SILVER T(H)READS AMONG THE GOLD

by Rosemary Alger
CATS, Number 407, 5 January 1990

This is the story of "Silver", my Lilac Burmese Stud, probably one of the most lovable, and definitely the most "accident-prone" cat I have ever bred.

It all started when a blue Burmese cat was brought in to stud. The pedigree was fine, the owners were caring and the ingredients were all set for a happy marriage. Unfortunately the queen didn't agree and several fraught visits later we felt that it might be better if they spayed her and brought in a kitten as a companion and future breeding queen. A suitable chocolate Burmese kitten was found and the problem seemed solved. Some months later my telephone rang with a distraught call to say that the blue had savagely attacked the chocolate, who was at the vet having treatment and they dared not have her back in their small flat with the blue on the rampage. The little chocolate girl, Gypsy, as she was called, was therefore brought to me to be re-homed. Loud mouth, full of chat and purr, large deep gold eyes and lacerated ear marched into the house and I was lost. There was no way she was going anywhere. I had another cat!

She wasn't backward about coming forward and, three months later, she proudly produced five kittens, four large girls and a tiny one-ounce lilac boy whom she had obviously tucked up under her ribs as an afterthought. I think most breeders have, at one time or another, had one of these; all eyes, stomach and voice, the rest of the body being practically non-existent - the largest part being an incredible will to live! Gypsy was a very able Mum and her daughters thrived. However, she wasn't that interested in the tiny squawky thing that was always getting pushed out, so I took over and hand-fed him.

BATHROOM LITTER

This was a bathroom litter. I must explain. I lived in a very small bungalow, so every room has to serve a dual-purpose. In the bathroom, apart from getting used to people coming in and going out, the kittens became acclamitised to noises from the toilet flushing and taps running, etc. When they started climbing legs, and my guests complained that it was hazardous to visit the loo, it then comes time for them to progress to 'Stage 2'. This was the kitchen - for noise lessons in washing, machines, tumble dryers, dogs, doorbells, etc. They then worked their way round the house so that by the time they left they could hopefully handle anything.

I have explained all this so you understand why the little boy was fed on the loo seat! He soon cottoned on to the routine and, when hungry, screamed loudly until picked up and placed on the furry cover, where he purred non-stop while being fed. Happily, although much smaller than the others, he thrived. The first accident happened when my parents came over. My father, although spritely, was in his eightieth year so was not quite as quick as he used to be. On their visits he was used to stepping over kittens so didn't even comment when he went to the bathroom and saw a new family. A few seconds after the door closed we heard a yell and father appeared gingerly holding out a small, purring, dripping kitten! On seeing a person by the toilet the kitten had immediately thought he was going to be fed and jumped up. At the same time, Dad not knowing this feeding routine had raised the lid - result two wet and very surprised beings!

I rubbed the little mite dry whilst my mother mopped up my Dad. He was quite upset but I explained no harm had been done and he retired back to the bathroom for unfinished business. The next yell was more indignant than upset. Oh no, not again! He came marching back to us holding out the same tiny offender just as wet as before but still purring! The litter was moved prematurely to the next stage - the kitchen!

CHEEKY HITCH-HIKER

Normally when kittens are small I found it perfectly safe to leave my back door open in the summer as I had very high steps to the ground. Far too high for any small kitten to negotiate, unless he was very determined and frightened of absolutely nothing. You have guessed - HE found a way!

I couldn't believe it when I saw him happily playing on the grass. Thinking he must have, somehow, fallen down the steps, I returned him to the kitchen. A few minutes later my Scottish Terrier bitch 'Muffin' walked past and went outside. I happened to glance out of the window and saw the kitten back on the lawn playing with a leaf. I thought I was seeing things! The next moment Muffin went past him again and he disappeared! I had to find out.

I gave chase and grabbed her and he appeared again! He had found the ideal way to hitch a lift by hanging on to her underskirts!! Until he grew too big this 'kangaroo' relationship continued. Goodness knows what possessed him to do it in the first place, but it certainly gave him the edge over his sisters who had no public transport.

It was now August and unusually hot. It didn't seem fair to keep the family shut indoors whilst I was out, so I put them in a little-used run by the side of the house and went shopping. The first time, on my return I saw much to my horror, a diminutive lilac figure proudly waiting at the bottom of the kitchen steps. Somehow he must have slipped out before I closed the door of the run. I duly returned him to the others, relieved he had come to no harm and went indoors. A few minutes later Muffin followed me in, sat down, and from her skirts emerged the happy little lilac passenger, purring its head off as usual.

I checked the run from top to toe but couldn't find where he had got out. Friends also checked for me, but we were all baffled. He was clever enough never to escape when people were looking, but escape he did, all the time. It was impossible to keep him anywhere he didn't want to be. I had to shut him indoors when I went out as no matter where I put him, I could guarantee there would be this little purring figure waiting at the bottom of the steps when I got home.

