She is where she belongs, if she can't be alive, nagging me. She is on the bookshelf behind me, in the smallest of all the intricately carved wooden boxes. Strangely, hers is the smallest. Strangely, Katy's is the largest.
Of course this called for a stop at the bakery on the way home, where I learned they are now selling macarons for fifty cents each instead of two bucks a pop. Quality? A little refrigerator-y taste. The filling not quite so melty, but hey, I'll take it.
I still haven't cleared out Taylor's hidey holes but I am clearing out her old medicines and thinking, if only I'd taken better care of her in 2009, she'd still be here today.
Showing posts with label Taylor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taylor. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
Just a Glimpse
I am now at the point in mourning for Taylor where the heavy ache is gone. I still haven't removed all of her stuff from the house, but a good bit of it (medical stuff) has gone in the trash.
This is the stage where I expect to see her. And because I expect to see her, my mind puts her there for a second. I always make the same sound when I think I see her - an unsurprised "oh" - which is followed by a surprised "oh".
But the other cats have finally realized that Taylor is not coming back. I have rarely seen such relaxed cats. There was always a definite tension when Taylor walked into the room.
Lately, Blue has taken to flinging himself on me and this is quite a moment considering that he weighs at least twenty pounds. I have been able to pay more attention to Boris, who is very happy to have it. Dylan, Sophie, Brianna, they're all coming around, but I have noticed a weird dynamic between Sophie and Brianna. I think they're trying to sort out who's the Queen of the Hill. Sophie's quick but Brianna is so crazy that you can't anticipate her next move.
And me, I find myself with an unclenched neck. It's easy to take care of one sick old cat (Boris), especially is he's cooperative and good-natured.
They are pretty demanding when they first see me - food! Give us food!
Something which I myself would enjoy now.
Hm. Scrambled eggs. Now I need a place to hide away, oh I believe in scrambled eggs.
This is the stage where I expect to see her. And because I expect to see her, my mind puts her there for a second. I always make the same sound when I think I see her - an unsurprised "oh" - which is followed by a surprised "oh".
But the other cats have finally realized that Taylor is not coming back. I have rarely seen such relaxed cats. There was always a definite tension when Taylor walked into the room.
Lately, Blue has taken to flinging himself on me and this is quite a moment considering that he weighs at least twenty pounds. I have been able to pay more attention to Boris, who is very happy to have it. Dylan, Sophie, Brianna, they're all coming around, but I have noticed a weird dynamic between Sophie and Brianna. I think they're trying to sort out who's the Queen of the Hill. Sophie's quick but Brianna is so crazy that you can't anticipate her next move.
And me, I find myself with an unclenched neck. It's easy to take care of one sick old cat (Boris), especially is he's cooperative and good-natured.
They are pretty demanding when they first see me - food! Give us food!
Something which I myself would enjoy now.
Hm. Scrambled eggs. Now I need a place to hide away, oh I believe in scrambled eggs.
Sunday, December 02, 2012
The Week (From Wednesday) In Review
Taylor
No, I haven't started cleaning out her hidey-holes. I did get a card from the vets office, but threw it away. I sent an email to the guy at the North Shore Animal League Continuing Care program, letting him know that Taylor is no more and do not sent me anything about the Bridge. I wrote, "I already know my heart hurts without being reminded."
That *$Y%* Commercial
Of course I went looking for it. And found it. I watched five seconds of it, then zipped over to another web site and have resolved to never, ever looking at it again.
A Day With The Queen Bee
Because the Prince Consort is temporarily out of commission, QB asked if I would like to accompany her to a play at a local theater. This theater draws national attention, probably because it's the only Equity theater in New Jersey. They have graduates like Anne Hathaway. While it was lovely to be with QB, I was reminded again why I don't like crowds, don't like going out when everyone else is out and about.
It's because there are people out there.
Prepare to hate me now. I am not proud of this.
There was a group of about 20 developmentally delayed adults in the audience and I was crammed up against one of them, a woman in her late 30s, no Twiggy herself, who complained about how fat I am. Honestly, I tried to huddle into myself as much as I could, but there's just so much I can do with this much of me. Plus, the Queen Bee is on the plush side. At one point, one of the adults chaperoning the group asked the woman next to me if she would like to take her coat off. "I can't move!" the woman shrieked. Well, I couldn't either. I felt like the kid in "A Christmas Story", stuck to the flag pole.
And then she started to pick her nose and rub the boogers on her trousers.
QB didn't have it any easier. There was a 12 year old next to her who had tucked her foot under her and was juggling it against QB's thigh.
Yeah. I hate people. I really do. The public in general? Honestly, why are they drawing breath?
Most of what I saw of the play was the back of a guy's head until my boogery friend left during intermission.
Eesh.
We finished the day at Jersey's Best Hot Dog stand. I came home and fell into bed.
Money
I have returned:
- the lap desk from B&N, which was made for a right-handed person.
- the new and unopened heated mattress pad and sheets. I have enough blankets and make-dos until I save up for new stuff that I can afford.
I have a toffee tin that I've owned since childhood. This is where all my spare change goes. Once a year, I dump it out and get about $100 out of it. This year, I got $120. This is my mad money. This is for when the wall are closing in on me, I have to go someplace, I am being driven made by the cats, a new movie is out that I must see, etc.
I'm working on a budget for myself and this morning took the grocery budget out for a spin. I came back $10 over budget, but I'd been out of nearly everything. I'm still noticing what's missing from the fridge. At the moment, I'm not going to try going vegan again. I just want to get back into a familiar routine of cooking. I bought a lot of chicken, so anticipate stews, soups, and white chicken chili this week. I hope there'll be enough left over to freeze so I can start up my freezer inventory again.
Also have a lot of Indian pre-made dinners, so I just have to make the basmati rice, which is very easy. And very delicious.
Work
The Audit chick and I met and she said she loved the spreadsheet. And that one of our big clients said our documents should be the standard for our particular industry. How is that for validation?
No, I haven't started cleaning out her hidey-holes. I did get a card from the vets office, but threw it away. I sent an email to the guy at the North Shore Animal League Continuing Care program, letting him know that Taylor is no more and do not sent me anything about the Bridge. I wrote, "I already know my heart hurts without being reminded."
That *$Y%* Commercial
Of course I went looking for it. And found it. I watched five seconds of it, then zipped over to another web site and have resolved to never, ever looking at it again.
