It was not that long ago that my three legged cat Oakley tipped the scales at over 6 kg and was, rightly, described as morbidly obese. The vet warned us that he must diet. It is so very different now.
The old boy is now sixteen and has been my almost constant companion – bar a short spell lodging with Darren Atwater – since the death of his predecessor Kitosh in 2010. He, and his partner Tara, now residing underneath the rhubarb in our garden – were rescued from the MSPCA shelter in the isle of Man. No-one wanted them, kittens were picked up at once, the two older cats just sat there. But I was charmed.
Oakley was down to 3.7 kg in April but he has been off his food and also vomiting of late and yesterday we walked up to the vets and he is now just 2.7 kg. we must go again today for yet more b blood tests and Oakley is complaining loudly that he is not being offered breakfast. Right now for him meals are tinned tuna or smoked salmon, he will at least nibble at such treats.
He was never the most active of cats but although he can still hobble upstairs and, with a great running jump, manage to get onto a bed he is doing less and less.
Joshua adores Oakley who sleeps on the floor next to his cot. “Oakley da King” is wonderful with kids. His only problem is with people who use hoovers. But it does not look good. He has reached a ripe old age despite the cancer which saw his leg amputated six years ago. But as the Mrs and I discuss it there is a sense that we will enjoy his company, the bad breath kiss that serves as a wake up call, for not that much longer.