I went to the vet's this afternoon and picked up the little rosewood box of Gussy's ashes.
I paid for the euthanization and the cremation.
And you know, I could have really done without the snottiness about the balance of my bill.
But he's home. He's on the bookshelf behind me. With Katy. And Grace. And Phoebe. And Butch. And most especially, with Mosby.
The vet's office gave me a big card that talked about how Gus was cremated. Supposedly separately, but Gus in dry form is nearly as heavy as he was when fully reconstituted. I don't believe much of what I'm told anymore.
Still, I choose to believe that what's in the box, in the little velvet bag, in the plastic bag inside the velvet bag is Gussy Guy. Home with me. Home forever.
Showing posts with label Gus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gus. Show all posts
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Rearrangement
The rearrangement of cats on various totem poles has begun. Slowly. But it has started.
I'm worried that Brianna and Sophie aren't around much. I can always find Brianna in the basement and she's always happy to be found. Sophie is like a ghost cat. Here, then gone, not to be found in the interim.
Even Taylor seems at loose ends. I think she's busy terrorizing Brianna.
Dylan is a little extra-clingy. Blue has discovered the vacancy.
The one who initially had the hardest time was Boris. Every morning when I sat on the couch, it would be Dylan on my lap, then Gus to the left of me and Boris to the left of him. I've been giving Boris extra attention because he was so sadly lost. But now he's discovered the empty spot where Gussy used to sit and has come closer.
It continues.
And as for me, I still have not realized the full extent of how Gussy ran my life.
I've begun clearing out the many spaces, blankets, special places where Gussy ate to get away from the other cats, however briefly.
It reminds me of recovering from the death of a person who died after a long illness. You don't realize that you have pills, boxes of hypodermics, bottles of medicine, special pillows, special equipment, wash cloths, wipes, blankets that were used to make the patient rest a little easier. You're unsure of how exactly to pack it all away, but you know that you have to.
I'm worried that Brianna and Sophie aren't around much. I can always find Brianna in the basement and she's always happy to be found. Sophie is like a ghost cat. Here, then gone, not to be found in the interim.
Even Taylor seems at loose ends. I think she's busy terrorizing Brianna.
Dylan is a little extra-clingy. Blue has discovered the vacancy.
The one who initially had the hardest time was Boris. Every morning when I sat on the couch, it would be Dylan on my lap, then Gus to the left of me and Boris to the left of him. I've been giving Boris extra attention because he was so sadly lost. But now he's discovered the empty spot where Gussy used to sit and has come closer.
It continues.
And as for me, I still have not realized the full extent of how Gussy ran my life.
I've begun clearing out the many spaces, blankets, special places where Gussy ate to get away from the other cats, however briefly.
It reminds me of recovering from the death of a person who died after a long illness. You don't realize that you have pills, boxes of hypodermics, bottles of medicine, special pillows, special equipment, wash cloths, wipes, blankets that were used to make the patient rest a little easier. You're unsure of how exactly to pack it all away, but you know that you have to.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The New World Order
I knew Gus was the kingpin and lynch pin of the household, but I didn't truly understand how much.
This morning, the gang is at sixes and sevens.
When I woke up, Taylor was nowhere to be found. She had become a bed cat, centering herself in the exact center of the bed, no matter where I happened to be. Instead, Sophie was on the bed. Boris was in the Big Chair, still making room for Gus. Blue came out of hiding. Brianna showed up from the basement long enough to eat breakfast. And Dylan, of course, was still most emphatically Dylan.
I hadn't realized that Gus was such a talker. The house is oddly quiet. I am not being harried from place to place to do his bidding. It's more of a relief than I thought. And yet, I miss it.
As for me, I am castigating myself for doing it too soon, for making excuses about being at the end of my rope, at dreading the next week or two when I would do nothing but urge Gus to eat and drink, at following him around to wipe off the blood on his nose.
There is no perfect time for any of this.
And the little world that will reassemble itself in my house will be far from perfect, too.
This morning, the gang is at sixes and sevens.
When I woke up, Taylor was nowhere to be found. She had become a bed cat, centering herself in the exact center of the bed, no matter where I happened to be. Instead, Sophie was on the bed. Boris was in the Big Chair, still making room for Gus. Blue came out of hiding. Brianna showed up from the basement long enough to eat breakfast. And Dylan, of course, was still most emphatically Dylan.
I hadn't realized that Gus was such a talker. The house is oddly quiet. I am not being harried from place to place to do his bidding. It's more of a relief than I thought. And yet, I miss it.
As for me, I am castigating myself for doing it too soon, for making excuses about being at the end of my rope, at dreading the next week or two when I would do nothing but urge Gus to eat and drink, at following him around to wipe off the blood on his nose.
There is no perfect time for any of this.
And the little world that will reassemble itself in my house will be far from perfect, too.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Gus, August 1994 - May 2011
He died in my arms an hour ago.
The vet said his tumor had spread slowly and would begin spreading rapidly.
He did not go gentle.
He fussed. He kicked.
And then he died.
Gus.
Gus-gus.
Gussy Guy.
Gustopher Bones.
De Gustibus.
Buddy.
Gone. And there will never be another one like him.
The vet said his tumor had spread slowly and would begin spreading rapidly.
He did not go gentle.
He fussed. He kicked.
And then he died.
Gus.
Gus-gus.
Gussy Guy.
Gustopher Bones.
De Gustibus.
Buddy.
Gone. And there will never be another one like him.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Gus, Still With Us
I called my vet's office many times this morning and heard over and over again that they opened at 9 on Sundays. Well, I knew that. At 9:30, I figured they still had the night service message on.
At 10:30, sans Gussy, I drove over there.
There was a sign on the door saying that they were closed in observance of Mother's Day.
Mother's Day? WTF?
I know I was unreasonably angry about this. After all, what is the big rush to kill my cat?
I'll tell you what it is.
