Hindoo Holiday

This morning, I woke up at 4 am. I had a cup of tea, wrote in my diary, fed the cats, pet all the cats, and went back to bed.

I guess it was about 9 am when I finally woke up. I took my time. I turned to Dylan and said, "What ho! What shall we be about today?"

Dylan flopped back down on the bed.

I had an idea. No pressure, though. No stress. At all.

I got dressed and headed out. To Kwik-E-Mart first for money. Then to the German bakery, which was a wonderful mad house. Nobody was angry. Everybody was excited and happy. I ordered a cheese danish ring and bought 1 1/2 pounds of cookies. Next, I stopped at Hunky Vet's. They'd already gotten numerous tributes - popcorn in a can (I just don't understand that), commercial bags of stuff. When the girls at the reception desk saw what I had, their eyes widened. "It's from The German Bakery!" they said. "Quick, hide it so no one in the back will steal any." I wished them Merry Christmas and went out.

Next stop was to buy a money card from Herschel. I know he meets all his prospective dates at Big Chain Restaurant and thought of getting a gift certificate for there. Instead, I bought a card where I slipped in some cash. The next stop on the trip was to give the card to Herschel. He greeted me with a kiss and I slipped the little white envelope into his hand. Herschel is Jewish but not Jewish enough not to have a Christmas tree and enjoy any holiday, secular or religious, that comes his way. "Thank you so much for thinking of me," he said. I wished him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I was just full of Christmas cheer.

That's why I went to Oak Tree Road. My Christmas cheer was all done and now it was time to have some everyday fun.

I am heartbroken to tell you that it doesn't look like Desi Galaxy will ever reopen. There was a fire there in the summer, I think. I got my favorite masala chai from one of the places in there. Along with my favorite chat (salad) and a lady who would occasionally slip me hot, freshly made syrup-candy called jellaby (I think).

Instead, I went to Bombay Talk, where I ordered a chat and then chai. Later, I got myself some Indian sweets. I went clothes shopping and came away with four gorgeous polyester kurti for a whopping $40 total. I love these because I can just throw them in the washer and dryer and they come out looking perfect. They're also beautiful.

Last stop was at Barnes & Noble where I bought myself my own Christmas presents.

I'm going to go change into my yoga pants and cuddle up on the couch with my cats and some sleazy Regency novels. I have been promised that there is hot, hotcha sex in them.

The Tale of the Constipated Cat

Taylor has not been her normal crazy self lately. A couple of days ago, she stopped terrorizing all the other cats. This was a cue for me to call on Hunky Vet.

Hunky Vet is a very popular vet. He always has been but now at the advanced age of the-same-age-as-me, he has decided he wants to slow down a little. After all, his daughter is nearly finished with college. (Gah! I remember when she was six!) He's not so readily available.

I'm not at all pleased with the other vets there. Even the best run a far distant second to Hunky Vet.

HV's sister works at the practice and when I phoned the other day, she said to try Dr. Dee. In fact, that's who HV was referring his patients to when he's not available.

I love her. Taylor, who hates everybody and everything, loves her.

This woman knows cats. She understands that you just don't burst into an examining room and let the door slam behind you. She knows to speak in a calm and soft voice.

Taylor let Dr. Dee pick her up. This qualifies as front page news.

The diagnosis is the same one that Dr. Becs came up with - Taylor was slightly dehydrated and very constipated.

I left Taylor there for the night and apparently, er, clearance was accomplished by whatever means necessary. Half an hour after I got home, Dr. Dee called to sound the all-clear.

I'll pick up Taylor Monkey-face this evening. And am assured that I have finally found another vet.

Shhh! Miracles! Quiet!

I'm not exactly shouting this from the rooftops because all the i's have yet to be dotted and the t's yet to be crossed.

First miracle, which will be maddeningly vague:
Something I have wanted the entirety of my life has just dropped into my life at bargain-basement prices. I'm astounded and grateful. No, it isn't a pony. Not even a tiny guide pony. No ponies are involved.

