Bruno's Blog – a complete animal at work

I’ve just seen Mitzi.

Mitzi is a fat cat, although not as fat a cat as the recently disgraced Sir Fred (‘the shred’) Goodwin who was back in the news again recently. He apparently attended a charity auction but declined to bid for anything, which seems a bit on the tight side given the amount of our collective cash that he is trousering for his pension.

Menawhile, Mitzi has just been weighed in at a mere 8.75 kg.

Given that the average weight for a domestic cat in the UK is about 4.5kg, by any measure Mitzi is a trifle overweight. She had always been on the large side at 5.5kg but during a short period in early 2007 when she moved into the calmer surroundings of bachelor accomodation (images of beer and pizza, but actually it was because she was out of the clutches of Coco the hyperactive Minature Pinscher who would never leave her alone), she ballooned to 7.5kg.

And there she stayed (having meanwhile moved to Las Vegas, although that lifestyle change didn’t work out at all, mainly for human reasons) until the beginning of this year, since when, back in the UK, she has edged up to 8.75kg, which is really TOO MUCH.

Given the potentially very serious health consequences of obesity in cats, her Dad and I had the fat cat chat again this morning and agreed a reduced calorie intake diet for her.

“Feed her less”

“I can’t”

“Yes you can”

“But if I feed her less at night she’ll attack me”

“?”

“In the middle of the night, if she’s cross or hungry she’ll creep up on me then pounce…”

“Sounds OK – a small price to pay”

“With full evil intent, scratching and biting to draw blood? Want to see the scars?”

“Hmm. Not really. Maybe you should give that extra late night snack after all. But go light on the breakfast”

I figured that he might be in better shape to fend off the Kato-style attacks (remember Peter Sellars in the Pink Panther?) if they occurred during daylight.

I’ll keep you posted, but Mitzy’s Dad took some consolation from my tale of Larry the cat who came in last week weighing a massive 11.25kg.

That’s 11.25kg.

But he is the size of a small Labrador, so maybe it’s allowed

Just back from a few days in France… Oh I know, the last entry was full of disparaging remarks about the French and then I exposed myself as a snake by going there and enjoying it. Sorry.

In one of the brief breaks in the torrential rain, my son and I went exploring, specifically in fact to find and visit the remains of a 10th century hill fort of a type known as a Motte Castrale. Which is of course fascinating to everyone.

Whilst imagining to ourselves what it must have been like living in a glorified wooden hut on top of a windy hill in northern France around 1000 years ago, we bumped into a local who was carrying a rather fancy looking mushroom-carrying box, clearly with mushrooms in it. It is, after all, the season.

‘Ah – you have come for the sheep?’ He asked.

‘Err….I don’t think so’ I said, giving my best confused look, wondering how he had spotted that there was an errant English vet stumbling up the hillside obviously ill-equipped for gathering mushrooms but clearly (in his mind) ready for sheep-related activities.

‘There’s a sheep up there with it’s head stuck in the fence. Never mind – I’ll go and report it at the Town Hall.’

Rather than advertise my profession and then risk the possibility of a crowd of local farmers chortling into their champignons as the stupid eenglish vet failed to untangle the sheep, or worse killed it in the process, I nodded and agreed with him that that was probably a good idea (would my local Town Hall be that interested, I wondered?).

We carried on the ascent, and soon enough came upon said sheep, bravely trying to get downhill through a small hole in a very solid looking piece of wire fencing. Reverse gear was clearly not an option on this particular model. With some wrestling, bleated protests and inappropriate curses, the beast was freed and set off trying to pretend that nothing had happened.

Imagine my surprise when on the way down we encountered 2 very rotund men on a tractor heading up the hill in our direction.

I knew the drill.

‘Ah – have you come for the sheep?’ I asked, my imagination spinning off for a moment into the idea that this could be some bizarre and probably smutty shaggy dog story…

‘Oui.’

‘No need’ I said. ‘It’s done.’

‘OK.’

And off they went. I wondered what they talked about on the way back to the Town Hall.

‘Did you zee zat, Henri?’

‘Yes it was that stupid eenglish vet.’

‘Ee didn’t find ze mushrooms?’

‘Non.’

‘Tres bien.’

But now we’re not quite sure why, since it is a disease native to many other countries in Europe, South America and areas of Canada. It is caused by parasite called Angiostrongylus vasorum, and it’s quite a problem in the UK at the moment, is French heartworm.

Probably called it that because we didn’t like the French much at the time. Someone in a position to do so thought they should call a nasty little parasite after them on the basis that:

1) it was nasty

2) it was carried by slugs and snails (Ha! See? Snails in garlic butter. They all eat them. And Frogs- say no more)

3) it causes coughing (as in too many Gitanes cigarettes?)

4) it can cause unexpected and potentially fatal bleeding (no particular link here, other than a general sense of untrustworthiness, which is clearly French)

Anyway, French heartworm it was, until recently, when it has been suggested (possibly in deference to the fact that Tony B might soon be Sarkozy’s boss and he’s so short and grumpy we wouldn’t want to offend him) that we now call it ‘the small heartworm of dogs’.

Now there’s a snappy little moniker.

Being ‘the small heartworm of dogs’ would distinguish it from the large heartworm, or Dirofilaria immitis, which we don’t have in the UK anyway, so that would help.

Another suggestion is that we call it ‘Angio’, which at least rolls off the tongue more easily.

But the word ‘Angio’ reminds me of ‘Gastro’, which is commonly used as a short form for gastro-enteritis, the medical condition where inflammation and/or infection of the digestive tract leads to vomiting and diarrhoea.

‘Gastro’ is also the name of our local French restaurant, but that’s the French for you. Wild and crazy sense of humour…

Which brings me back to the point. ‘Angio’ is now well established in the UK with 20% of practices having seen suspected cases in the last year. So TREAT YOUR PETS, folks. Ask your vets. Use Advocate.