Despite how his condition changes literally from minute to minute, I do not want another instance of "watch the cat have seizures and bleed to death in your arms." Ever. And now that I'm aware of Gussy's tumor and where it is, I know that it's a very real possibility.
At the same time, he spent today cuddled with Boris, then Brianna, then Sophie. Sometimes the wheezing is bad. Sometimes, blood drips from his left nostril. Then he'll perk up when I put a plate of food in front of him.
I know that today has been worse for me than it has for him. I cherish the fact that he came to me, sat on my chest, and purred.
I, however, am more than beside myself and the only way I know how to distract myself is to knock myself out with clonazepam. There has to be a better way.
At 10:30, sans Gussy, I drove over there.
There was a sign on the door saying that they were closed in observance of Mother's Day.
Mother's Day? WTF?
I know I was unreasonably angry about this. After all, what is the big rush to kill my cat?
I'll tell you what it is.
Despite how his condition changes literally from minute to minute, I do not want another instance of "watch the cat have seizures and bleed to death in your arms." Ever. And now that I'm aware of Gussy's tumor and where it is, I know that it's a very real possibility.
At the same time, he spent today cuddled with Boris, then Brianna, then Sophie. Sometimes the wheezing is bad. Sometimes, blood drips from his left nostril. Then he'll perk up when I put a plate of food in front of him.
I know that today has been worse for me than it has for him. I cherish the fact that he came to me, sat on my chest, and purred.
I, however, am more than beside myself and the only way I know how to distract myself is to knock myself out with clonazepam. There has to be a better way.
Gussy's Time
I think it's today. His breathing is labored. He's dehydrated. Shows minimal interest in food, although still bitched about it this morning. ("Wake up and feed me!")
And then remarkably, when I was sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, trying to attain full consciousness, Gus came over to me and crawled up in my arms. He put his head on my shoulder.
He's come over for a cuddle many, many times, but this is different. I sat with him. I cried a little bit.
Dr. Knightly said that she had thought Gus had a tumor that was blocking his sinuses on his left side. This was about a month ago.
A couple of weeks later, I noticed that something had gone funny with his left eye. I waved my finger next to it. He didn't blink or follow my eye. Gussy has gone blind in his left eye.
And then this past week, I noticed that the bridge of his nose has been pushed out by maybe 1/8 - 1/4 of an inch. I think there is a tumor there, and it had been hiding behind Gussy's eye.
We have cuddled much this morning. Right now, Sophie is on the couch, next to him.
I'm off to take a shower and then will call the vet.
I wish there was some way I could spare him the terror of the last ride.
It's time. Gussy wants to go. He's not interested in being here any more.
And then remarkably, when I was sitting on the couch, coffee in hand, trying to attain full consciousness, Gus came over to me and crawled up in my arms. He put his head on my shoulder.
He's come over for a cuddle many, many times, but this is different. I sat with him. I cried a little bit.
Dr. Knightly said that she had thought Gus had a tumor that was blocking his sinuses on his left side. This was about a month ago.
A couple of weeks later, I noticed that something had gone funny with his left eye. I waved my finger next to it. He didn't blink or follow my eye. Gussy has gone blind in his left eye.
And then this past week, I noticed that the bridge of his nose has been pushed out by maybe 1/8 - 1/4 of an inch. I think there is a tumor there, and it had been hiding behind Gussy's eye.
We have cuddled much this morning. Right now, Sophie is on the couch, next to him.
I'm off to take a shower and then will call the vet.
I wish there was some way I could spare him the terror of the last ride.
It's time. Gussy wants to go. He's not interested in being here any more.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Good News for Gus
Dr. Knightly, may she be forever blessed, has pronounced Gus free of tumors, abscesses, etc. What ails him, she thinks, is a really nasty upper respiratory infection. Keep on steaming the cat, she said.
She said that she would never have known Gus was such an old guy if she hadn't checked his chart. What does concern her is that Gus has an enlarged heart. Eventually, she says, should would consider doing an echo cardiogram on him, but it's a tricky thing when the cat is already stressed.
Dr. K gave him a shot of Baytril and I'm to do the same tomorrow.
Ta-dah! Gus fools modern science yet again.
She said that she would never have known Gus was such an old guy if she hadn't checked his chart. What does concern her is that Gus has an enlarged heart. Eventually, she says, should would consider doing an echo cardiogram on him, but it's a tricky thing when the cat is already stressed.
Dr. K gave him a shot of Baytril and I'm to do the same tomorrow.
Ta-dah! Gus fools modern science yet again.
Gus 'n' Stuff
The Old Man
Gus, senior statesman and go-to cuddler, has been under the weather for awhile. Despite trying to get the house sodden with moisture, it's only gone so far. The bloody sneezes continue and are now making it harder for him to breathe.
He has a vet appointment today.
I have the vaporizer running. I have pans of steaming water on the kitchen stove. I try to coax him to eat more and generally succeed.
What concerns me is that this morning, his breathing was labored (but not the Phoebe gasping for air) and he couldn't jump onto the bed the first try. He's also 17 years old. I'm worried about the old geezer. I was the first person who held him, since his mother had brought him to my back porch by the scruff of his neck.
Old Gus-gus. I'm worried. And sad.
----------
Stuff
Here I am, still in my pajamas at the shockingly late hour of 10 am. I have to admit, I've been busting ass in the mornings, making and receiving phone calls, firing off emails, applying for any and every likely job. Enduring the rain and what seems like the endless cold.
So I'm giving myself most of a day off. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe not really. Well. I tried.
There are some things that should really be pressing on my mind right now, but I've got other things to deal with first.
One of my potential gigs is with a very luxe hotel chain. This would be as a contractor, but it sure would be sweet to be an employee. (Cheap hotel rooms! Woo hoo!)
And so. Life goes on. Catchya laytah.
Gus, senior statesman and go-to cuddler, has been under the weather for awhile. Despite trying to get the house sodden with moisture, it's only gone so far. The bloody sneezes continue and are now making it harder for him to breathe.
