Grace Returns Yet Again

I went to Petco today for cat food. I alway stop at the adoption center and usually there are a couple of cats there and none of them strike me in the heart.

Today, I was nearly knocked down. Dylan's twin brother was in the "showcase" cage and it was instant love. I cooed to him and he did as Dylan does - fell down on his side with his front paws kneading the air.

The next cage over, there she sat. Ever so neatly, as Grace always did, with her tail curled around her toes and an expression of calm watchfulness. She had Gracie's green eyes and the "M" / moggy mark on her forehead. She lacked the dramatic swirling black pattern Gracie had on her side. But still.

"It's too soon," I said to her. "You can't be Gracie. You're at least seven months old and Gracie died barely ten days ago. You can't be Gracie."

And yet I thought, Can't she?

Gracie - The Last Post

March 2000 - June 10, 2008


When they brought her to me, she was protesting. Loudly. But after five minutes or so, she settled into my arms.

I told her what a good cat she was. I told her I loved her.

Her last conscious moments were while I held her in my arms.

And then she slipped away.

Gracie - The Next to Last Post

I just talked to the vet. After a day on fluids, vitamins, and a number of supplements that should have had her interested in the world, none of it has worked. None of it.

According to the vet (non Hunky Vet), her BUN and creatinine levels are ten times higher than they should be. He has said he believes her little body is shutting down now. They are giving her pain medication, so she isn't in pain.

Tomorrow morning, I will arrange with Hunky Vet when to go in. I will hold her in my arms and I will say good-bye to her as she goes. I will tell her she has been a very, very good little cat and that I have loved her. But not as much as I should have.

Mo, who was once her lover boy, has not paid much attention to her for at least the last six months. Instead, she has taken up with Taylor. Nobody else likes Taylor, so she will be friendless.

For the past couple of mornings - not this morning - Gracie had been joining Mo and Gus on the couch for the morning pet while I write in my diary. She had jostled in with them, the tiny one, next to this big rough guys nearly twice her age. She just want to get pet.

I think the reason why she was meowing so loudly around the house for the last couple of days is that she was in pain.

When I talked to the vet, I said, "But she stopped eating last night" and that's when I realized it was time.

I feel guilty about Grace because when she was a kitten, I deliberately withheld my love from her. Part of it was because I thought she would be adopted out. Part of it was because she was so runty, I didn't think she would live. No amount of love or coddling that I've done since then can make up for that. If I had given her that portion of love for her, perhaps she would have eaten more as a kitten and been stronger to begin with.

This time tomorrow, there will be no Grace in the world.

She will go join the others who have gone. There are so many.

But she will not be in pain and she will not be scared. She will go to join the others and they will know that she, too, has been a good, good cat.

Gracie is Very Sick

Gracie is at the vet's. She now weighs 4 3/4 lbs. She is in kidney failure.

The vet has already told me that having her put down now would not be a bad thing. That no one would call be a bad mommy for it.

Grace is on her last chance. If she can't pull through this and last a while with in-home subcutaneous fluids, I will have her put to sleep.

There is so much more about this that I haven't told you, that the guilt of it is so heavy to bear.

How I hated chasing her around the house this morning, terrifying her, before I caught her and put her in the cat carrier. How I hated terrifying her with the car ride over. If she could have died in my arms this morning, I think, how much easier for both of us.

Take Me Away from All These...Cats

I know how crazy cat ladies become crazy. The cats make them crazy. The ladies are also grossly outnumbered.

I am going to be gone all day today. I am going to be outside today, all day. I have not only done this willingly, but I have paid for the privilege and bought special clothes for this. (I still stick with the warning, "Beware of any enterprise requiring new clothes.")

At the moment, I'm having relatively cold feet about this but the cats are making the house so unbearable that I'm willing to do anything short of bungee jumping or skydiving to get out of here.

I have, since last night, been able to get two doses of medicine down Gracie's gullet. She is now wandering the house, wraith-like, meowing for some unidentifiable something. I have tried the pricey new cat food. I have tried fresh water. New kibble. Petting her. Milk was briefly a hit. But she's wandering again now.

I've pulled out everything from my bag of tricks so I am blowing this pop stand before I completely lose what little is left of my mind.

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.

Good News About Grace

In the last ten days, she has gained 3/4 of a pound. She now weighs 5 3/4 pounds.

This is a really big deal since when she went into the animal hospital, she weighed just five pounds and looked like she wouldn't live another night.

I can feel that extra little bit of flesh on her spine now and her hip bones aren't all hollow. More than that, she's coming around again. She lets me pet her. She's Mo Daddy's girl again. She's getting better.

