It’s Christmas Eve and I’ve just arrived at the veterinary clinic to meet Mrs Andrews and her 9-month-old kitten Mavis. 

I know Mavis well. Her mother had been brought to the local cat rescue charity as a heavily pregnant stray. I had given Mavis and her siblings their initial kitten checks to get them ready for rehoming, including their vaccinations, flea and worming treatments and neutering. Her fosterer was a familiar face at the clinic and her hard work and dedication had ensured all the kittens had found lovely new homes. Mavis hadn’t moved too far away, and I was happy that Mrs Andrews had rehomed her after sadly losing her old cat a year earlier to kidney failure. 

Mrs Andrews had called the practice that morning as she was concerned that Mavis had been acting out of sorts for the last 24 hours. “She’s been sick a few times, which isn’t like her. She just seems really miserable. She won’t play with her favourite catnip mouse, and she wouldn’t touch her breakfast at all this morning,” Mrs Andrews explained. 

Table of contents

“That doesn’t sound too good,” I replied. “I think you’d better bring her over to the clinic so I can have a look at her.”

A physical examination

A quiet and subdued Mavis sat on the examination table before me. 

“Could she have eaten anything unusual, do you think?” I ask, as I take Mavis’ temperature.

Mrs Andrews thinks for a moment. “Well, I don’t always know what she gets up to in the garden. We’ve had the grandchildren round for Christmas, so I’ve been rushed off my feet with them since they arrived. The house has been turned upside down with all their things! And I’ve had a devil of a time keeping Mavis from pulling the Christmas tree down as well. She’s determined to play with the tinsel!” 

I continue my examination, noting that Mavis’ temperature is normal, but she is a little pale and dehydrated. When I feel her tummy, she arches her back away from my hand with discomfort. There is a little bit of drool at her mouth. 

“She’s definitely got a tummy ache,” I tell Mrs Andrews.

“And she could do with some fluids as well. It’s a good job you brought her in. I’ll admit her so we can get her feeling more comfortable. We’ll take a blood test and an x-ray of her belly to see if we can get to the bottom of what’s going on.” 

I give Mrs Andrews an estimate for the initial treatment and investigations. “She may need further treatment depending on what we find, but I’ll call you in a little while to let you know the options.”

Fortunately, Mrs Andrews had continued the temporary pet insurance cover that was issued to Mavis by the rescue charity. “I’m glad I did that now,” she tells me. “This is beginning to look expensive!”

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Tests and investigations

After signing the necessary consent forms, Mrs Andrews gives Mavis a kiss on the head and leaves her in the care of myself and my colleague Louise, our head vet nurse.

We quickly draw a blood sample and get it running in the blood machine. While we wait for the results, we take three x-rays of Ruby’s tummy. It’s clear to see the loops of dilated bowel filled with fluid and air on the images. A tell-tale sign of an intestinal obstruction.  

“A linear foreign body,” I say to Louise, thinking about string, ribbon, or tinsel

I check under Mavis’ tongue, but I can’t see anything wrapped around the base. 

“The blood results are here,” says Louise. “Would you like me to get the operating theatre ready?”

We get Mavis attached to a drip and give her some pain relief. Then I call Mrs Andrews to break the news. 

“It looks like she has managed to get hold of something after all,” I tell her. “We should open her up to retrieve whatever it is, as it’s causing a blockage. It’s not something she can pass on her own. Fortunately, the blood tests indicate that nothing else seems to be going on, but we’ll need to get a proper look inside to know the extent of the damage.”

I discuss some of the possible complications of the surgery, including infection, bleeding, and anaesthetic risk. Mrs Andrews gives the ok to proceed and in no time at all, Mavis is fully anaesthetised and on the operating table. 

I make my incision into the abdomen and start to carefully feel along each length of intestine. Soon I discover several areas where the intestine has clumped together and feels thickened and inflamed. I make a small incision at the site of the clumping and find long strands of metallic tinsel within. 

I carefully remove the sparkling material

Luckily, the intestine doesn’t appear to be damaged and I can close everything up without further ado.   

A few minutes later, Louise transfers Mavis to her heated recovery bed and draws up a hospital chart with instructions to continue her fluid drip and pain relief. She will offer a small amount of bland food later in the evening. 

Mrs Andrews is relieved that Mavis looks set to make a full recovery. She resolves to remove the tinsel from the tree straight away and retire it to the attic. “It’s a shame but I’m sure we’ll all feel a lot safer knowing that it’s out of Mavis’ reach for good.”

“A classic case of tinsel-itis,” I quip to Louise, as we watch Mavis begin to rouse and settle in for her Christmas night at the clinic. 

“Well, let’s hope that it’s a silent night from now on!” Louise says, just as the on-call phone begins to ring again.