A Day With The Queen Bee
Because the Prince Consort is temporarily out of commission, QB asked if I would like to accompany her to a play at a local theater. This theater draws national attention, probably because it's the only Equity theater in New Jersey. They have graduates like Anne Hathaway. While it was lovely to be with QB, I was reminded again why I don't like crowds, don't like going out when everyone else is out and about.
It's because there are people out there.
Prepare to hate me now. I am not proud of this.
There was a group of about 20 developmentally delayed adults in the audience and I was crammed up against one of them, a woman in her late 30s, no Twiggy herself, who complained about how fat I am. Honestly, I tried to huddle into myself as much as I could, but there's just so much I can do with this much of me. Plus, the Queen Bee is on the plush side. At one point, one of the adults chaperoning the group asked the woman next to me if she would like to take her coat off. "I can't move!" the woman shrieked. Well, I couldn't either. I felt like the kid in "A Christmas Story", stuck to the flag pole.
And then she started to pick her nose and rub the boogers on her trousers.
QB didn't have it any easier. There was a 12 year old next to her who had tucked her foot under her and was juggling it against QB's thigh.
Yeah. I hate people. I really do. The public in general? Honestly, why are they drawing breath?
Most of what I saw of the play was the back of a guy's head until my boogery friend left during intermission.
Eesh.
We finished the day at Jersey's Best Hot Dog stand. I came home and fell into bed.
Money
I have returned:
- the lap desk from B&N, which was made for a right-handed person.
- the new and unopened heated mattress pad and sheets. I have enough blankets and make-dos until I save up for new stuff that I can afford.
I have a toffee tin that I've owned since childhood. This is where all my spare change goes. Once a year, I dump it out and get about $100 out of it. This year, I got $120. This is my mad money. This is for when the wall are closing in on me, I have to go someplace, I am being driven made by the cats, a new movie is out that I must see, etc.
I'm working on a budget for myself and this morning took the grocery budget out for a spin. I came back $10 over budget, but I'd been out of nearly everything. I'm still noticing what's missing from the fridge. At the moment, I'm not going to try going vegan again. I just want to get back into a familiar routine of cooking. I bought a lot of chicken, so anticipate stews, soups, and white chicken chili this week. I hope there'll be enough left over to freeze so I can start up my freezer inventory again.
Also have a lot of Indian pre-made dinners, so I just have to make the basmati rice, which is very easy. And very delicious.
Work
The Audit chick and I met and she said she loved the spreadsheet. And that one of our big clients said our documents should be the standard for our particular industry. How is that for validation?
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Going Along
Appointment with Dr. A. I am tired because I have been crying and because I haven't really had free rein to dribble away. I'm not sure I want that freedom. My back hurts, so I take advantage of the nice recliner I'm sitting in.
Dr. A starts asking questions about money.
I tell her how deeply in debt I am. It's pretty deep.
She asks if I've been taking my meds.
I say not regularly for the last two weeks or so.
Dr. A: You had a headache all last week, didn't you?
Me: Yeah.
Dr. A: Do you realize you could have had seizures?
Me: I have a hard time keeping up with my pill schedule on weekends and this is the first time I've had a paid vacation in a long time. My schedule got out of whack.
Dr. A: Are you back on them?
Me: Oh, yeah.
And I am. Easier to do during the week. With breakfast. At 10 am. At noon. At 2 pm. At bedtime. Must keep Becs medicated.
Dr. A: You like being manic, don't you?
Me: Of course I do. But at least I kept it pretty well within check this time. I mean, there was the harmonica -
Dr. A: Harmonica? What about a harmonica?
Me: (launched into a long rationalization of how I wanted to entertain myself in the dark during Sandy) ...so I bought a (an?) harmonica. I've played one before. And it's cheaper than an acoustic guitar.
Dr. A: An acoustic guitar? But honey, those things cost hundreds of dollars!
Me: I know. That's why I bought a $10 harmonica.
But as Dr. A showed me my many financial sins, I'm thinking of returning everything I have, that I have the receipt for. Empty the car for once. Take out the pretty things and if I have to get store credit, make sure I replace it with something useful, like ice melter or light bulbs.
Oh, here comes the Long Dark.
I'll return the unopened heated mattress pad and will go without. This is my penance for being manic, being cold in bed. (Taylor peed on the old one. Taylor ended up peeing on a lot of things, including me.)
Bad, bad Becs. Crawl into your cold bed (thermostat set permanently at 63F) and on Saturday, don't be surprised if they won't take back the harmonica. But there's plenty else to go back.
I didn't spent a dime today. Had a can of soup for lunch and will take another one tomorrow. Yay, me. Cold me.
It's 4:38 pm EST. I want to feed the cats and maybe find another blanket for the bed. I want to read Mansfield Park until I fall asleep. I've been getting to work at 6:30 am. Things will settle in. They have to. They will.
Meanwhile, Sophie is mewing for her dinner.
Dr. A starts asking questions about money.
I tell her how deeply in debt I am. It's pretty deep.
She asks if I've been taking my meds.
I say not regularly for the last two weeks or so.
Dr. A: You had a headache all last week, didn't you?
Me: Yeah.
Dr. A: Do you realize you could have had seizures?
Me: I have a hard time keeping up with my pill schedule on weekends and this is the first time I've had a paid vacation in a long time. My schedule got out of whack.
Dr. A: Are you back on them?
Me: Oh, yeah.
And I am. Easier to do during the week. With breakfast. At 10 am. At noon. At 2 pm. At bedtime. Must keep Becs medicated.
Dr. A: You like being manic, don't you?
Me: Of course I do. But at least I kept it pretty well within check this time. I mean, there was the harmonica -
Dr. A: Harmonica? What about a harmonica?
Me: (launched into a long rationalization of how I wanted to entertain myself in the dark during Sandy) ...so I bought a (an?) harmonica. I've played one before. And it's cheaper than an acoustic guitar.
Dr. A: An acoustic guitar? But honey, those things cost hundreds of dollars!
Me: I know. That's why I bought a $10 harmonica.
But as Dr. A showed me my many financial sins, I'm thinking of returning everything I have, that I have the receipt for. Empty the car for once. Take out the pretty things and if I have to get store credit, make sure I replace it with something useful, like ice melter or light bulbs.
Oh, here comes the Long Dark.