He has a vet appointment today.
I have the vaporizer running. I have pans of steaming water on the kitchen stove. I try to coax him to eat more and generally succeed.
What concerns me is that this morning, his breathing was labored (but not the Phoebe gasping for air) and he couldn't jump onto the bed the first try. He's also 17 years old. I'm worried about the old geezer. I was the first person who held him, since his mother had brought him to my back porch by the scruff of his neck.
Old Gus-gus. I'm worried. And sad.
----------
Stuff
Here I am, still in my pajamas at the shockingly late hour of 10 am. I have to admit, I've been busting ass in the mornings, making and receiving phone calls, firing off emails, applying for any and every likely job. Enduring the rain and what seems like the endless cold.
So I'm giving myself most of a day off. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe not really. Well. I tried.
There are some things that should really be pressing on my mind right now, but I've got other things to deal with first.
One of my potential gigs is with a very luxe hotel chain. This would be as a contractor, but it sure would be sweet to be an employee. (Cheap hotel rooms! Woo hoo!)
And so. Life goes on. Catchya laytah.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Cats Will Play
Things were in a sorry state for a little bit.
Taylor spent the entire weekend at the vet's. I could have flown to Paris, stayed at a nice little hotel and stuffed myself silly with macarons for what it cost, but, meh. I signed up for this.
I had many chirpy messages from Dr. Knightly. I love her. The cats love her. Every time she left me a message it went along the lines of "Taylor is such a love, but she still feels kind of low. Every time I open her cage, she gives that little chirp and comes to give me head butts."
I took in the fact that I don't think Taylor loves me this much. Possibly, I don't love her as much as Dr. Knightly does. I thought about this. When I went to pick up Taylor, I got all somber and said, "I don't do this lightly. In fact, I've only done it once before in my life [Katy and M the Perfect Roomie, who were made for each other]. But if you think Taylor would be better off with you, if you want her, I will let her go." I hastened to add that of course I would still be responsible for the bill Taylor'd just run up.
Dr. Knightly was a little overwhelmed. Even though I know she has to have heard this hundreds of times before. She said, "My husband would put me out with the recycling if I brought home another cat. I have six as it is." I said I understood. She excused herself for a moment, then came back.
Taylor was presented to me. Oh, she was not a happy camper. I imagine I wouldn't be either, if I'd gone through what she had. Twice.
I worried about her. Yesterday morning, I had to bring her out into the kitchen. She looked at me and wobbled back to bed. Last night, she found me. This morning, she wobbled out on her own. This evening, she met me at the door.
The last couple of evenings, I've spent some time playing with the cats. You should see Gus light up when he sees (through his cataract-y eyes) the feather-on-a-string toy come out. Dylan will kill himself chasing the thing. For his birthday, I think I'm going to give him a bunch of feathers for him to gut.
Brianna emerged from the basement to chase the laser. Blue is on to me. He just blinked up at me. I know you have a laser pointer in your hand, he blinked smugly.
I hear Sophie in the never-ending chase for the ball in a circle.
It'll be Spring soon. Time to wake up.
Taylor spent the entire weekend at the vet's. I could have flown to Paris, stayed at a nice little hotel and stuffed myself silly with macarons for what it cost, but, meh. I signed up for this.
I had many chirpy messages from Dr. Knightly. I love her. The cats love her. Every time she left me a message it went along the lines of "Taylor is such a love, but she still feels kind of low. Every time I open her cage, she gives that little chirp and comes to give me head butts."
I took in the fact that I don't think Taylor loves me this much. Possibly, I don't love her as much as Dr. Knightly does. I thought about this. When I went to pick up Taylor, I got all somber and said, "I don't do this lightly. In fact, I've only done it once before in my life [Katy and M the Perfect Roomie, who were made for each other]. But if you think Taylor would be better off with you, if you want her, I will let her go." I hastened to add that of course I would still be responsible for the bill Taylor'd just run up.
Dr. Knightly was a little overwhelmed. Even though I know she has to have heard this hundreds of times before. She said, "My husband would put me out with the recycling if I brought home another cat. I have six as it is." I said I understood. She excused herself for a moment, then came back.
Taylor was presented to me. Oh, she was not a happy camper. I imagine I wouldn't be either, if I'd gone through what she had. Twice.
I worried about her. Yesterday morning, I had to bring her out into the kitchen. She looked at me and wobbled back to bed. Last night, she found me. This morning, she wobbled out on her own. This evening, she met me at the door.
The last couple of evenings, I've spent some time playing with the cats. You should see Gus light up when he sees (through his cataract-y eyes) the feather-on-a-string toy come out. Dylan will kill himself chasing the thing. For his birthday, I think I'm going to give him a bunch of feathers for him to gut.
Brianna emerged from the basement to chase the laser. Blue is on to me. He just blinked up at me. I know you have a laser pointer in your hand, he blinked smugly.
I hear Sophie in the never-ending chase for the ball in a circle.
It'll be Spring soon. Time to wake up.
Friday, March 05, 2010
An Aha! Moment in the Land of Bloody Noses
As I was sitting on the couch this morning, coffee cup in hand, Gussy brushed past me, nudged my hand and I noticed a smear of blood on my hand.
What? I turned Gussy around and yes, there was the Telltale Smudge.
This confirms it for me. I have got to get the humidifier working. Antibiotics are pointless. Phoebe mews like I'm killing her and then spits out the pill, anyway.
It gets me that this was my first suspicion and it turns out to be the likely culprit.
----------
Tired Becs is Tired
Maybe not so sad, but still exhausted and still not interested in doing much more on my days off than equipping ma maisonette with the essentials of living.
I realized during my time at OmniPharma, I shoved aside everything but work and my few social obligations. And I see where that got me.