Second miracle, not vague but still mysterious:
Hunky Vet said he saw no mass or tumor or anything unpleasant on Phoebe's xrays. He said from there, we could go to endoscopy at a specialist's and I said, "Talk to the crazy Visa statement." He said he knew and thought that was going to extremes. He likes for people to know all of their options.

He said, "She's a wonderful cat, she is such a sweetheart." Last night as Phoebe sat patiently on the examining room table, Hunky Vet played with her ears and said, "Oh, look, bunny ears! And we can make them go this way...then that way..." I think Hunky Vet is a bit fond of Phoebe. That's no surprise at all.

He sent us home with some antibiotics for Phoebe.

I am going to go for my theory, which is that the humidifier attached to the furnace is broken and that Phoebe and I are both having a problem with dry noses. I hope I'm right.

third miracle, shhhh, whisper whisper whisper
It looks like I got the gig at Big Finance. When I know for sure, then we can all par-tay.

In the meantime, Phoebe's hospital bill was very reasonable and well under the limit I'd set for myself. So you generous hearts, I'm rejecting your thoughtful and welcome donations and taking away the PayPal button.

(woo.hoo. shhhh.)

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.

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.

Gracie Again

She's very sick. She's hiding under the bed in the basement. I can't coax her out.

Earlier in the day, she was yelling in the kitchen for something, anything. I am out of ideas.

Everyone had a little cold earlier in the week. And in the space of the week, Gracie lost every ounce she put back on since her previous trip to the vet.

I gave her medicine for a couple of days. She got stronger and got away from me.

Now she creeps deeper into the back corner of the bed.

I don't know what to do. I do know that I cannot, I truly cannot spend another thousand dollars on a cat who is so delicate.

Considering that I'm getting ready for a bathroom remodel (all going on my Visa, which is now quite hefty, thank you), this sounds callous, that I'm not even going to try to take the cat to the vet again.

I keep thinking of Polly, whose last illness sucked up the last money I had, only to be told by the emergency vet that there was no saving her. Her diabetes was out of control.

I don't know what to do. I truly don't know. I took Butch to the vet today. Butchy's been peeing all over the place, in copious amounts and drinking and eating as if there would be no food or water left in the world if he didn't nail it. Hunky Vet cut me a huge break by not charging me for the ultrasound. Butchy remains a cat of mystery. He's not diabetic. He's not in kidney failure or liver failure or heart failure. $200 to be told my cat is healthy.

$1000 more to save a cat who can't be saved?

I can't do it. I just can't do it. And I hate myself for it.

Grace Update - Good-ish News

Hunky Vet says Gracie's blood test results look normal now. When I asked if she could be stressed from all the blundering bozos in the house, he said that was the only explanation he could think of.

Meanwhile, they're going to keep her until Monday and continue giving her fluids and an appetite stimulant.

I think this is good news. I will set up the office for her and keep her in here for a while. Better to have her home and isolated (Mo can find another ho) than so stressed she starves herself to death.

Big-ass old bullies. It's like junior high all over again.

Gracie, Cat of Mystery

I called the vet's office this morning. The receptionist chirped at me that it was only 8 am and the doctors were just coming in.

"Look," I said, somewhere between tears, anger, and bitchiness, "I just want someone to go and look at her and come back and tell me if she's alive or not. Okay?"

Debbie trotted off. She returned and chirped, "She's awake and eating."

What? Awake and eating? Eating? Alive?

I thanked Debbie.

Later, I spoke with Hunky Vet.

Grace does not have:
- a mass in her chest
- a mass anywhere
- kidney stones
- an enlarged thyroid
- hyperthyroidism
- diabetes
- feline leukemia
- probably not FIP (feline infectious peritonitis)
- any reason at all to be failing

In fact, Hunky Vet was mystified. "I don't know what to tell you. But I think for now, the best we can do for her is keep her here on fluids, getting some antibiotics because she might have a little UTI. Her white blood cells are elevated but not that much. And in the meantime, she's eating, she's drinking. She seems fine."

And I thought, maybe it's because she's not here with the ruffians. Maybe it is these furry little bullies. And it flickered across my mind that if I had to give her up for her to thrive, I would. At least I would know she's alive. (You have no idea how hard this would be for me to do, but I would do it gladly if it would save her life.)

