The Thing About Grizz

Meet Grizzwald aka Grizz

Since we returned from Newfoundland in August, there has been a cat coming around our backdoor.  While he looked somewhat cared for, it grew increasingly clear that he had been abandoned.  He was a sweet thing who seemed to come around for the love and attention as much as the bowl of food we put out.  Occasionally, he would disappear for days at a time and we thought we had seen the last of him but then he would reappear, as sweet as ever.  As the weather grew colder, we realized that a decision had to be made - is he in or is he out?

Lucy came up with a name - Grizzwald or Grizz.  I guess that was our answer.  I got him in the carrier last week and took him to the veterinarian's office.  Grizz needs his balls cut off (to put it bluntly) but he also needed to be checked for anything else that might infect our two felines in residence, who are quite healthy and happy, thank you very much.

Long story short - Grizz tested positive for feline leukemia.  It isn't clear yet whether he has it in his blood only, which is not necessarily a terrible thing, or if it has gone into his bone marrow, which is a terrible thing.  There also is debate about whether it is ok to have him around other cats - most vets will say definitely not but if you dig around the interwebs, things are a little murkier, especially if he is a carrier only (not infected to the marrow).

Grizz has been living in our basement while we get all this sorted out.  He is a very affectionate cat and, mostly, has not shown his testosterone-driven nature.  I have allowed Olive and Webster to have a little contact with him and mostly he seems ready to cede the Alpha status to Webster.  I am afraid Olive was determined to be below him on the food chain but her attitude seems to be "that's your problem, not mine" so I think it is ok.

This morning, I thought I would give them a little face time but that turned out to be a mistake.  Grizz was hungry and if there is one place where he is alpha, it is around his food bowl.  This guy has known hunger and he isn't about to let some posh, bourgeois, fancy cats elbow in on his eats.  He didn't even wait for Webster to make a move before he was giving him some threatening gestures.  Webster's reaction to run down into the basement was a bad idea - Grizz was hot on his heels.  Then: silence.  I ran down after them.  Still silence.  Then I hear a pathetic little Webster meow back behind the laundry drying rack.  What happened next, well, let's just say that Tabby is the new orange is the new black.  Or something like that.  Webster gave me a look that said, "hello?  yesterday I was King of all I surveyed and today?  Buddy has me pinned down and he clearly is mistaken about my inclinations.  What have I done to deserve this??"

Oh, Webster!  I am so sorry.  (Although I am surprised that you use the term "Buddy" since I always thought that was a Newfoundland thing.)  But it won't happen again.  Buddy (his name is Grizz, by the way) will have that situation fixed, so to speak, and you will reign again.

I swear.