The Escape Artist

Gracie lasted less than 12 hours in isolation.

This morning when I came in to check on her - zip! She was out into the world of Ma Maisonette. She went around to check on everybody. Even Taylor - she wanted to cuddle up with Taylor who was having none of it. Taylor better wise up because Gracie is the only friend she has.

Gracie explored the living room, the kitchen, getting reacquainted with everyone. Gus seemed particularly displeased to see her.

Meanwhile, the Vandals and Goths invaded my study. Dylan investigated the litter box and Katy started eating Gracie's food.

I sat on the sofa and was stunned to realize what/who Gracie wanted most of all was me.

Eventually, Mo and Gus joined us. They settled together (with some effort and social engineering on my part), their noses literally pressed together, their bodies arranged like the unfolding petals of a rosebud, and at last, they all slept.

The Cat Who Spent Paris

Gracie is home and she is not happy about it. I've got her set up in my office, away from the other cats. I know if she gets escapes from here, I'll have a hell of a time catching her again and she needs medicine once a day for the next ten days.

And then she has to go back to the vet.

Let's do a tally, shall we?

Initial deposit:
$350

Shopping online for Feliway:
$75

Wild shopping spree at Petco to buy a new carrier, Feliway, new litter box, and little bed:
$106

Grand tally when I picked her up - obviously above and beyond the deposit: $900.

I don't have the heart to do the math. I really don't. I estimate it cost me what my 2005 trip to Paris cost and that's as far as I want to go.

Is she all better? I have no idea.

Right now, she's hiding in the office closet. If I look at her, she growls at me. I have a spread for her on a tray: kibble, water, (ooo la la) and turkey baby food. This cat better damn well eat.

And for those of you who aren't familiar with Feliway, it's supposed to be the feel-good drug of the cat world. It comes in sprays, it comes in diffusers. I bought the spray kind. I sprayed it all over the new cat carrier. I sprayed it all over myself. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. It's supposed to be the pheromone that cats give off when they rub their cheeks against something, which means they're happy or that thing belongs to them. Briefly, it worked with Gracie.

I also don't count the cost of an old cat carrier that she, um, had an accident in. And since it should have long since been consigned to the trash can, I don't count the loss of an ancient black leather jacket. We won't talk about what happened to the jacket, 'kay?

She's home. She better put on a show like Ethel Merman for the money I paid to have her here.

The picture above is from a couple of years ago. I wish she really was this content. I wish she was this mellow. I love her. It makes me ache that she's so freaked out. I want little Gracie back. I want my little girl.

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.

Waiting...

For Grace...

Grace's vet appointment is tomorrow at 6 pm. I have been begging her all week to stay alive until then. She still walks around and eats and drinks water, but she is so horribly, horribly thin. I burn my worries by being furious at the vet who treated her last time.

As I have watched her this week and tried to get closer to her, I have begun to wonder - is Grace diabetic? She's lost so much weight so fast - and she was tiny to begin with - and she seems to hang around the water bowl.

I know I'm going to have to keep her captive in one room for the rest of her life if that's the case, because if she gets into the main part of the house, I'll never catch her to give her insulin.

Yet this is exactly what I'm hoping the problem is. Alternatives are not good. Not good at all.
-------

For Phoebe

who is Grace's much fatter sister and has, as of two days ago, started drooling. She's usually a fairly sturdy sort, but something in her mouth hurts. A lot. So I've piggy backed an appointment for her with Grace tomorrow. I have a feeling she's going to need some dental work.

I also have a feeling I'll come home with two empty cat carriers tomorrow evening. They'll both probably be kept overnight, Phoebe for dental, Grace for observation.

I'm so worried about both of them that I don't care that it's going to be over a grand. I just want them both home and all right.

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For E

Annushka went for a lung biopsy yesterday. I didn't expect to hear anything. As I was driving home tonight, I thought, best for me to wait for E to call. I know she will. And if it's bad news, I know Annushka or Ralph won't want to talk to me.

I didn't hear my phone ring, but E called about an hour ago. All she said was, "Call me back."

I called her house and her mobile. They both went straight to voice mail.

If you had good news, wouldn't you say it outright? Even if you had middlin' news ("she'll need surgery for the infection"), would you still leave it on the message?

I am waiting for E to call.

I am worried. I don't know what to worry about the most. I just worry.

I am not ready for Annushka to go live with her family. No one is. Except perhaps Gigi.

Misc. Mash

Good Gracious

I'm really worried about Gracie. Really, really, really worried. I did manage to get, like, three doses of amoxicillin down her. She started to eat again. But now she's taken to going into the kitchen and going "rowrf" in a tone that means distress. Either that, or she's looking for Mo. She is skin and bones. I can feel every single rib when I put my hands around her. She eats, but she doesn't gain weight.