Yes, it's true, my velocity is usually something along the lines of Prissy moseying down the street to find Rhett Butler, the hem of her skirt in hand, mumbling "Got to tote de weary load". That's unfortunately where I am most of the time. I don't think going much faster will get me much, but that's just me.
Yeah, I give up on any time away from the house. It would mean cleaning it so the petsitter wouldn't be thoroughly grossed out. I haven't had a good petsitter since MD moved to the Great Frozen north and I'm afraid she was poorly rewarded for her efforts.
MD really was the last person I trusted with my cats.
And seriously, where am I going, anyway? My passport's expired. Paris may as well be the moon.
Etc. Etc. Etc.
What? I turned Gussy around and yes, there was the Telltale Smudge.
This confirms it for me. I have got to get the humidifier working. Antibiotics are pointless. Phoebe mews like I'm killing her and then spits out the pill, anyway.
It gets me that this was my first suspicion and it turns out to be the likely culprit.
----------
Tired Becs is Tired
Maybe not so sad, but still exhausted and still not interested in doing much more on my days off than equipping ma maisonette with the essentials of living.
I realized during my time at OmniPharma, I shoved aside everything but work and my few social obligations. And I see where that got me.
Yes, it's true, my velocity is usually something along the lines of Prissy moseying down the street to find Rhett Butler, the hem of her skirt in hand, mumbling "Got to tote de weary load". That's unfortunately where I am most of the time. I don't think going much faster will get me much, but that's just me.
Yeah, I give up on any time away from the house. It would mean cleaning it so the petsitter wouldn't be thoroughly grossed out. I haven't had a good petsitter since MD moved to the Great Frozen north and I'm afraid she was poorly rewarded for her efforts.
MD really was the last person I trusted with my cats.
And seriously, where am I going, anyway? My passport's expired. Paris may as well be the moon.
Etc. Etc. Etc.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Every Day Is Caturday 1
Here's the status of my brood:
- Gus is still with us, which amazes me. He's still getting thinner, though. When I was at BJs, I bought baby food called "Yummy Meals", with which Gus agrees whole-heartedly. He's gotten a lot louder in the mornings and sometimes his yelling sounds...pained. He's decided that he must have a morning cuddle and will yell at me until I pick him up and hold him against me.
- Boris is not only a water-fiend now, but he expects to be brushed while he's up near the sink. Hm. Wonder how that happened? Could it be that I did it once? He's gotten smaller over the past year and his bedraggledness worried me. He still has a good appetite, still meows like a kitten, and still walks on the flat of his feet where most other cats walk on their tip-toes.
- Katy's arthritis bothers her a lot. She has it in her front paws, in her shoulders and elbows. She is the most picked-on cat in my household. Sophie loves to stalk and chase her. Katy lives in MD's old room, either in the closet or on my desk. She is disappointed every time she walks in here and find me and not MD.
- Taylor has made some strides over the last year. I can pick her up without being afraid that she'll tear my face off. She wants desperately to be loved. When I pick her up, her front paws immediately clutch around my neck, she presses her little body as hard as she can against me and meows in my ear. She's my enforcer. If I yell at a cat, Taylor jumps down from me and goes after that cat. Which makes me a lot more reluctant to yell at anyone.
- Phoebe's fat gene is working overtime. She mostly lives on my bed, has no interest in anything but dry food, yet she's nearly spherical. She is beautiful, a mostly-grey tortie, and when I talk to her and say her name, her head always pops up and she makes a "Mrrr?" sound. I love that. She will also give me forehead a bath anytime she's near it.
- Dylan is jealous of everybody who gets near me. He will launch himself to chase any cat that I've just been petting. He still comes to bed with me every night but lately his favorite spot is in my office, next to the electric piano.
- Brianna. Maybe not quite so brainless. She has a perfect nest for herself in the basement, old comforters that she knocked down and shaped into one of the warmest places in the house. If she's not there, she's trying to snuggle up with Gus, who only wants to snuggle up with me.
- Sophie lets me touch her! She lets me pet her! I can even pick her up and hold her (tightly) against me. She lives to chase Katy. Sophie now hops up on the arm of the sofa to get pet. Her fur is so soft, thick, and silky that I have to rub hard to get her to purr.
- Blue is acquiring nicknames at last. Blue-ster. Brewster. The Bluesman. He is huge. If he wasn't such a coward, he could take down all the cats just by sitting on them. He loves to be picked up, but the cat has to weigh over twenty pounds. It takes some forethought to pick up Blue and cuddle him.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Every Day Is Caturday
The cats are in a delirium of joy. I've been home for two whole days and they love it.
Everybody's happy. And why not? I, their slave, am here to do their furry bidding.
Cats. Cats. More cats.
When I wake up, I'm usually surrounded by Phoebe, Gus, Dylan, Katy, with Taylor bitching somewhere on the side. When I get out of bed, I'm followed by Sophie and led by Gus.
Sitting here at my desk, playing video games, Blue came in and pawed at me until I picked him up. He sat on my chest, all 25+ lbs of him, and started to do a blissful little kneading dance. Then, drooling, he collapsed on me, paws still going back and forth. I put him down. He got back up. I put him down. He got back up again.
Boris stood at the kitchen sink, meowing to be picked up and for me to turn the faucet on. When he didn't quit meowing and head-butting me, I got the brush and began grooming him.
Even Sophie is coming around. I just heard her in the living room, on the loving seat, meowing so I would come pet her.
I think we're all in for a rude shock come Monday morning.
Everybody's happy. And why not? I, their slave, am here to do their furry bidding.
Cats. Cats. More cats.
When I wake up, I'm usually surrounded by Phoebe, Gus, Dylan, Katy, with Taylor bitching somewhere on the side. When I get out of bed, I'm followed by Sophie and led by Gus.
Sitting here at my desk, playing video games, Blue came in and pawed at me until I picked him up. He sat on my chest, all 25+ lbs of him, and started to do a blissful little kneading dance. Then, drooling, he collapsed on me, paws still going back and forth. I put him down. He got back up. I put him down. He got back up again.
