I grew up with cats. Quite a few of them. They were all primarily
outside cats. They spent alot of time in our home but meowed at the garage door to go outside if they wanted to poop
because that's where their litter box was.
Since 1974 I've had a cat or two in my life, and I wouldn't have had
it any other way because they comforted me a great deal as a child and, well, they do some really funny shit every once in
a while to break the monotony.
One summer our cat Marshmallow ate a bunch of string. I mean a
bunch. She probably found it on my dad's workbench. I think it was the twine my parents used to tie vegetables
and flowers to support stakes. Well, it became apparent that she had eaten a bunch of it when she became the proud
owner of "poop on a string".
"Don't pull it, now matter what you do." was Dr. Young's stern
advice, "It can cause intestinal ripping and bunching. The best thing you can do is to cut it as she passes it."
Dr. Young may still have his practice in Hermitage, PA. He was
our vet for years. I think that my mother started taking animals elsewhere in years since, though, because,
well you can't teach an old dog new tricks. While Dr. Young was a great vet, he balked a bit at learning new techniques
and practices, and I remember my mother remarking that she had taken a cat or two to other places because of it. That's
a real shame. When my dad has a beer or two (which can be at any time) he will do this dead-bang impersonation of Dr.
Young, who has this ultra low, strait man voice. It never failed to make me laugh.
My favorite is when he would impersonate Dr. Young doing other things,
like hunting elephants or doing shots. I guess there have been times that my dad did the impersonation for the good
doctor himself, like the time that Replay tore Dr. Young a new orifice when he tried to get her out of the carrier for a checkup.
My dad supposedly commentated ESPN-style. Well, at least that's what I remember.
Anyhoo, my mother brought Marshmallow back home and told us not to pull
on the string coming out of her butt. That was hard because kids like to pull on loose strings, (I leave reference
to Weezer's Sweater Song) but it turned out that we weren't the ones she should have instructed.
I was out back a few days later when I saw Marshmallow sitting
in the middle of the yard, hunched over and visibly disgruntled. We'll call her posture the "pissed off meatloaf
position". Hunched over, feet tucked in, and her ears were flat against her head. It could not be more obvious
that she was not happy.
Behind her sat Spooky, another of our cats who was an excellent hunter
and suffered from chronic farting. She was as flat as a lion on the savannah stalking impala, and seemed to be waiting
for Marshmallow to make a move. When Marshmallow did begin to come towards the house, I saw what Spooky was so entranced
with.
Marshmallow had about a foot-long piece of string coming out her butt,
and apparently Spooky decided that this was playtime. Every time Marshmallow took a few steps towards the house, Spooky
pounced on the poop string and attacked it and Marshmallow would have to stop. She'd turn around and hiss at Spooky,
who would simply stop until Marshmallow started moving again. We cut the string at her butt to Spooky and the other
cats' dismay, but it was far from over. Over the next week, the backyard stalking was a familiar site with all of our
cats taking part in the game. Poor Marshmallow.
I don't think we helped. For years our evening entertainment consisted
of flinging a 5 foot-long piece of yarn across the livingroom carpet by attaching it to one of my mother's knitting needles.
"Fishing for cats" was something my dad loved to do. Every once in awhile he would drag the string across my mom's lap
if she was curled up at the end of the couch reading, and she would always say the same thing. "Jesus Christ Tom" sometimes
became "Jesus Christ TOM!" when one of the cats would pounce on her from about three to four feet away, hopped up on nocturnalism
and baring all 20 weapons. One minute she'd be reading quietly, the next minute the end of the couch became a flurry
of pages, fur, claws and human limbs, at which point the cat of the moment would either leap off the couch with the string
successfully or fall off her lap with an unceremoneous thud. Those cats tore her legs up on more than one occasion,
and my dad thought this was great. What a spaz.
Years later, my mother confided in me that she often fantasized about
ways to kill my dad and get away with it clean while she ironed or did housework during the day. It was her little hobby.
Looking back, I think this was apropos as he tortured her with the yarn game among other things for as long as I can remember.
Well, I seem to have gotten off-topic. We were discussing cats
and string, and I was going to tell you why they eat it and what to do if they get ahold of some.
Firstly, cats are predators and amazing ones at that. Unlike dogs
who are much less likely to revert to their feral roots if dumped by the side of the road (they usually starve to death,
so don't be a dick and abandon your dog), cats can revert well and often do when abandoned. They are quite possibly
the best hunters of all the mammals; this fact is even evident in that their diet that has never adapted to anything
less that being totally carnivorous save for some occasional grass munching. Cats feel the need to hunt and play
all the time.
When a cat successfully catches prey, whether it's been the impala or
gazelle of the African plains or a wild boar piglet in the jungles of South America, they eat almost every fleshy piece they
can except for the rectum. If you have cats who hunt you might find a leftover piece of a mouse now and again.
It's usually the rectum or lower colon. The rest of the digestive tract, though, is prime material. It's full
of vitamins, and it's stringy. Yes, stringy.
Cats have been supposed by behaviorists to eat string because it is reminiscent
of prey entrails. This is totally ingrained into their hardwiring possibly so the cat gets the high-vitamin organs and
gutload available secondhand from their catch.
Have you ever caught your cat munching on string? It's just succombing
to natural instinct.
However, string doesn't digest. Neither does yarn or dental floss
or any other type of material they will find irresistable. When they get ahold of string and eat it, the string can
sit in their stomach causing food to get caught in it that can ferment, causing infection. The string can also
cause damage to their intestines. If sufficiently-ingested, string can loop in the intestines and get tangled.
If it's pulled out from the cat's rectum, intestinal ripping can occur.
Do not pull the string.
You run the risk of seriously injuring your cat's digestive tract.
It's best to call a veterinarian should you find your cat straining to void the string or if it stops eating. Dr. Young
probably gave my parents some of that laxative that you put on the cat's paws causing him or her to lick it off, as it is
what our veterinarian in Ft. Knox suggested once when our Nomad ate some crochet thread. It did help him pass the mess.
I seem to remember it being called Petlax. If you can't get to
the vet to purchase some, you can probably find it at a reputable, non-animal selling pet store or at other places. If
you happen to be broke, you also can use Vaseline, but not too much. Well, if you have a cat, a petlax product is
one of the things that you should have on hand anyway. Everyone gets constipated, and cats are no exception. Cats,
however, cannot smoke a cigarette and have a cup of coffee. Have the petlax product on hand.
Never let the string fiasco get to the point where your cat is vomiting
or becomes limp and non-responsive. Better yet, keep your string out of reach! Put your dental floss in a small
piece of toilet paper if your cat gets into the trash or get a covered trash can. If you have a sewing basket, keep
it closed. If you crochet like me, wrap that string tight around the ball. Put it in plastic if you have to.
Some cats are major string eaters and you have to troubleshoot if you
own one. A little prevention goes a long way. While I remember giggling madly during the week Marshmallow
became a source of amusement for her peers, I wouldn't want to go through it again.
