,
where are you taking my cat?” I heard
her mutter something about “Ruthie’s not barn cat material.”
As
much as she liked the barn, Ruthie enjoyed living in the house even more. Being the center of attention apparently
agreed with her. Her “spells” became
more frequent and dramatic, however, and usually occurred after she ate. Often, ropes of saliva would dangle from her
mouth. This is called ptyalism and,
unfortunately, it is a hallmark sign of a congenital liver condition called a
portosystemic shunt. And her
“spells”---a fancy medical term for this is hepatoencephalopathy. Also, these cats frequently have
copper-colored eyes and are small in size.
One
of our textbooks describes a portosystemic shunt as “an abnormal communication
between the portal and systemic venous systems that allows intestinal blood to
be delivered to the systemic circulation prior to hepatic detoxification.” In English, this means that blood carrying
digestive by-products, including ammonia from the breakdown of protein in her
food, is not being filtered and cleansed by her liver, but is going directly to
her brain. In essence, every time she eats, she poisons her brain with ammonia.
These
shunts can be either extra-hepatic, meaning outside the liver, or
intra-hepatic---inside the liver. The
treatment of choice for this condition is surgery, extra-hepatic shunts
generally having a more favorable outcome.
My wife consulted a surgeon at Ohio State ,
one of our old teachers, and he told her the surgical success rate was only
about 40% and that there still could be complications.
Not
wanting to take that risk at this time, we are managing Ruthie’s condition
medically, and she seems to be doing well.
She is eating a special diet, Hill’s Prescription Diet Feline L/D,
formulated for liver problems. She is
also receiving lactulose, a sugar with laxative effects that increases the
speed of ammonia removal through her colon, thus reducing the amount that
reaches her brain.
Ruthie
has grown into a beautiful cat, although we often call her “the third Border
Collie.” She races through the house and
romps and wrestles with the “other” dogs at every opportunity.
As
I write this column, she is sitting on the edge of the paper on top of the
kitchen table, staring at me with those orange eyes. It’s hard to get mad at her though; she’s
just being Ruthie.
I
don’t know what the future holds for Ruthie, and that sometimes makes me
sad. Overall though, I’m alright with
that, because I know we are fulfilling the only real need she ever had---to be
loved. That, she is.
Author: Dr. John Jones