I'll return the unopened heated mattress pad and will go without. This is my penance for being manic, being cold in bed. (Taylor peed on the old one. Taylor ended up peeing on a lot of things, including me.)
Bad, bad Becs. Crawl into your cold bed (thermostat set permanently at 63F) and on Saturday, don't be surprised if they won't take back the harmonica. But there's plenty else to go back.
I didn't spent a dime today. Had a can of soup for lunch and will take another one tomorrow. Yay, me. Cold me.
It's 4:38 pm EST. I want to feed the cats and maybe find another blanket for the bed. I want to read Mansfield Park until I fall asleep. I've been getting to work at 6:30 am. Things will settle in. They have to. They will.
Meanwhile, Sophie is mewing for her dinner.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
In the Arms of the Angel
I made it through work. No problem.
I was sitting outside of Dr. A's office, listening to Pandora because there was Christmas music on the Muzak.
Then Sarah McLachlan began to sing and I began to weep.
Dr. A. came out, asked what had happened. I went into her office and she started crying, too. Taylor touches yet more lives.
I was sitting outside of Dr. A's office, listening to Pandora because there was Christmas music on the Muzak.
Then Sarah McLachlan began to sing and I began to weep.
Dr. A. came out, asked what had happened. I went into her office and she started crying, too. Taylor touches yet more lives.
Friday, January 13, 2012
I Might Just Go Out and Burn One
In this case, a vacation day. Why? Because I can, dammit. And get paid for it.
I love me some four day weekends. I always have high ambitions for them. This time, it involves cleaning up my office / study (ha) and making the kitchen useful for cooking and actually eating at a table.
---------------------
The Editor in Me is Driven Mad
I bought a Kindle book called "Mountain Mourning". It was bad. It was really, really bad.
Just for starters:
1. No description of the heroine.
2. No description of the heroine's main squeeze. Are they amorphous blobs or what?
3. In fact, no description of the heroine's house, other than the fact that it's pretty big-ass and has a music room. (Note: No musical instruments are mentioned.)
4. The writer should work for Western Union because she sure knows how to telegraph the ending.
5. Not much conflict, although in unspinning the yarn, it's just "oh, my husband fell in love with a fellow employee, so I had to kill her." There is no emotion behind it.
6. The heroine (?) works (?) as an administrator of a nursing home. Just think of the treasure trove of mysteries you could find among the residents. Listening to stories about their pasts, trying to piece together mysteries they've long since stopped trying to solve. But no. She starts with the death of a local school teacher.
I could go on. I think I paid two bucks for this, and I want it back.
I put together the Mystery of the Author: She's a sweet older-ish lady whose life's excitements consist of who brought what to the Methodist pot luck. She doesn't want anything bad to happen to anybody. She doesn't like conflict. That was my guess.
And sure enough, when I researched her, found out it was exactly the case. Eesh.
-----------------
Filthy Lucre
It always surprises me to find a fresh infusion of cash in my checking account every second Friday. Hey! Where'd that come from? Man, this is awesome!
-------------
Taylor is My Bitch
I started worrying about her on Sunday. Felt her belly and thought, oh, hell, I do not want to spend another $400 on getting her unplugged again. So I began to administer the feline version of Metamucil to her. It didn't take me long to figure out a system.
I go into the bathroom, get a little needle-less syringe of the Lactulose syrup set up, then bring Taylor into the bathroom. I grab her by the scruff of the neck with one hand and try to make her be still. The scruff of the neck business works very well. I drip the syrup into the corner of her mouth and without complaint, she drinks it up.
I throw the syringe into the sink (that stuff is really sticky) and Taylor immediately climbs up the front of my body, puts both paws around my neck and hugs. Within seconds, she is purring.
Now she follows me around like a puppy. Heh heh. Taylor mah bitch now.
I love me some four day weekends. I always have high ambitions for them. This time, it involves cleaning up my office / study (ha) and making the kitchen useful for cooking and actually eating at a table.
---------------------
The Editor in Me is Driven Mad
I bought a Kindle book called "Mountain Mourning". It was bad. It was really, really bad.
Just for starters:
1. No description of the heroine.
2. No description of the heroine's main squeeze. Are they amorphous blobs or what?
3. In fact, no description of the heroine's house, other than the fact that it's pretty big-ass and has a music room. (Note: No musical instruments are mentioned.)
4. The writer should work for Western Union because she sure knows how to telegraph the ending.
5. Not much conflict, although in unspinning the yarn, it's just "oh, my husband fell in love with a fellow employee, so I had to kill her." There is no emotion behind it.
6. The heroine (?) works (?) as an administrator of a nursing home. Just think of the treasure trove of mysteries you could find among the residents. Listening to stories about their pasts, trying to piece together mysteries they've long since stopped trying to solve. But no. She starts with the death of a local school teacher.
I could go on. I think I paid two bucks for this, and I want it back.
I put together the Mystery of the Author: She's a sweet older-ish lady whose life's excitements consist of who brought what to the Methodist pot luck. She doesn't want anything bad to happen to anybody. She doesn't like conflict. That was my guess.
And sure enough, when I researched her, found out it was exactly the case. Eesh.
-----------------
Filthy Lucre
It always surprises me to find a fresh infusion of cash in my checking account every second Friday. Hey! Where'd that come from? Man, this is awesome!
-------------
Taylor is My Bitch
I started worrying about her on Sunday. Felt her belly and thought, oh, hell, I do not want to spend another $400 on getting her unplugged again. So I began to administer the feline version of Metamucil to her. It didn't take me long to figure out a system.
I go into the bathroom, get a little needle-less syringe of the Lactulose syrup set up, then bring Taylor into the bathroom. I grab her by the scruff of the neck with one hand and try to make her be still. The scruff of the neck business works very well. I drip the syrup into the corner of her mouth and without complaint, she drinks it up.
I throw the syringe into the sink (that stuff is really sticky) and Taylor immediately climbs up the front of my body, puts both paws around my neck and hugs. Within seconds, she is purring.
Now she follows me around like a puppy. Heh heh. Taylor mah bitch now.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Weekend Round-up
Diego
I consulted my expert on all things Hispanic /Latino, Rosie, regarding Diego. Her response:
"Dominican men are very friendly towards women. He does not feel sorry for you. He is showing you his rico suave moves that his father taught him, as his grandfather taught him and as his great-grandfather taught him. If you like the look of him, feel free, but just make sure that he is not married, has a baby mama or a girlfriend. You do not want her knocking on your door at two in the morning."
