Mr. James Fuzz Patrick

Mr James Futz Patrick, Amanda's purebreed Ragdoll, recently had a complete nervous breakdown. In the past six months we have lost two cats from his little harem and as top cat, this apparently had un-nerved him in a big way. On the day he just fell apart. He was wandering about the house hissing, and if someone passed him by - he swiped at them - claws out. Miguel gingerly picked him up, prepared to deposit him in an area where the rest of us would be safe from his razor sharp claws and mal humour. At that point James began to hiss and spit and he doubled in size as his fur fluffed out at all angles. Miguel held him at arms length as he carried the ball of spiting rage through the living room. His hisses drew my attention away from my computer.

"What on earth is wrong with Jamie?" I asked

"Nothing that I can think of." Miguel replied, as he closed the garage door where he had deposited James for a time out. then he added.
"Well - I did tell him he looked a mess with his fur so wet from cleaning himself continuously. Do you think he understood me?"

"Well, not what you said but maybe your tone." I answered.

"I guess I was kind of laughing at him and that's when he started acting so strange." Miguel said.

After a few minutes of time to think better of his temper tantrum, we opened the garage door and in slinked Jamie. He quietly returned to the kitchen and climbed up on a chair, with his back to us and stared out the window. His whickers drooped and his tail hung low.

I have a soft spot for James, possibly because he is my first baby's cat. I felt bad for him as obviously he was very much out of sorts. Cappie, the first of the two cats to die had been one of his special friends. I crouched down beside him and softly asked. "What is wrong, Jamie?"

I leaned my forehead towards him and we touched heads. He leaned into my forehead as I whispered to him.
"You are a special boy - such a handsome cat." We sat there quietly for a few minutes and then I left him. He was much clamer, but obviously still quite depressed. Over the next few months he continued to clean himself in a frenzied, maniac manner. He started showing bald spots and his tail, once a beautiful plumb, was now just a limp duster. The final straw for me was when he chewed himself to the point of bleeding.

As Noah recently said, "I don't think I can handle losing one more animal, all in a period of less than 200 days!

I didn't think that any of us could handle losing another animal, but especially not our Jamie who adds so much comedy to our life. For instance, in the days when Caila was younger and often in trouble, we did not need to say much to discipline her. We just needed to speak her name in a sharp tone of voice, and in James would come at a tear. No matter where he was... he appeared at the meer sound of possible trouble with Caila. Up on his back legs he would rise and box that poor dogs ears. Never mind she was a strapping 70 lbs and he was only about 18. Size, I guess, is in the eyes of the beholder.

I sat there, staring at my bedraggled, scratching, licking, crazy cat and wondered what to do. All research pointed to a neurotic condition and I could just see my husband's face if I came back from the vet's with a prescription for Prozac, esp. when we are on such a tight budget.

Suddenly I remembered some drops I had for my Sam. (another special case) Rescue Remedy, I think they are called. Nature's alternative to Prozac. I called Miguel and we pinned James down.

Well - after few days of feline prozac, he is pretty much back to his good natured and comical old self. See what you think....