Boris stood at the kitchen sink, meowing to be picked up and for me to turn the faucet on. When he didn't quit meowing and head-butting me, I got the brush and began grooming him.
Even Sophie is coming around. I just heard her in the living room, on the loving seat, meowing so I would come pet her.
I think we're all in for a rude shock come Monday morning.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Whatever Gus Wants, Gus Gets
I've kept it on the DL that Gus seems to be doing okay. More than okay. Pretty well, actually. I stopped giving him the vile vitamin mixture a month ago. I could probably pop another appetite stimulant pill into his mouth because he's getting thin again.
But I've learned some things about Gus.
When I wake up every morning, he starts howling at me. Actually, most of the cats mob me. Fine, they want food. I understand that. But Gus just howls and howls until I pick him up.
He settles himself into the crook of my arm, his back against my arm. I rub his furry belly. The howling stops the moment I pick him up and a deep, intense rumbling purr starts up. He nudges my hand. It's like the old lady in "The Producers" - hold me, touch me.
I do that and then put him down to feed the other cats.
After I settle myself on the couch, Gus is back in my lap for another morning cuddle. This one lasts longer. I always knew Gus was a sweetheart, but without his enmity with Butch in his way and his Mo-Daddy's shadow gone, Gus is a star.
In fact, I've been paying more attention to all of them. I go nose to nose with The Big Blue Cat while he perches on the cat tree and pet him into overstimulated ecstasy. I go in search of Briannadanna and find her curled up in old comforters she's knocked to the floor in the basement. She makes a large and comfy nest in these things. I get worried if I can't find her, but when she's missing, she's almost always in her nest.
And The Monkey, aka Taylor, the clingiest, most paranoid cat I've ever met. (Except the departed Queenie, who was simply psychopathic.) With a lot of loving, Monkey Face is not nearly as bad as she used to be. She will actually let other cats on the couch while she's up there. And when Dylan forsakes the bed, she hops into his spot, cuddled under the blankets with me.
I love them more than I knew.
But I've learned some things about Gus.
When I wake up every morning, he starts howling at me. Actually, most of the cats mob me. Fine, they want food. I understand that. But Gus just howls and howls until I pick him up.
He settles himself into the crook of my arm, his back against my arm. I rub his furry belly. The howling stops the moment I pick him up and a deep, intense rumbling purr starts up. He nudges my hand. It's like the old lady in "The Producers" - hold me, touch me.
I do that and then put him down to feed the other cats.
After I settle myself on the couch, Gus is back in my lap for another morning cuddle. This one lasts longer. I always knew Gus was a sweetheart, but without his enmity with Butch in his way and his Mo-Daddy's shadow gone, Gus is a star.
In fact, I've been paying more attention to all of them. I go nose to nose with The Big Blue Cat while he perches on the cat tree and pet him into overstimulated ecstasy. I go in search of Briannadanna and find her curled up in old comforters she's knocked to the floor in the basement. She makes a large and comfy nest in these things. I get worried if I can't find her, but when she's missing, she's almost always in her nest.
And The Monkey, aka Taylor, the clingiest, most paranoid cat I've ever met. (Except the departed Queenie, who was simply psychopathic.) With a lot of loving, Monkey Face is not nearly as bad as she used to be. She will actually let other cats on the couch while she's up there. And when Dylan forsakes the bed, she hops into his spot, cuddled under the blankets with me.
I love them more than I knew.
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Gus Report
He was hungry when he got home last night.
This morning, he joined the gang in complaining about the poor breakfast service. So slow! He ate a little bit and seemed to nibble in the morning. He was seen in all his familiar places - the love seat, the blanket-covered couch, next to me, and curled up in my arms. And he purred.
He even purred after I gave him some vile-tasting antibiotics and a liquid mineral supplement (he's anemic, severely anemic). Of course, tonight might be a different story when he sees me coming with a needless syringe of liquid.
Mostly, he's comfortable and content. That eases my heart. A lot. A really lot.
This morning, he joined the gang in complaining about the poor breakfast service. So slow! He ate a little bit and seemed to nibble in the morning. He was seen in all his familiar places - the love seat, the blanket-covered couch, next to me, and curled up in my arms. And he purred.
He even purred after I gave him some vile-tasting antibiotics and a liquid mineral supplement (he's anemic, severely anemic). Of course, tonight might be a different story when he sees me coming with a needless syringe of liquid.
Mostly, he's comfortable and content. That eases my heart. A lot. A really lot.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Really Bad News
After Hunky Vet and I had our own private consultation, this is what I walked away with, besides a cat, a bill for $1,000, and a bag full of medicine:
Gus likely has cancer. He's in kidney failure. He has major heart problems that can't be treated.
In short, from my educated look at Gus, he's got maybe a month. I said this to Hunky Vet and he sighed. "You know cats. You know what they're doing."
Yes, I knew this morning that Gus was probably on the road out. But I also knew I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't try to do something.
I signed up for some payment plan that I'll be paying off long after Gus is gone.
I told Hunky Vet that my aim now was to keep Gus happy, contented, warm, and loved.
Gus is on hospice care.
But he always takes it, Gussy does, like such a trouper. He's the gentlest cat I've ever known.
And as it turns out, if I had a choice between Gussy's life and a trip to Paris, I'd choose Gussy's life. That somehow reassures me about myself.
Gus likely has cancer. He's in kidney failure. He has major heart problems that can't be treated.
In short, from my educated look at Gus, he's got maybe a month. I said this to Hunky Vet and he sighed. "You know cats. You know what they're doing."
Yes, I knew this morning that Gus was probably on the road out. But I also knew I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't try to do something.
I signed up for some payment plan that I'll be paying off long after Gus is gone.
I told Hunky Vet that my aim now was to keep Gus happy, contented, warm, and loved.
Gus is on hospice care.