The litter was growing fast and were all now emerging as individual personalities, so the time had come to name them. My litters are named through the alphabet. It started off with 'A.B' such as Ahmed Beauty and Ahminih Bambi, which was nice and easy, but over the years the progressions had got further apart and more difficult. This litter was 'S.X'! In view of his very pale coat, and his determination to do his own thing, the name 'Silverwinged Xplorer' seemed very apt - known as 'Silver' to his friends.

By this time I had promised him to a delightful couple, who wanted a pet, but also wanted to show. I thought he would make a super pet/show neuter. He was now growing into his eyes, was clear coated and had a lovely apple-shaped head. In fact assessing him for them I was pleasantly surprised how well my funny little runt was shaping up and felt that by the time he was 16 weeks he would be ready to go to his new home, and they should also get some fun from showing him.

DISASTROUS TUMBLE

At 13 1/2 weeks disaster struck when he fell awkwardly off the work surface in the kitchen. After an X-ray it was confirmed he had broken his femur. It had to be pinned and he was confined to a small cage for a month, during which time he never stopped purring! I rang his prospective owners and explained, and they said they would wait a while longer. By the time he'd had his pin removed and was passed O.K. by the vet they felt he was too old to be moved. So he stayed and, as I had grown to love him very much, I was delighted!

A few weeks later an old friend whom I hadn't seen for some time, called in. She had decided to keep a kitten from her last mating and wanted to ask my opinion as to a suitable stud. We were chatting away, but I could seee she was distracted by the 'mess' of cats on the beanbag. I suggested various matings, but she didn't seem that interested. I finally asked her what was the matter? "Why can't I use your lilac boy?" she asked. 'Because I haven't got a lilac boy," I replied. "Well, I can see a beautiful pair of 'lilac-what-nots' lying on that beanbag over there and don't tell me they're Scotch mist! Take another look!" She was right. I hadn't recognised what was right under my nose. My ugly duckling was growing into a 'Silver' swan!

I therefore entered him for some shows and, to my delight, he did well. His lovely temperament stood up excellently to showing and he lapped up all the attention. So we were both set for an enjoyable Show Season, when disaster struck him again.

COUNTRY HAZARDS

As he wasn't yet at stud he was allowed to 'free-range' when I was there. Fortuntely the bungalow is well away from roads so there was far less danger than living on a busy street. However, the country does have its hazards. On this fated day, Silver came in when I called him at dusk and retired to bed with me and the other cats as usual. After a while I realised something was very wrong. By two o'clock in the morning he was having difficulty breathing and, by three, I was resuscitating him. I rang the duty vet and took him straight over to the surgery and, by four o'clock, he was fighting for his life in an oxygen tent. We didn't have a clue what was the matter, but the vet held out very little hope of him surviving until the morning.

It is very easy to apportion blame. What had happened? How had it happened? As a local farmer had borrowed a plane and had been spraying his fields that afternoon, the most likely possibility was that Silver had inhaled some of the spray. His liver and kidneys were affected and his left lung, trachea and left nasal passage were extremely inflamed, but there was no damage to his tongue. This suggested some form of inhalation of a toxic substance, rather than his having eaten anything alien. Following a talk with the farmer, he informed me he had never used this method of spraying before and as it had proved uneconomical, and difficult to control, resulting in numerous complaints from neighbours, he was reverting back to ground spreading. This was a great relief, although a bit late for poor old Silver!

Five days and hundreds of phone calls later, my vet suggested I take him home. They weren't winning. Neither his kidneys, nor his liver, were functioning; he wasn't eating and they could do no more for him at the surgery. My vet is a great believer in home-nursing, especially for a cat, as they can so easily turn their heads to the wall and give up. When I picked him up I could not believe he was the same animal. He was a collection of bones loosely wrapped in a lilac skin. However, when he saw me he immediately started to purr - it was the same cat! I then felt we would win despite the pessimistic forecast. We both wanted it so much.

SPECIAL DIET

I made up a mixture of homemade chicken stock, live yoghurt, lectade (electrolytes) and Fel-Addase (a digestive enzyme) and shovelled it down Silver every two hours. There was a 'Stage two' litter of kittens in the kitchen and he fell in amongst them purring and, weakly, started washing them! In this cosy position he had this mixture squirted down his mouth. Maybe he was supposed to be dying, but at least he was happy doing it!

I had to take him to the surgery night and morning for intravenous injections and they were delighted at the progress he was making. Seven days after he came home, he made his way across the kitchen to a bowl of kitten bisquits and ate the lot. We had won! From that moment he didn't look back and gained weight rapidly. When he was at his worst I kept telling him he would be going to the Essex Show, his first adult show. It now looked like it might actually happen! The vet called to see his patient the week before the show and, having uncovered him from under the layer of kittens, passed him fit for the great event. I was over the moon. It was a miracle. I had never thought he would actually make it to the show.

