Read on, if you dare.
Quoting my response to Sue, from yesterday:
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Mack is ... good, I think.
For his last two meals yesterday, he was edgy while John was feeding him. I wasn't sure why. Yes, we had gotten new feeding syringes ... 35cc capacity rather than 60cc, but we're only supposed to be giving him about 30cc at a crack, anyway. But the tube is 1/2 the size, lighter, and works more smoothly than the ones we had been using.
I wondered (out loud ... poor John) whether, due to the lighter load in the syringe, and the easier flow, perhaps John was holding it at a different angle ... perhaps an angle that made the tube in Mack's esophagus uncomfortable for him. John had been careful to present Mack with the opportunity to empty his bladder prior to starting to feed him, after my Friday noon experience. I just didn't know what to think about why he would suddenly not want to sit still during a feeding, and not particularly want to be cuddled or touched, before and after.
I cut off his morning feeding at 19cc, with no water "chaser," because he just wasn't "right."
At lunch, I prepared everything to feed him after cuddling and holding him a while. Everything seemed okay, but before I can get my stuff together to feed him, he jumps down and walks purposefully toward the kitchen. He does not want to be caught, so I think, "okay, I'll wait while you go potty."
Instead, he sits by the kitchen sink and meows that meow that says something is wrong. I go get paper toweling, and lay a square in front of him to catch the few drops he heaves out of his stomach. (Aren't you glad you asked how Mack is?)
Then he goes downstairs. I follow, and when he doesn't go to the litter boxes, I pick him up and put him in one. Indignant, he climbs right back out again.
I decide to wait as he walks toward the back of the basement (NOT back upstairs).
I figure I may was well clean them while I'm here, thinking the sound of me digging in the sand might be kind of like running the water in the bathroom sink to get a 2-year-old to go potty.
After I clean out one of the two litter boxes, Mack climbs into the SECOND litter box ("so THERE!"). He digs. This is a good sign, I think. He digs more. He strains. He strains. He covers something up VERY fastidiously and walks away.
I'm right there, scoop in hand, so I decide to clean it up right away. All I can find is a pea-sized something. I keep digging ... but there's nothing else.
While I'm finishing up MY rooting around in the sand, Mack comes back and digs in the other litter box. He strains, covers something, and gets out. I go digging and find a little tiny turd. (I'm sorry. You ASKED how's Mack.)
I'm ecstatic. He's pooped! It's the first time I'm aware he's done this in I-don't-know-how-long! Yea!
But it's not very big, and I press on it to see its consistency. VERY hard, very much like a tootsie roll, really.
While I'm doing my scientific inquiry, I see Mack is scooting across the floor on his butt. The entire width of the house, on his butt. Hmmmm... then he goes up the stairs. I follow.
I can't find him anywhere, but I find the center of a Tootsie Pop (no candy coating, no mess) in the hallway by the bedroom doors. I'm very glad the bedroom doors are all closed.
I go back out and check all the hiding places. Still can't find him. So I go back downstairs, thinking he might have sneaked past me when I was making my salad for lunch.
Sure enough, he's in the litter box (the one apparently marked clearly, "poop here!" The other one's for pee?), straining. Straining. Straining. Covering something up. Walking away a little stiff-legged.
There's more poop, a pretty good amount, the same consistency of the others. Mack is huddled on the floor, way at the back of the basement. I go to scoop him up, and he eludes me. I follow. He does not want to be caught, again. Finally, I scoop him up and fold his tail under him, and carry him upstairs. He purrs. I sit on the papasan, and he scrambles away. I lift his tail and wipe it with the paper towel I had handy to catch drips when I fed him. It's messy. Poor baby. He jumps down. I leave him alone and wash my hands and eat a salad.
Before I left, I gave him just about 3-4cc of plain water. That's all he would tolerate. Poor baby is constipated (BUT the good news is that everything is working!!) and uncomfortable. I'm going to cut his food with a LOT more water from now on!
Sorry for the graphic detail ... I just don't know how to say all this without using words like POOP ... and after all ... you asked!
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