But he always takes it, Gussy does, like such a trouper. He's the gentlest cat I've ever known.
And as it turns out, if I had a choice between Gussy's life and a trip to Paris, I'd choose Gussy's life. That somehow reassures me about myself.
Not Good News
1. Gus is severely anemic. With a normal range to this particular test starting at 34, Gus tests at a 19.
2. Gus's heart is enlarged. But only part of it.
3. Gus is in the early stages of renal failure. Medicine to help his heart will have adverse effects on his kidneys.
4. There are two masses in Gussy's liver. "Not terribly big and it's impossible to tell without doing a biopsy whether or not it's benign."
What can be causing all this?
The early stages of lymphoma. Maybe. Or it could be a perfectly horrible storm of stuff happening to my Gussy Guy at once.
This was delivered by a decidedly Not Hunky Vet.
I'm going in about an hour to pick him up. I wasn't able to get much of anything done at work today.
The estimate for this treatment ranged from $450 - $1,400. At some point, I have to say no. I spent my lunch time arranging a payment plan with the hospital that finally did something about my hurt leg in June. They were very nice. Wells Fargo should take lessons from them.
The vet's office wanted a $400 deposit. I must have turned pale because Donna the receptionist said, "Let me go see if we can make it less. Would, um, $200 be okay?"
I nodded.
Apparently the Big Vet (still so un-hunky) asked, "Is she a good client?" And Donna responded astringently that I'm an excellent customer.
But still. My Gussy is not going to live forever. And what will I do without his sweetness? His simple, loving goodness? Where will I be without my Gussygusgusgus?
I'll think about that tomorrow. When I go home to Tara.
2. Gus's heart is enlarged. But only part of it.
3. Gus is in the early stages of renal failure. Medicine to help his heart will have adverse effects on his kidneys.
4. There are two masses in Gussy's liver. "Not terribly big and it's impossible to tell without doing a biopsy whether or not it's benign."
What can be causing all this?
The early stages of lymphoma. Maybe. Or it could be a perfectly horrible storm of stuff happening to my Gussy Guy at once.
This was delivered by a decidedly Not Hunky Vet.
I'm going in about an hour to pick him up. I wasn't able to get much of anything done at work today.
The estimate for this treatment ranged from $450 - $1,400. At some point, I have to say no. I spent my lunch time arranging a payment plan with the hospital that finally did something about my hurt leg in June. They were very nice. Wells Fargo should take lessons from them.
The vet's office wanted a $400 deposit. I must have turned pale because Donna the receptionist said, "Let me go see if we can make it less. Would, um, $200 be okay?"
I nodded.
Apparently the Big Vet (still so un-hunky) asked, "Is she a good client?" And Donna responded astringently that I'm an excellent customer.
But still. My Gussy is not going to live forever. And what will I do without his sweetness? His simple, loving goodness? Where will I be without my Gussygusgusgus?
I'll think about that tomorrow. When I go home to Tara.
Worried About Gus
Gus doesn't know it, but he's scheduled for a spa day at the v-e-t.
The old man is 15 years old and honestly, I didn't know how long he would be able to carry on after Mo-Dad died last October. In the interim, Gus has taken up with Borish but it hasn't always been smooth sailing.
Yesterday morning, as is usual, Gus sat in the hallway next to the nap room, where there are a couple of cat boxes. I'm not always right on top of cleaning the boxes and Gus has started thinking outside the box. He also yells when the boxes are dirty. So yesterday morning, he sat in the hallway and yelled. And yelled. And then something changed in the urgency of his meowing, although it didn't register in that "must deny that cats ever die" brain of mind.
This morning, Gus is not himself. He drinks but isn't satisfied. He didn't look twice at breakfast. Most importantly, not only did he not come sit on the couch with me while I had my coffee, but he was hiding under the bed in the nap room. This is a very bad sign.
When he finally emerged, I did the "snap the skin on the back of his neck" test and found that Gussy is dehydrated.
I don't know if Hunky Vet is working today or not. I hope he is, but whether or not, I have to leave Gus-Gus at the vet's today.
Where's the money coming from? Don't know. Don't care. If I can save him from any of the discomfort he's experiencing now, I'll find some way to pay for it.
Because he's the Gussy-Guy. He's the gusgusgusgusgus. Because I love him and I want him to stay with me a little longer.
The old man is 15 years old and honestly, I didn't know how long he would be able to carry on after Mo-Dad died last October. In the interim, Gus has taken up with Borish but it hasn't always been smooth sailing.
Yesterday morning, as is usual, Gus sat in the hallway next to the nap room, where there are a couple of cat boxes. I'm not always right on top of cleaning the boxes and Gus has started thinking outside the box. He also yells when the boxes are dirty. So yesterday morning, he sat in the hallway and yelled. And yelled. And then something changed in the urgency of his meowing, although it didn't register in that "must deny that cats ever die" brain of mind.
This morning, Gus is not himself. He drinks but isn't satisfied. He didn't look twice at breakfast. Most importantly, not only did he not come sit on the couch with me while I had my coffee, but he was hiding under the bed in the nap room. This is a very bad sign.
When he finally emerged, I did the "snap the skin on the back of his neck" test and found that Gussy is dehydrated.
I don't know if Hunky Vet is working today or not. I hope he is, but whether or not, I have to leave Gus-Gus at the vet's today.
Where's the money coming from? Don't know. Don't care. If I can save him from any of the discomfort he's experiencing now, I'll find some way to pay for it.
Because he's the Gussy-Guy. He's the gusgusgusgusgus. Because I love him and I want him to stay with me a little longer.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Geriatric Ward
Mo has suddenly gotten old. Very old, almost overnight. He has an old cat's body now. He's lost a lot of weight. His fur is rumpled and dry-looking.
His eyes were watering badly. I felt guilty for not finishing up the antibiotics prescribed for him. I mixed up the rest of the batch and gave him a dose last night and this morning. This evening, he seems the better for it.