I don't know if many of you remember the Essex Show in 1987. It snowed. Not only did it snow but we had a gale to go with it. Picketts Lock car park is a fair distance from the hall and, by the time I got to vetting-in, I had walked a long way in driving snow. My first cat was passed and then I brought out Silver - my pride and joy - to find his left eye was running with water! I had noticed over the previous two weeks that, on occasions, his eye was a little wet and I had mentioned it to my vet. He had thought that the duct might be slightly blocked from all the inflamation he had had in that area, but as it was obviously causing him no problem, and it seemed such a minor matter at the time, we both forgot all about it. There was obviously no infection as he was living in the middle of six very healthy uninocculated kittens. With no note from my vet to substantiate this, to my horror he was rejected with suspected conjunctivitis. I just could not believe it. After all we had gone through. I didn't argue because vetting-in is to protect all our cats and they were doing what they thought was right. The system is also there to protect my cats so I must support it, but I did feel very sad that day.

I had never been rejected before and I sincerely hope I never shall again! After the statutory period of seven days my vet was called in and he passed fit the 24 cats and kittens on my premises. However he felt I should not be put in the same situation again so arranged for me to take Silver to an Opthalmic Veterinary Specialist to have his tear duct examined and, if necessary unblocked. Unfortunately the investigation showed that there was more damage than we had realised and the tear duct had been completely destroyed on the left side. However the specialist kindly wrote a note for me which explained that: "Although he had a totally fibrosed left lower lachrymal punctum and duct which had resulted in permanent epiphoria from the left eye, there was no infection and he could see no reason why it should preclude Silver from admission to any Cat Show." I felt a lot happier having this letter and I sent a copy to the GCCF to check that this would be acceptable.

The following Saturday some people came to see the kittens which, as usual, were lying spread-eagled all over Silver. I moved him on to the floor so that the couple could play with the Burmese kittens. Again disaster struck! the lady was wearing high-heeled leather boots and obviously couldn't feel where she stepped, which was straight on to the end of his tail and I saw it blow up like a bottle brush before my eyes.

Back to the vet again, this time with a tail like a poodle with a lion-cut. Another X-ray showed that the ligament had been torn from the bone. Lots of cold compresses was about the only advice he could give. Poor Silver. We sat with packets of frozen peas by the hour and finally the swelling subsided. However, I realised the tail wasn't quite right and a paediatrician friend of mine confirmed that a small bony spur had grown to compensate. This apparently can happen with children's bones as well, and in lots of cases it finally breaks off. Unfortunately, the same does not seem to apply in cats as he still had a small burr at the end.

I now had a beautiful speciment of a cat with a weepy eye and a damaged tail! I thought long and hard and decided that as neither were genetic faults I would still try to make him up. I was learning how to control the eye. It was perfectly alright as long as he didn't eat, sit in a draught or have a sudden temperature change. I had by now received a reply from the official veterinary officer of the GCCF stating, I quote: "I strongly advise you against taking your cat to shows while there is a possibility of recurrence of symptoms. In any case the condition would count against him during judging." Unquote. This was a life sentence as there was always a possibility of the eye weeping in our variable climate. It was a challenge. I took up the gauntlet. He and I had been through so much together, this was a minor challenge in comparison. So he went to shows with his carrier wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, having had an enormous early breakfast. If I was stewarding a trusted friend was appointed 'Silver's eye minder' and would wipe it periodically during the day.

I was determined he would have the same opportunities to show his worth as a 'Non-Accident Prone' cat! - he had earned it! Fourteen Challenge Certificates, three Reserve Grands and three Grand Challenge Certificates later, still under 2 years old, he became a Grand Champion Burmese at the Kernow Show, UKin 1989. Three other certificates had been withheld due to his problems, but he had passed all the vetting-in with flying colours. Well done 'little Silver' - a 'Grand' job well done!

He is no longer being shown. I can now relax at shows, instead of being geared around 'Silver's eye', but it was worth every minute. The support and help I had from friends in the Fancy was marvellous and it endorsed my view that 'cat people' are smashing!

I am so glad I didn't give up when the odds were all stacked against him. Silver and I have made so many new friends, and life has not been dull! Thank You Judges and a Thank You to whoever has been watching over him. Sadly he probably won't make old bones, as tests have shown that he has sustained some kidney damage, but he is a much adored and very happy animal who loves the world and I think helps to make it a happier place. In more ways than one 'Silver t(h)reads among the gold!'

Silver actually lived to 13 years of age. His kidneys caught up with him finally - but not a bad innings for a ounce kitten with kidney damage. He passed away very peacefully in the home with us, still purring! Rest in peace our darling boy.