And so there went my three second fantasy of being Salma Hayak in a flouncy white dress, dancing with Diego on a patio lit with multi-colored lights. Oh well. Wasn't it pretty to think so?
-----
Stinky Me
I have noticed that as I am getting to be an old bat my skin is getting thinner. It's more sensitive than it used to be. It takes longer for cat scratches to heal.
Also? It hurts to take a shower. No, the water is not scalding hot, yes, the shower is set on the rainforest trickle setting, and still it hurts. I no longer shower daily but scrub the smelly bits with a fresh washcloth and soap.
I think this calls for a change of method, so will begin taking warm baths in the evenings before bed.
Meanwhile - dang, that hurts.
----------
Boris and Taylor Health Report
All seems to be going smoothly. I have to keep an eye on them, of course, and give them meds they don't want. Boris is terrific about getting sub q fluids.
------------
One of My Favorite Lines in Western Literature
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
I just re-read The Great Gatsby. The writing at the start of the book is just mesmerizing. Once the story gets going, the language isn't as lyrical, but there's a feeling that nothing can stop the story. Fate is fate.
And Nick Carraway is not the innocent bystander / narrator I remembered him as being. He didn't go forward to the police and say, "Daisy was driving" while everyone was blaming Gatsby. No, they all closed ranks against the outsider. In fact, Nick was a bit of a hypocrite.
See you 20th Century American Lit tomorrow!
I consulted my expert on all things Hispanic /Latino, Rosie, regarding Diego. Her response:
"Dominican men are very friendly towards women. He does not feel sorry for you. He is showing you his rico suave moves that his father taught him, as his grandfather taught him and as his great-grandfather taught him. If you like the look of him, feel free, but just make sure that he is not married, has a baby mama or a girlfriend. You do not want her knocking on your door at two in the morning."
And so there went my three second fantasy of being Salma Hayak in a flouncy white dress, dancing with Diego on a patio lit with multi-colored lights. Oh well. Wasn't it pretty to think so?
-----
Stinky Me
I have noticed that as I am getting to be an old bat my skin is getting thinner. It's more sensitive than it used to be. It takes longer for cat scratches to heal.
Also? It hurts to take a shower. No, the water is not scalding hot, yes, the shower is set on the rainforest trickle setting, and still it hurts. I no longer shower daily but scrub the smelly bits with a fresh washcloth and soap.
I think this calls for a change of method, so will begin taking warm baths in the evenings before bed.
Meanwhile - dang, that hurts.
----------
Boris and Taylor Health Report
All seems to be going smoothly. I have to keep an eye on them, of course, and give them meds they don't want. Boris is terrific about getting sub q fluids.
------------
One of My Favorite Lines in Western Literature
"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."
I just re-read The Great Gatsby. The writing at the start of the book is just mesmerizing. Once the story gets going, the language isn't as lyrical, but there's a feeling that nothing can stop the story. Fate is fate.
And Nick Carraway is not the innocent bystander / narrator I remembered him as being. He didn't go forward to the police and say, "Daisy was driving" while everyone was blaming Gatsby. No, they all closed ranks against the outsider. In fact, Nick was a bit of a hypocrite.
See you 20th Century American Lit tomorrow!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
No Movie
Well, "Sense and Sensibility" for comfort. I need comfort.
Working with Dr. A., I have learned that any financial shock sends me into a tailspin.
I'd forgotten that in June, I'd made some tweaks to my car insurance. And now I find it's due on Dec. 23.
This morning, I realized that Taylor had not been terrorizing the household. I found her snugged against my pillow. She was hot. She was dehydrated. I made a vet appointment and left work about 15 minutes early to go fetch the cat.
When I got home to fetch her, she was still hiding, but she didn't feel quite so warm. Still, I'm glad I took her because she's mucho plugged up again. To the tune of $700 plugged up.
Honestly, it's Boris one month, Taylor the next. I don't know how long I can keep on doing this. Will I know when I've reached the tipping point? What if I already have? Can I possibly bring myself to desert a cat just because she's bankrupting me?
As usual, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
Other things on my mind:
I'm thinking of resigning from the Speechifiers. This has been on my mind for a month or two now. While I enjoy the meetings, I absolutely dread the time leading up to them. The roster isn't full. For the past two months, most of the time, I've been the sole officer at the meeting. (One had a family crisis out of town and a vacation, la-de-fucking-dah, and the Queen Bee's mum passed.) There is an officer's meeting coming up soon. Too soon to decide. Maybe they'll kick me out.
Mostly, I'm just tired of trying to make headway and falling further and further behind. Carried out to sea in a rip tide named Taylor.
Working with Dr. A., I have learned that any financial shock sends me into a tailspin.
I'd forgotten that in June, I'd made some tweaks to my car insurance. And now I find it's due on Dec. 23.
This morning, I realized that Taylor had not been terrorizing the household. I found her snugged against my pillow. She was hot. She was dehydrated. I made a vet appointment and left work about 15 minutes early to go fetch the cat.
When I got home to fetch her, she was still hiding, but she didn't feel quite so warm. Still, I'm glad I took her because she's mucho plugged up again. To the tune of $700 plugged up.
Honestly, it's Boris one month, Taylor the next. I don't know how long I can keep on doing this. Will I know when I've reached the tipping point? What if I already have? Can I possibly bring myself to desert a cat just because she's bankrupting me?
As usual, I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
Other things on my mind:
I'm thinking of resigning from the Speechifiers. This has been on my mind for a month or two now. While I enjoy the meetings, I absolutely dread the time leading up to them. The roster isn't full. For the past two months, most of the time, I've been the sole officer at the meeting. (One had a family crisis out of town and a vacation, la-de-fucking-dah, and the Queen Bee's mum passed.) There is an officer's meeting coming up soon. Too soon to decide. Maybe they'll kick me out.
Mostly, I'm just tired of trying to make headway and falling further and further behind. Carried out to sea in a rip tide named Taylor.
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.
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.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Weekend Roundup 7
Hear, Hear!
I've decided to postpone the hearing aids. It's not strictly a money issue. It's more an issue of where I buy them. The audiologist I went to is close to work. I may not be at Big Finance much longer and would then have to drive a very long way to get the aids adjusted or whatever. I'm going to find a place close to home. Because I live in the Bad Medical Care Vortex of Jersey, this may take a while.
