We took Beckham to the vet on Monday to have his “can’t stop chewing on myself” problem looked at (backstory is here; scroll down to #3), and as you can see, he is having the time of his life.
He adores the vet, and the staff love him right back. Our other two cats, like most normal cats when taken to the vet, think they can hide by squishing themselves into the back recesses of their carrier. Totally flat cats, hiding their faces behind their paws and mentally repeating, “find a happy place, find a happy place,” over and over.
Not Beckham. The vet is his happy place. He cries, not because he’s afraid, but because he’s dying to be let out so he can say hello to all of his friends.
As we suspected, the vet was not able to tell us much. Either it’s an allergic reaction to something (and it could be anything – seasonal, the kind of detergent we use, just something in the air – who knows) or it could be stress related. She gave Beckham a steroid shot, which will ease his symptoms if they are caused by allergies.
If it’s stress, we’re really on our own and there’s not much they can do. The only option is kitty Prozac, which is apparently a real thing. Who knew.
When asked by the vet if there are any stressors recently introduced into Beckham’s life, Will and I simultaneously pointed at Natalie’s car seat, where she was happily chewing on her fingers while Beckham was being examined.
And it’s true. Beckham has had a rough go of it since she was born. He is the most affectionate cat you will ever meet, bar none, in the history of the world. That is not an exaggeration, not in the slightest. He wants to be on you, be near you, please-just-let-me-lick-your-hair-while-you-sleep.
We were concerned that with the baby sleeping in our room, Beckham would want to cozy on up to this cat-sized space heater. We never gave him the chance, since I was so paranoid about him climbing into the co-sleeper and accidentally smothering her while trying to be friendly.
And so for the past four months, we denied him access to the bedroom. He’s headbutted his way in. He’s stood outside the door nightly and cried. And now he’s taken to lying on top of the heating vent in the bathroom, which has to be exacerbating his itchy skin.
We softened our stance yesterday and opened the door at bedtime. Beckham and Roo bolted straight in, hopped on top of Will, and barely moved the whole night. Their combined purring could be heard for miles. They didn’t show the slightest interest in Natalie, and she wasn’t bothered by their occasional meowing.
And now all is right in their world. Beckham has reclaimed his spot on Will’s pillow and I don’t think he’ll be giving it up anytime soon.
I just hope this is what the poor guys needs to stop chewing on himself.