But he is still an old man. I hate to see this happen, but it's inevitable.
This morning, I heard a strangled little meow and went in search of it. I found Boris in the litter box, hunched up, looking miserable. Poor Boris. Plugged up again.
My fridge looks like I could run a vet clinic from it. I found the syrup to dose Boris (it's worked twice so far) and he was not pleased.
Gus has taken to following me around. I think he misses Gracie, who was cuddled up with him and Mo almost every morning.
The cats are changing and the dynamic is changing.
Phoebe is coming around for affection. This morning when I woke up, she was at my side. And just below her, to my astonishment, was Sophie.
Katy rarely ventures out of my study. There's a comfy bed on the desk and that's where she's spending most of her days. I realized that Katy's probably close to eleven.
Butch is a loose cannon these days. After eight years of sitting on the kitchen table or the top of the little china cabinet, he can spring up anywhere these days and frequently does.
This morning when I ran down to the basement to fetch something, I spotted Dylan on the basement floor, behind a box. This is nothing like my showman cat.
Things are changing. They always do.
His eyes were watering badly. I felt guilty for not finishing up the antibiotics prescribed for him. I mixed up the rest of the batch and gave him a dose last night and this morning. This evening, he seems the better for it.
But he is still an old man. I hate to see this happen, but it's inevitable.
This morning, I heard a strangled little meow and went in search of it. I found Boris in the litter box, hunched up, looking miserable. Poor Boris. Plugged up again.
My fridge looks like I could run a vet clinic from it. I found the syrup to dose Boris (it's worked twice so far) and he was not pleased.
Gus has taken to following me around. I think he misses Gracie, who was cuddled up with him and Mo almost every morning.
The cats are changing and the dynamic is changing.
Phoebe is coming around for affection. This morning when I woke up, she was at my side. And just below her, to my astonishment, was Sophie.
Katy rarely ventures out of my study. There's a comfy bed on the desk and that's where she's spending most of her days. I realized that Katy's probably close to eleven.
Butch is a loose cannon these days. After eight years of sitting on the kitchen table or the top of the little china cabinet, he can spring up anywhere these days and frequently does.
This morning when I ran down to the basement to fetch something, I spotted Dylan on the basement floor, behind a box. This is nothing like my showman cat.
Things are changing. They always do.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Ick! Bald Pussycat!
You probably don't get this reference unless you hung around with a big hairy hippie guy in Richmond, VA in 1975.
I, far more innocent than I believed myself to be, was given an education in underground comics, among other things.
Does anyone remember Vaughn Bode? Big hairy hippie guy collected Bode's works and I would faithfully read everthing, half-shocked, half-amused. Of course, Vaughn was dead by then, having strangled himself in his quest to become the Godhead.
The cartoon frame I remember is the intrepid adventurer character encountering a seven year old girl who wants to seduce him. She lifts her dress and Intrepid Adventurer yelps, "Ick! Bald pussy!" and runs away.
Yesterday morning as I was petting Boris, I looked at his back. It's true, I've been pretty faithful with the new brush and all the kitties seem to love it, but I've gotten very close to denuding Boris's back. "Ick! Bald pussycat," I said and went to examine Gus, who's also been getting a lot of grooming. Yep, he looks like a candidate for Fur Club for Cats.
Um....maybe I'll just put the brush down for now....
I, far more innocent than I believed myself to be, was given an education in underground comics, among other things.
Does anyone remember Vaughn Bode? Big hairy hippie guy collected Bode's works and I would faithfully read everthing, half-shocked, half-amused. Of course, Vaughn was dead by then, having strangled himself in his quest to become the Godhead.
The cartoon frame I remember is the intrepid adventurer character encountering a seven year old girl who wants to seduce him. She lifts her dress and Intrepid Adventurer yelps, "Ick! Bald pussy!" and runs away.
Yesterday morning as I was petting Boris, I looked at his back. It's true, I've been pretty faithful with the new brush and all the kitties seem to love it, but I've gotten very close to denuding Boris's back. "Ick! Bald pussycat," I said and went to examine Gus, who's also been getting a lot of grooming. Yep, he looks like a candidate for Fur Club for Cats.
Um....maybe I'll just put the brush down for now....
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Sunday Blah Blah Blah
Shout Out to the End of Daylight Saving Time
I love the extra hour we get today. Could we also get one next Sunday? This would mean I could actually get things done, like grocery shopping.
But I will loathe driving home in the dark tomorrow...and every day until next March.
-------------
My House is a Very, Very, Very Fine House
Remember I refinished the study / office floor and painted the room in August/September? I've finally started to move furniture in there.
First were the two tall IKEA bookcases on either side of the window. In one went all my writing books and various binders containing manuscripts, finished and unfinished. Into the other went books for work, including programming books I haven't used for years but like to have around. I know I will likely never again be faced with the task of writing a printer driver in 'c', but these books were the heart of my work life for seven intense years.
The writing bookcase is almost full. The work bookcase, not even half-way full, so I started putting in hobby books - papercutting, painting, watercolor, sewing, drawing, all of which I haven't done for years. Still, hope springs eternal.
I was so pleased to dig out the writing books from the boxes where they've been for the last (gulp) eight years. I've missed them. Natalie Goldberg. Crazy Julia Cameron. Even crazier Anne Lamott. The Writer's Digest books on structure and plot. It's so good to have these at hand again.
I love the way this room is shaping up. I'm going to put my sad little keyboard against one wall and above that, my autographed picture of Bruce Hornsby.
I'm also going to put up the framed posters from the Winter Park bookfest/writer's contest, where I placed second one year and I think I placed first twice in the short story contest. Can't really remember. It cost more than what I won to get the posters framed.
Back in the day, Anonymous Boyfriend bought me a print of Durer's "St. Jerome in His Study" and yesterday I took that to be framed. That's going on the wall, too.