----------
Come to Jesus
I called my recruiter at the contracting company that placed me at Big Finance. I told her I don't expect my contract to be renewed after the end of March. "It's a little too much employee versus contractor," I said, not naming names.
"This isn't the first time I've heard that about Big Finance," she said.
Oh, really? Thanks for cluing me in, sunshine.
She asked me to send her my latest resume. I did. She asked me if I'm willing to go to Jersey City. I am. Or New York. Not so much.
Half an hour later, she asked me if I'd like to take a gig at...Mighty Citadel! Yet again. All of maybe eight very trafficky miles from home. Yes. And yes again.
We'll see what happens. Meanwhile, I continue the quest on my own.
---------------------
Weird Start to the Weekend
I was supposed to meet up with the Queen Bee around 8:30 this morning. At 9 o'clock, she hadn't shown and I remembered we had left it up in the air when last we met. So I phoned her and she said she'd been crazy lately (I so relate) and yes, she was on her way.
Now that I'm home, it's lunch time and I feel like I've lost any momentum that I had for the day. I'm being torn in a couple of different directions and I don't like that.
--------------------------
A Study on Feline Cinematic Preferences
Last night, I finished watching "Order of the Phoenix." Dylan had been cuddled up next to me on the couch. At one point, I noticed that he was engrossed in the movie. (Things moving around! Interesting!)
That finished and I put on "300" (yes, again). Dylan decamped. The theme music started and Taylor hopped up next to me, sitting where Dylan had sat, engrossed in the movie. (Gerard Butler's abs! And pecs! Although I don't think Taylor was interested for the same reason I was.) When I got up to turn off the TV, she gave me a look and scampered off to bed. Dylan was already there. I got into bed and he gave my face a going-over. Microdermabrasion!
I've decided to postpone the hearing aids. It's not strictly a money issue. It's more an issue of where I buy them. The audiologist I went to is close to work. I may not be at Big Finance much longer and would then have to drive a very long way to get the aids adjusted or whatever. I'm going to find a place close to home. Because I live in the Bad Medical Care Vortex of Jersey, this may take a while.
----------
Come to Jesus
I called my recruiter at the contracting company that placed me at Big Finance. I told her I don't expect my contract to be renewed after the end of March. "It's a little too much employee versus contractor," I said, not naming names.
"This isn't the first time I've heard that about Big Finance," she said.
Oh, really? Thanks for cluing me in, sunshine.
She asked me to send her my latest resume. I did. She asked me if I'm willing to go to Jersey City. I am. Or New York. Not so much.
Half an hour later, she asked me if I'd like to take a gig at...Mighty Citadel! Yet again. All of maybe eight very trafficky miles from home. Yes. And yes again.
We'll see what happens. Meanwhile, I continue the quest on my own.
---------------------
Weird Start to the Weekend
I was supposed to meet up with the Queen Bee around 8:30 this morning. At 9 o'clock, she hadn't shown and I remembered we had left it up in the air when last we met. So I phoned her and she said she'd been crazy lately (I so relate) and yes, she was on her way.
Now that I'm home, it's lunch time and I feel like I've lost any momentum that I had for the day. I'm being torn in a couple of different directions and I don't like that.
--------------------------
A Study on Feline Cinematic Preferences
Last night, I finished watching "Order of the Phoenix." Dylan had been cuddled up next to me on the couch. At one point, I noticed that he was engrossed in the movie. (Things moving around! Interesting!)
That finished and I put on "300" (yes, again). Dylan decamped. The theme music started and Taylor hopped up next to me, sitting where Dylan had sat, engrossed in the movie. (Gerard Butler's abs! And pecs! Although I don't think Taylor was interested for the same reason I was.) When I got up to turn off the TV, she gave me a look and scampered off to bed. Dylan was already there. I got into bed and he gave my face a going-over. Microdermabrasion!
Friday, September 24, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Blursday
A Day Without Rosy is like...
A day when I get work done. Seriously.
Because she got there first at Big Finance, she got the choice part of the cubicle. Now that she is gone, I spent the first half hour at work switching my PC and phone to the choice part of the cubicle. And then I got work done.
Yesterday was sad. Every time I looked at her, I thought, no more Rosy. People always say they'll stay in touch, but you lose sight of each other.
----
Why It's Good to Have A Neighbor With Kids
Because I can walk away from the quarter watermelons for $5, instead buy a whole one for $4, split it in half and give the rest to my neighbor.
----
Things I Can Eat Until My Belly Hurts
Watermelon
Butter chicken with fresh buttered naan
Papri chaat
Good chicken & dumplings
Pad Thai
Pie
Cake
Kozy Shack Rice Pudding
----------
Our Tricksy Brains
Our brains are very tricksy things, they are. Oh, they try to help us, but it's all a trick.
I'm reading What The Internet Is Doing to Our Brains: The Shallows. I try not to think about my brain because I'm just waiting for it to go all "the station is off the air".
Apparently, our brains are plastic and elastic. But, of course, in a tricky way.
Hm. Let me work hard to find an analogy. Let's say that instead of driving my car to work, I have to roller skate instead. My brain will work on setting me up so that I get very, very good at roller skating. And after a year of roller skating, my skating skills are breath-taking, as are my mighty thighs, but I can't drive worth a damn. My depth perception, my perception of speed, my acknowledging of potential road hazards are now all screwed up. And it would take me a long time to acquire my old car driving skills.
Hm. Not quite what I wanted to get across.
Let's say that when I was seven, I had rheumatic fever. That the adults around me were so scared that permanent damage would be done to my heart that they tiptoed around me. My activities at school are severely curtailed. When I get home from school, I go straight to bed. People whisper about how scared they are that I'll have a heart attack.
When the danger is passed and I'm pronounced healthy, my brain is still so stuck in the pattern of seeing myself as ill that the perception is almost impossible to move around.
Your brain is not necessarily your friend. But you can work it. In fact, you should work it, and hard.
It's a good book.
------------
I Condole You
I have received a surprising number of sympathy cards on Katy's passing. Her ashes are still in my car. I need to nag myself a little harder about bringing her inside.
I miss her every day. I still have passwords set up using various nicknames I gave her over the course of her life.
The people in the "Safe Haven" program told me that when I sent in a description of Katy, I described her as the queen of the household. And for about five years, she was.
