Wounded Warrior

In this post I will give you a full introduction to my boy Evan. In my brief first post I indicated to you that Evan's story is a special one, so now you'll find out why.

World, meet Evan.

 Yeah, he's not too keen on photo shoots. Let's try that again.

One more try?

Well, anyway. Evan is a handsome orange tabby, in case you could not tell from those high quality, high class photos. He is almost a year and a half old, and I adopted him about a year ago. Evan is active and playful, just as any cat should be. He is also quite feisty at times, and he requires extra special attention and care. Why? Let me first show you:

Evan does not have the use of his hind legs.

In May of last year, 2013, Evan was dumped at the front door of the veterinary clinic where I worked at the time. There was a note attached to the carrier in which he was found, and what the note divulged was that some Good Samaritans dropped him at the clinic because they were financially constrained yet wanted him to receive some much needed care. Why? Because a coyote had gotten into the barn where his mother and her young litter of kittens lived, and Evan was the sole survivor.

I was the first person to arrive to work that day, and I found the carrier at the front door. At first I thought the carrier was empty. Then I picked it up and felt a slight weight shift inside, and that's when I saw the tiny kitten. He was roughly six weeks old, and he weighed just one pound. Just by my first look into the carrier I could see that he was in rough shape. His hind legs were clearly atrophied and dragging behind him. He had ocular discharge, as well as diarrhea. His history and medical status were not known, and for the safety of the other cats in the hospital he had to be put in isolation until it was certain that he was not a risk.

Soon after Evan arrived at the clinic, x-rays were done. However, at such a young age, a kitten’s bones will not even be fully formed and fused yet, so the x-rays were not able to offer true diagnostics. A physical examination revealed no lacerations or puncture wounds, but there was bruising on Evan’s legs and abdomen.

Evan was started on necessary treatments, including physical rehabilitation. Both for his comfort and due to the fact that he let us know loud and clear that he was not a fan of the exercises, Evan’s rehabilitation sessions were kept short. At times he seemed to display some progress, and he would occasionally stand on his hind legs and even make attempts at walking on them. However, especially as he grew older and larger and had more weight to bear on the legs, the progress in his ambulation halted and ultimately even seemed to decline. He resorted to simply pulling himself by his front legs, letting his back legs drag behind him.

During these weeks of rehabilitation other further diagnostics were done. It was determined that Evan was negative for feline leukemia and FIV. Aside from the disuse of his hind limbs, he seemed otherwise healthy. At that point in time he was deemed healthy enough to meet the clinic's other in-house and adoptable cats, which he absolutely loved. He was also deemed healthy enough for adoption.

With Evan roughly five months of age, I decided to adopt him and take him home with me. He adjusted well to his new home, although he was, understandably, a bit reserved at first. Yet he quickly grew to enjoy the extra attention of me and my family as well as his new home environment. In fact, although he enjoyed visiting with the clinic cats, when he would go back to the clinic for further treatment he would seem eager to leave that old home of his in order to return to his new home.

At almost six months of age, when Evan was under anesthesia for his neuter, recheck x-rays were done. They revealed improper formation of especially his right hip. In addition, as a result of having to pull his weight with his front legs, he had developed scoliosis. All in all, the diagnosis was that he would never be able to ambulate with his hind legs. At that point, though, we all had come to expect that and had already come to terms with it.

Fast forward to now, at a year a half old and eleven pounds, Evan is doing great. Of course, he does require special care. Obviously, Evan cannot jump. If he needs or wants on something up high (such as to sit on the couch with his doting mother) he requires either a makeshift ramp or to be lifted up. That's no biggie, though, and he has no problem alerting me to when he would like my help onto something. Also, despite all attempts and inventions thus far, Evan cannot use a litter box, as he either cannot easily climb into it or he ends up dragging it around with him. Also, ever since kittenhood Evan has seemed to consider litter boxes to be sandboxes for playing in. As a result, he is trained to use a towel as a makeshift litter box, urinating and defecating on the towel. He knows to go to his towel area when he needs to urinate or defecate, and he even buries his mess when he’s done. This does make for a plethora of laundry, but Evan’s certainly worth it.

The primary medical complication he has as a result of his hind limb dysfunction is that, since he does drag himself along the floor, he tends to get sores on his abdomen and hind legs. He prefers to pull himself with his hind legs shifted slightly out to his right, which leaves his left hind leg more exposed to abrasion when he moves about. He does not allow me to bandage or wrap the area in order to keep it from becoming abraded. Believe me, I tried this method of covering the most vulnerable regions of his abdomen and legs. The attempt was an epic fail -- it escalated into the feistiest, angriest Evan I have ever witnessed. Prior to that I had also considered getting him a cart with wheels, but since he displayed a complete lack of tolerance for anything touching let alone constricting his abdomen and legs, that idea was also nixed. It was not worth it to stress him that much. Therefore, I simply address his sores as they arise, doing what I can to keep them clean and medicated as needed.

At this point in time Evan displays no signs of pain or discomfort as a result of his altered mode of ambulation. There is, of course, a chance that in the future he may develop arthritis or other such pain from the extra strain put on his forelimbs. I am aware of this and of course will address the issue should it arise.

Overall, Evan makes do just fine with what he has. He is playful and active, and he can outrun me even with only his front legs. He is still feisty at times, and ever since the day I met him he has had a penchant for occasional outbursts. These usually come on suddenly and without warning, and they typically look something like this:

 

But, after the trauma of losing his entire feline family as well as the use of his hind legs to a coyote, I think I can allow Evan his occasional moments of feisty frustration. What’s more, he has made vast behavioral progress. He seems to grow increasingly affectionate every day. Honestly, his outbursts are few and far between now. Evan loves to rub against human legs and roll belly-up. He loves to follow his mom, yours truly, around the house and lets her know with a gentle touch when he would like held and cuddled. Now, the rare times When Evan's cuddles do turn into one of his feisty outbursts, it’s never long before sweet Evan returns.

Now I’ll take a brief moment to note that I did not choose the name Evan for him, but I did not change it upon adopting him. It was the veterinarian who owned the clinic where he was dumped that named him Evan. In Celtic the name means “young warrior,” which is perfectly suitable for him. (For what it’s worth, I also call him Evan Fergus, because it seems to fit him, and it has a nice ring to it, especially when you say it in a proper Irish accent. But I digress.)

So, world, meet Evan.

I’m told he’s a momma’s boy, and so be it. I am proud of my special boy and am honored to be his mom.