And I know that taking her to the vet about this would cost at least $500, probably closer on to $1,000, with no guarantee of her coming home healed, happy, and with meat on her bones.

I'm taking the cheap-o path right now. I bought some smelly cat food just for her, put it in a bowl and shoved it under the bed where she jumped the instant she saw me. I shooed the other cats out. Now I just have to wait for her to start yowling to get out of the room, because to get to the door, she has to go past the food bowl.

I also bought regular, not "lite" cat food, so maybe I'll end up with 11 porkers and one normal-sized cat.
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What the Hell is Wrong With You?

I don't know. I wish I did. Spring fever?

Nothing feels settled. I have not had a definitive answer on how much the surgery would cost, but I have learned that the max out-of-pocket for me would be $1,000.

Last week at work, a woman who looks remarkably like me and wears the same kind of clothes I wear (only newer and nicer) came in to the office looking particularly spiffy. I said, "Hey, how'd that job interview go?" When she turned to me, I saw her face was puffy from crying.

"I just came from my best friend's funeral. I'm only here because I'm waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up."

Later, there was an exchange of email and we ran into each other on Saturday at the office. I mentioned Hoity Toity Medical Group and the ankle surgery. "Oh yeah," she said. "My friend went there, the one who died? For three years, they said it was a recurrent UTI and when someone finally did an MRI on her, it showed a tumor the size of a baseball pressing on her bladder. And by then, it was too late to operate."

Oh-kay.

I know ankles can get fucked up in surgery. I've seen a lot of botched orthopedic surgery - or maybe not so much, but the ones I've seen have definitely stuck with me.
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In the Meantime...

Always being a woman of resourcefulness, I've tried all kinds of things to brace my ankle. Wraps. Off the shelf braces. None of it works. I have huge calves and tiny ankles (comparatively) so none of the off the shelf braces fit. Instead, I'm off on my own, talking to an orthotist on-line. How much would a custom made ankle brace cost? $500.

I'm weighing my options.

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No, Really. What the Hell is Wrong with You?

I truly don't know. Headaches play ring-around-the-rosy in my head. I feel a low boil constantly with Fireman Fred, who is sucking my will to live. I have an earworm from Tom Petty, from "Last Dance with Mary Jane", the line that goes, "I feel summer creeping in and I'm tired of this town again." I feel pretty trapped. Not enough saved for retirement. Not enough saved to get me through a month if The Worst happens. Not enough love. Too many cats. Too many sick cats. Too many dirty dishes. No vacation. And this is the worst time of the year. Even worse than the beginning of the Long Dark in November is the coming of the first ten days of April. It feels like every one of these days is stained with its own secret, stained history, stains that I'm the only one left alive to see. Well, there is someone else. But I doubt if he remembers what he did to me, much less the date.

The Funniest Thing I Heard All Day

It wasn't this:

- an email from FF telling me how desperately I failed at creating thus and such procedure, cc'd to the whole group.
Or this:
- arranging my whole day around a meeting with Brilla and the product manager of Raison d'Etre, only to find out Brilla didn't know what the hell she was talking about.
Or this:
- knowing that Little Grace has lost weight - and at about 7 lbs max, she doesn't have much to lose - and arranging an appointment with Hunky Vet at his new place of business, waiting for an hour with a TV that played the same video loop about the veterinary group at least ten times while I was there, having pushed out the appointment by a week to get Hunky Vet, only to be told an hour into waiting for my appointment that he had been called into emergency surgery.
Or this:
- hearing that Little Grace has an unexplained fever of 103F (101F is normal for a cat) and that the completely inferior substitute vet had drawn blood and somehow squeezed urine out of this poor cat. When she was returned to me, she scrabbled for me frantically.
Or even this:
- Having my doctor say to me, "Well, we can keep on giving you cortisone shots, but only so many and we'll probably end up resectioning the ligament to secure your ankle anyway." To which I said, "Sign me up." To which he said, "It'll mean drilling holes into your heels (they'll cover them back up), being on crutches for four weeks and a cam walker for another four weeks after that but I can practically guarantee you you'll never have an unstable ankle again." And I still said "Sign me up."

No. The funniest thing I heard all day was this:

On my way home from the vet, I walked into Hesse's German Bakery where the nice Filipino girl works and asked for an éclair. The large ones were gone, so I got three of the small ones. As she handed me the bag, she said, "Make sure you keep them in the refrigerator."

Why I laugh? Because they didn't even make it into the house. They are now happily ensconced in my happy belly.

Oy what a day. I'm taking two Tylenol and going to bed.