Now that crown has been passed on to that Richard III of cats, Taylor. She cracks me up at least once every day and I fiercely love her general pissyness. She won't take anything off anybody. Even when no one is giving her anything.
I was sorting through an area where I have leashes and I came across Katy's harness that I used to take her outside. I didn't do that for so long. I feel guilty about it.
And I feel guilty about not playing with and generally adoring the cats that I have.
I'm still stuck on the pause button. All I want to do is sleep. And eat watermelon. Which reminds me, I should make sure I've got a clear path between where I'm sleeping and the smallest room in the house tonight.
I love watermelon.
A day when I get work done. Seriously.
Because she got there first at Big Finance, she got the choice part of the cubicle. Now that she is gone, I spent the first half hour at work switching my PC and phone to the choice part of the cubicle. And then I got work done.
Yesterday was sad. Every time I looked at her, I thought, no more Rosy. People always say they'll stay in touch, but you lose sight of each other.
----
Why It's Good to Have A Neighbor With Kids
Because I can walk away from the quarter watermelons for $5, instead buy a whole one for $4, split it in half and give the rest to my neighbor.
----
Things I Can Eat Until My Belly Hurts
Watermelon
Butter chicken with fresh buttered naan
Papri chaat
Good chicken & dumplings
Pad Thai
Pie
Cake
Kozy Shack Rice Pudding
----------
Our Tricksy Brains
Our brains are very tricksy things, they are. Oh, they try to help us, but it's all a trick.
I'm reading What The Internet Is Doing to Our Brains: The Shallows. I try not to think about my brain because I'm just waiting for it to go all "the station is off the air".
Apparently, our brains are plastic and elastic. But, of course, in a tricky way.
Hm. Let me work hard to find an analogy. Let's say that instead of driving my car to work, I have to roller skate instead. My brain will work on setting me up so that I get very, very good at roller skating. And after a year of roller skating, my skating skills are breath-taking, as are my mighty thighs, but I can't drive worth a damn. My depth perception, my perception of speed, my acknowledging of potential road hazards are now all screwed up. And it would take me a long time to acquire my old car driving skills.
Hm. Not quite what I wanted to get across.
Let's say that when I was seven, I had rheumatic fever. That the adults around me were so scared that permanent damage would be done to my heart that they tiptoed around me. My activities at school are severely curtailed. When I get home from school, I go straight to bed. People whisper about how scared they are that I'll have a heart attack.
When the danger is passed and I'm pronounced healthy, my brain is still so stuck in the pattern of seeing myself as ill that the perception is almost impossible to move around.
Your brain is not necessarily your friend. But you can work it. In fact, you should work it, and hard.
It's a good book.
------------
I Condole You
I have received a surprising number of sympathy cards on Katy's passing. Her ashes are still in my car. I need to nag myself a little harder about bringing her inside.
I miss her every day. I still have passwords set up using various nicknames I gave her over the course of her life.
The people in the "Safe Haven" program told me that when I sent in a description of Katy, I described her as the queen of the household. And for about five years, she was.
Now that crown has been passed on to that Richard III of cats, Taylor. She cracks me up at least once every day and I fiercely love her general pissyness. She won't take anything off anybody. Even when no one is giving her anything.
I was sorting through an area where I have leashes and I came across Katy's harness that I used to take her outside. I didn't do that for so long. I feel guilty about it.
And I feel guilty about not playing with and generally adoring the cats that I have.
I'm still stuck on the pause button. All I want to do is sleep. And eat watermelon. Which reminds me, I should make sure I've got a clear path between where I'm sleeping and the smallest room in the house tonight.
I love watermelon.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
Cumulative Effects
Yes, I know I'm depressed. Yes, I have an appointment today with my psychopharmacologist, aka, my shrink.
Yesterday was hard. I realized that I am not over Katy's death and I am not over Phoebe's death. The Taylor scare was almost a direct hit on her scrawny hide and if I didn't have her to press to my heart now, would be in another tally column.
I realized last night and this morning that I have had a lot of unpleasant things happen to me that I've yet to recover from. Part of this is because I've been in a battlefield situation for the past 11 years. I'll spare myself and everyone else the fact that this has been going on since, oh, 1956.
And I also just realized that I don't want to do a year-by-year toting up of the sad, bad stuff. It's sufficient (and avoidant behavior) to say that a lot of bad stuff has happened and I haven't had time to recover from one bad thing when another bad thing bounces its way into my cave like a hand grenade.
I only know that it has left me sad and exhausted.
Along with the grenades jumping around like Mexican jumping beans, I have to deal with the fact that Everyone's Gone to the Moon is a way of life for me at certain times of the year. I think it's fair to say at this point in my life, I will not suddenly become Miss or even Ms. Popularity and will have to sit in my boudoir with my morning chocolate fetched by my maid, creasing my pretty little forehead with worry over which invitation I will accept. EGttM days are hard on me. I thought I had prepared for this one, but it didn't work out that way. And I didn't have the emotional wherewithal to pull together a Plan B.
I know that if another grenade gets tossed into the cave, I'll deal with it. It's what I usually do. Only I have to figure out a better way of dealing with them than throwing myself on them, belly-down. Throwing them out of the cave doesn't seem to be an option.
I realize this sounds like it's out of self-pity, but it is actually a question. Asked of the universe (silent, as usual) and God (silent, as usual), but I wonder when I'll get a break. Worse yet is the thought that maybe I've had a break. That I'm having one now and not a psychotic break. That would require too much energy and the tank is on E at the moment.
When I consider breaks I would like (right now I'm thinking of a massage in a glass-windowed room overlooking the prow of an ocean liner in the Caribbean), I realize how unlikely they are.
Then I go off to brush my teeth, take a shower, and go to work. And be grateful that I have a job to go to.
I think that overall, this stuff is going to add up and become its own grenade. And it's going to be one big motherfucker.
Ever the optimist, c'est moi.
Yesterday was hard. I realized that I am not over Katy's death and I am not over Phoebe's death. The Taylor scare was almost a direct hit on her scrawny hide and if I didn't have her to press to my heart now, would be in another tally column.
I realized last night and this morning that I have had a lot of unpleasant things happen to me that I've yet to recover from. Part of this is because I've been in a battlefield situation for the past 11 years. I'll spare myself and everyone else the fact that this has been going on since, oh, 1956.