Hunky Vet said, "There's a group of veterinary internists who get together and discuss mystery cases like this. They do it for free and they're some of the best vets in the country. I'll submit this to them today and maybe on Monday, they can discuss Grace's case."

"So you think she'll be alive on Monday?"

"If she keeps going like she is, I'd say it looks good. But I have absolutely no idea on earth what is wrong with this cat."

Gracie is Very, Very Sick

After Hunky Vet finished looking at Grace and at her blood results, after he thoroughly examined her physically, he sat down and sighed.

"It's not diabetes or hyperthyroidism," he said. "It's not a bladder infection. The only thing I can guess is a mass in her chest and would show up when I do x-rays."

I nodded. I had hoped for the first two things.

"She weighs five pounds. A month ago, she weighed six and a half pounds," said Hunky Vet.

"What I'm afraid of," I said, "is that I'll call here tomorrow morning and she'll be gone."

"I think she'll make it through the night," he said.

And I looked at her and thought, maybe another week. Maybe. If we're lucky.

Gracie was admitted so she could have x-rays and IV fluids. She's a little dehydrated.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Luckily, Phoebe is fine. She was complaining about an infected upper canine, which Hunky Vet was able to remove with Phoebe under a little anesthesia. She seems perfectly fine now, but I'll give her antibiotics.

And Annushka. Nothing will be known until Monday. She complained on the phone last night that she was tired of being so still, that she was tired of being chauffeured around every place. When I asked why, she said, irritatedly, "Oh, I fainted in church on Sunday."

The baker is on my way home from Hunky Vet's. At least, on the route I drive, it is. I'll make sure to keep those eclairs in the fridge. The one in mah belly.

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.

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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.

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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.

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"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 Was Wondering Where I'd Put That

Doing a quick online banking glance, I was relieved to finally see a surplus. A float. This even after accounting for Gussy's imminent dental work and possible plastic surgery. This even after a new coat and a pair of shoes.

I know why I hate opening my mail. I know why I stick it in a big wire catch-all bin by the back door. Because inevitably, I stumble across something like this:

"We at Mighty Mortgage Co. just wanted to let you know that your escrow has been depleted by about five hundred smackers. Now we can incorporate that into your mortgage and you can end up paying $150,000 on a $500 debt. Or you can cough up the bucks now. Ever so sincerely, we love you, xxx, hugs and kisses, Mighty Mortgage Co. And PS, we'll probably continue to be just as bad at estimating your escrow in the future. Oh! But you paid FIVE CENTS in principal on your mortgage last month. Cool, huh? Mwaaa haaa haaa."

So I will dutifully write out the check tomorrow. I can't face it tonight.

Tomorrow I'll pull all the papers from the evil bin and will sort through them.

The weather this weekend has been bleak, grim, grey, and depressing beyond words. I don't care if it's 20F outside, if the sun is shining, there's a song in my heart. Three days of this just makes me want to stick my head in the oven.

Somehow, I have to rally by nine tonight. In preparation for Gussy's big visit with the vet, I have to take up all the food. I'm making everyone suffer while Gussy suffers. Tomorrow morning, I'll load him in a cat carrier and take him to Hunky Vet's office. There, Gussy will be treated sweetly but no doubt will be absolutely terrified until they get around to anesthetizing him and cleaning his teeth. I'll lay out the money but probably won't even get one glance at Hunky Vet.

We're having an outbreak of Itchy-Ear-itis at Ma Maisonette. Gussy shook and scratched his head until a blood vessel in one ear burst. It now looks like a tiny, heavy balloon attached to the side of his head.

The last time we had an incident like this here, the cat in question (Polly, dear Polly) had sutures put in to keep her ear from crumpling, but it didn't do that much good. $200 and not that much good. Hm. My handsome De Gustibus may have to go for a tougher look now that he's a mature cat of 13.

Add to this an increasing and virulent addiction to WEBoggle.

So much for the daily whine. Tomorrow is another day.