This is coming very close to the ideal den/office/study I've had in mind for at least ten years. It makes me very happy to see it coming together.
Of course, the rest of the house is in complete chaos because of the movement of books and bookcases. And I have realized a lot of my book have to go. Have to. (Sigh) Have to go.
-------------------
Adieu, Hunky Vet
I had to take Gus to the vet yesterday. He's been losing weight and has days when I can tell he's not feeling so great.
Hunky Vet sent out a letter a couple of weeks ago, saying that he had given up his own practice and was joining the staff of Really Big Animal Hospital. My heart sank. I know how hard he works, how hard he worked to get his own practice modernized and the office updated.
He had had a grand and achievable ambition of building a new building in a great location. The architects had drawn up the plans. Everything was going to be state-of-the-art. He had the financing...through Tyco. The Tyco scandal hit, the financing disappeared, and the building never got built.
Hunky Vet and Mrs. HV put their energies toward improving the building they had, but something seemed lost in Hunky Vet and he was not the same guy he had been before this collapse.
So he's gone in with a huge practice now. I don't like it. It's too big. It's too expensive. Hunky Vet used to give me a multi-pet discount, but these people take no prisoners.
Gus has a Grade 4 heart murmur. The scale is 1 - 6, with 6 being the highest. In April, it was Grade 3. They did blood work, but I know they're going to recommend an MRI. I know it's going to cost at least $300. And I have to start making tough decisions about how I care for the cats.
Actually, I think I've already decided and it wasn't easy.
I loved the late Polly, but spending a thousand dollars in the space of a week didn't keep her alive.
In the meantime, Unnamed Co offers pet insurance. No lie. $7 a month and 25% off any pet medical stuff, within network. No matter how many pets you have. So sometime this week, I'll have to stop by the office nearest me to meet the vet and find out if this is the way I go.
--------------------
"A Crummy Commercial?"
In the concert-before-last, Bruce Hornsby gave away his latest and very expensive CD to anyone who bought a ticket. This is a compilation of practically everything he's ever done.
One song I stumbled upon was 'Song H', which is moving and magnificent and very grand.
It turns out, Buick commissioned it to promote the "Rainier".
Be sure to drink your Ovaltine.
I love the extra hour we get today. Could we also get one next Sunday? This would mean I could actually get things done, like grocery shopping.
But I will loathe driving home in the dark tomorrow...and every day until next March.
-------------
My House is a Very, Very, Very Fine House
Remember I refinished the study / office floor and painted the room in August/September? I've finally started to move furniture in there.
First were the two tall IKEA bookcases on either side of the window. In one went all my writing books and various binders containing manuscripts, finished and unfinished. Into the other went books for work, including programming books I haven't used for years but like to have around. I know I will likely never again be faced with the task of writing a printer driver in 'c', but these books were the heart of my work life for seven intense years.
The writing bookcase is almost full. The work bookcase, not even half-way full, so I started putting in hobby books - papercutting, painting, watercolor, sewing, drawing, all of which I haven't done for years. Still, hope springs eternal.
I was so pleased to dig out the writing books from the boxes where they've been for the last (gulp) eight years. I've missed them. Natalie Goldberg. Crazy Julia Cameron. Even crazier Anne Lamott. The Writer's Digest books on structure and plot. It's so good to have these at hand again.
I love the way this room is shaping up. I'm going to put my sad little keyboard against one wall and above that, my autographed picture of Bruce Hornsby.
I'm also going to put up the framed posters from the Winter Park bookfest/writer's contest, where I placed second one year and I think I placed first twice in the short story contest. Can't really remember. It cost more than what I won to get the posters framed.
Back in the day, Anonymous Boyfriend bought me a print of Durer's "St. Jerome in His Study" and yesterday I took that to be framed. That's going on the wall, too.
This is coming very close to the ideal den/office/study I've had in mind for at least ten years. It makes me very happy to see it coming together.
Of course, the rest of the house is in complete chaos because of the movement of books and bookcases. And I have realized a lot of my book have to go. Have to. (Sigh) Have to go.
-------------------
Adieu, Hunky Vet
I had to take Gus to the vet yesterday. He's been losing weight and has days when I can tell he's not feeling so great.
Hunky Vet sent out a letter a couple of weeks ago, saying that he had given up his own practice and was joining the staff of Really Big Animal Hospital. My heart sank. I know how hard he works, how hard he worked to get his own practice modernized and the office updated.
He had had a grand and achievable ambition of building a new building in a great location. The architects had drawn up the plans. Everything was going to be state-of-the-art. He had the financing...through Tyco. The Tyco scandal hit, the financing disappeared, and the building never got built.
Hunky Vet and Mrs. HV put their energies toward improving the building they had, but something seemed lost in Hunky Vet and he was not the same guy he had been before this collapse.
So he's gone in with a huge practice now. I don't like it. It's too big. It's too expensive. Hunky Vet used to give me a multi-pet discount, but these people take no prisoners.
Gus has a Grade 4 heart murmur. The scale is 1 - 6, with 6 being the highest. In April, it was Grade 3. They did blood work, but I know they're going to recommend an MRI. I know it's going to cost at least $300. And I have to start making tough decisions about how I care for the cats.
Actually, I think I've already decided and it wasn't easy.
I loved the late Polly, but spending a thousand dollars in the space of a week didn't keep her alive.
In the meantime, Unnamed Co offers pet insurance. No lie. $7 a month and 25% off any pet medical stuff, within network. No matter how many pets you have. So sometime this week, I'll have to stop by the office nearest me to meet the vet and find out if this is the way I go.
--------------------
"A Crummy Commercial?"
In the concert-before-last, Bruce Hornsby gave away his latest and very expensive CD to anyone who bought a ticket. This is a compilation of practically everything he's ever done.
One song I stumbled upon was 'Song H', which is moving and magnificent and very grand.
It turns out, Buick commissioned it to promote the "Rainier".
Be sure to drink your Ovaltine.
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