And I also just realized that I don't want to do a year-by-year toting up of the sad, bad stuff. It's sufficient (and avoidant behavior) to say that a lot of bad stuff has happened and I haven't had time to recover from one bad thing when another bad thing bounces its way into my cave like a hand grenade.
I only know that it has left me sad and exhausted.
Along with the grenades jumping around like Mexican jumping beans, I have to deal with the fact that Everyone's Gone to the Moon is a way of life for me at certain times of the year. I think it's fair to say at this point in my life, I will not suddenly become Miss or even Ms. Popularity and will have to sit in my boudoir with my morning chocolate fetched by my maid, creasing my pretty little forehead with worry over which invitation I will accept. EGttM days are hard on me. I thought I had prepared for this one, but it didn't work out that way. And I didn't have the emotional wherewithal to pull together a Plan B.
I know that if another grenade gets tossed into the cave, I'll deal with it. It's what I usually do. Only I have to figure out a better way of dealing with them than throwing myself on them, belly-down. Throwing them out of the cave doesn't seem to be an option.
I realize this sounds like it's out of self-pity, but it is actually a question. Asked of the universe (silent, as usual) and God (silent, as usual), but I wonder when I'll get a break. Worse yet is the thought that maybe I've had a break. That I'm having one now and not a psychotic break. That would require too much energy and the tank is on E at the moment.
When I consider breaks I would like (right now I'm thinking of a massage in a glass-windowed room overlooking the prow of an ocean liner in the Caribbean), I realize how unlikely they are.
Then I go off to brush my teeth, take a shower, and go to work. And be grateful that I have a job to go to.
I think that overall, this stuff is going to add up and become its own grenade. And it's going to be one big motherfucker.
Ever the optimist, c'est moi.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Numbering the Days
Hunky Vet and Taylor and I have reached the last dead end.
Yesterday, HV did an ultrasound on Taylor's belly. Pancreas? Normal size. Gall bladder? Clean and putting out the right amount of bile. Everything else? Seems okay. Except the liver.
When a cat doesn't eat, if only for a few days, it can develop a fatty liver aka hepatic lipidosis. HV did a fine needle aspiration and said Taylor has it. In spades.
They kept her overnight and offered her a bountiful buffet. But the damage is done. And I truly don't think she's going to come home and start scarfing down the kibble again.
So. How many days left for Taylor? I would say at max, a week.
Then I start numbering the cats. Grace and Butchy died last year. This year, Phoebe died. And it looks like there are only a few days left for Monkey.
Seven cats. I know it sounds like a lot. But it isn't.
Yesterday, HV did an ultrasound on Taylor's belly. Pancreas? Normal size. Gall bladder? Clean and putting out the right amount of bile. Everything else? Seems okay. Except the liver.
When a cat doesn't eat, if only for a few days, it can develop a fatty liver aka hepatic lipidosis. HV did a fine needle aspiration and said Taylor has it. In spades.
They kept her overnight and offered her a bountiful buffet. But the damage is done. And I truly don't think she's going to come home and start scarfing down the kibble again.
So. How many days left for Taylor? I would say at max, a week.
Then I start numbering the cats. Grace and Butchy died last year. This year, Phoebe died. And it looks like there are only a few days left for Monkey.
Seven cats. I know it sounds like a lot. But it isn't.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Carrot Cake For Dinner
I pulled into the parking lot of Heavy German Bakery, now staffed with Chinese girls. Taylor was in her carrier on the seat next to mine.
My darling Hunky Vet spoke to me earlier. Taylor still has not eaten anything. Nor has she drunk any water, although they had been giving her IV fluids. HV sighed into the phone. "I honestly don't know what to tell you. We'll give her a whopping shot of antibiotics to see how she does over the next couple of days. But if you don't notice any change in her, I'm afraid we've come to a cross road."
Oh. That cross road.
Sadly, I went to the vet's office. When they brought out Taylor in her carrier, she was quiet. Then I said, "Taylor!" and she yelled back "RAWR!" Everyone laughed and I smiled because that's the pain in the ass that I know and love.
The minute I got into the car, I opened the carrier door and she leaped up on me, her paws tight around me, instantly purring. And I felt this giving, this loosening in my heart that I recognized from Dylan snugging in close to me. I realized at that moment that I really do love Taylor. I love her naughtiness, her nastiness, her bigger-than-life-ness. We held each other tightly. Then before I got ready to leave the vet's parking lot, I scooted her back into her carrier.
When I pulled into the bakery parking lot, I said to her, "Taylor, honey, there is only so much Mommy can do without baked goods or tequila. We have reached that limit."
Which is why I had a slice of carrot cake for dinner.
Hunky Vet asked that I keep Taylor in a room where I can watch her. I've decided that's going to be my bedroom. I'm hoping that having total night time ownership of me will inspire her to eat. In fact, I have to go back out into the world to get some stuff for her to try - cheap kibble. Lamb baby food, which almost always goes over well.
At the vet's I asked if I could stick this bill on my running tab and the accountant, known to be very stern, said she would be delighted for me to do that. "Really," I said to the vet tech. "She said she would be delighted?" This at no interest. This at no fees. The tech nodded. "Delighted."
Which is another reason why I love Hunky Vet.
And I saw the staff go above and beyond the call of duty while I was there.
When I got to the vet's, I parked next to a copper-colored new Dodge Fancy Car. I figured the woman in it was waiting for someone to come out because she was doing a crossword puzzle. But now, within five minutes of my going into the office, she came in.
I had little alarm bells and whistles going off in my head.
The woman was oddly and sloppily dressed. I guessed she was maybe in her 40s. And had elephantiasis in her right leg. The leg had sores on it. Then I noticed a back brace peeking out beneath the several layers of tops she wore. None of this was too terribly odd taken singly. But added together along with the fact that she was just plain dirty and things didn't add up.
In a white laundry basket, she had a beautiful but scared tabby Maine Coon cat. The woman said something about the cat was jaundiced and in kidney failure and about to die and no one would help her, no one would take x-rays (?), other vet offices wouldn't work with her about finances.
Well. I would be a liar and a hypocrite if I said I couldn't relate.
Cindy, the office manager, is a kind soul but not one to have the wool pulled over her eyes. She looked at me. I looked at her. She told the woman that there was a commercial credit card program just for vet expenses. (BTW, this is CreditCare. It is run by GE and they are sharks and thieves. Just saying from my experience.)
Cindy asked the woman for a driver's license. She didn't have one.
Cindy asked the woman for a credit card, just to see.
The woman said, "You know, I'm so flustered, I left all that stuff in the car." She thrust the laundry basket at Cindy, then hustled out the door.
I asked, "Do you think she's coming back?"
Cindy gave me a look and said, "I've seen it happen before." She glanced at the woman's information sheet. "Besides, I've got her address."
Cynical me said, "Maybe."
The woman came back and Cindy said to her, "If you're denied CreditCare, we'll work out something for you."
They were hustled into an exam room.
Well, I thought, that's was someone's version of crazy. Or maybe really desperately worried about her cat.
When I went back to my car, I noticed that her car was completely packed with stuff. Holy Toledo, I thought. She'd been yammering on and on about the cat hanging out with her kids while they did their homework and there was no way even one very small child could have flung himself on top of all that crap to ride around in. I saw a nest of blankies and cozies and I thought, this woman is living in her car.
Then again, when I looked at my car, I realized it would be easy to conclude that I'm running a DME shop from the back seat and a Dunkin' Donuts in the front.
I guess we've all got our own cray-cray.
And I am so, so glad and so happy that Taylorina is home again.
My darling Hunky Vet spoke to me earlier. Taylor still has not eaten anything. Nor has she drunk any water, although they had been giving her IV fluids. HV sighed into the phone. "I honestly don't know what to tell you. We'll give her a whopping shot of antibiotics to see how she does over the next couple of days. But if you don't notice any change in her, I'm afraid we've come to a cross road."
Oh. That cross road.
Sadly, I went to the vet's office. When they brought out Taylor in her carrier, she was quiet. Then I said, "Taylor!" and she yelled back "RAWR!" Everyone laughed and I smiled because that's the pain in the ass that I know and love.
The minute I got into the car, I opened the carrier door and she leaped up on me, her paws tight around me, instantly purring. And I felt this giving, this loosening in my heart that I recognized from Dylan snugging in close to me. I realized at that moment that I really do love Taylor. I love her naughtiness, her nastiness, her bigger-than-life-ness. We held each other tightly. Then before I got ready to leave the vet's parking lot, I scooted her back into her carrier.
When I pulled into the bakery parking lot, I said to her, "Taylor, honey, there is only so much Mommy can do without baked goods or tequila. We have reached that limit."
Which is why I had a slice of carrot cake for dinner.
Hunky Vet asked that I keep Taylor in a room where I can watch her. I've decided that's going to be my bedroom. I'm hoping that having total night time ownership of me will inspire her to eat. In fact, I have to go back out into the world to get some stuff for her to try - cheap kibble. Lamb baby food, which almost always goes over well.
At the vet's I asked if I could stick this bill on my running tab and the accountant, known to be very stern, said she would be delighted for me to do that. "Really," I said to the vet tech. "She said she would be delighted?" This at no interest. This at no fees. The tech nodded. "Delighted."
Which is another reason why I love Hunky Vet.
And I saw the staff go above and beyond the call of duty while I was there.
When I got to the vet's, I parked next to a copper-colored new Dodge Fancy Car. I figured the woman in it was waiting for someone to come out because she was doing a crossword puzzle. But now, within five minutes of my going into the office, she came in.
I had little alarm bells and whistles going off in my head.
The woman was oddly and sloppily dressed. I guessed she was maybe in her 40s. And had elephantiasis in her right leg. The leg had sores on it. Then I noticed a back brace peeking out beneath the several layers of tops she wore. None of this was too terribly odd taken singly. But added together along with the fact that she was just plain dirty and things didn't add up.
In a white laundry basket, she had a beautiful but scared tabby Maine Coon cat. The woman said something about the cat was jaundiced and in kidney failure and about to die and no one would help her, no one would take x-rays (?), other vet offices wouldn't work with her about finances.
Well. I would be a liar and a hypocrite if I said I couldn't relate.
Cindy, the office manager, is a kind soul but not one to have the wool pulled over her eyes. She looked at me. I looked at her. She told the woman that there was a commercial credit card program just for vet expenses. (BTW, this is CreditCare. It is run by GE and they are sharks and thieves. Just saying from my experience.)
Cindy asked the woman for a driver's license. She didn't have one.
Cindy asked the woman for a credit card, just to see.
The woman said, "You know, I'm so flustered, I left all that stuff in the car." She thrust the laundry basket at Cindy, then hustled out the door.
I asked, "Do you think she's coming back?"
Cindy gave me a look and said, "I've seen it happen before." She glanced at the woman's information sheet. "Besides, I've got her address."
Cynical me said, "Maybe."
The woman came back and Cindy said to her, "If you're denied CreditCare, we'll work out something for you."
They were hustled into an exam room.
Well, I thought, that's was someone's version of crazy. Or maybe really desperately worried about her cat.
When I went back to my car, I noticed that her car was completely packed with stuff. Holy Toledo, I thought. She'd been yammering on and on about the cat hanging out with her kids while they did their homework and there was no way even one very small child could have flung himself on top of all that crap to ride around in. I saw a nest of blankies and cozies and I thought, this woman is living in her car.
Then again, when I looked at my car, I realized it would be easy to conclude that I'm running a DME shop from the back seat and a Dunkin' Donuts in the front.
I guess we've all got our own cray-cray.
And I am so, so glad and so happy that Taylorina is home again.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Now the Bad News
Thursday night, Katy threw up bright red blood. On Friday morning, I took her to the vet, first thing.
X-rays show that Katy may have pneumonia.
Or she may have lung cancer.
She hasn't been on anti-biotics long enough to know which, but probably this Wednesday, I'll take her back for more x-rays.
Also?
Taylor has not sprung back. In fact, she may be going to the vet even sooner than Katy. I'm worried about her. She's back to hiding in the basement.
Sigh.
At the vet's. Hunky Vet's sister said, "Xman was here on Thursday. Had a kitty put down." It turned out to be Xman's favorite cat. I think he probably still felt the same about the cat as he did when I knew him. He madly adored that cat and had saved him from death not once but twice.
She said that he'd thought about having the cat cremated but when he found out how much it was, he took the kitty's body home. I'm willing to bet he buried the kitty in his back yard.
Hunky Vet's sister said he was there by himself. And I said, "So now he's a sad, lonely, cheap bastard."
But I am sorry about the cat.
But not too much. Because he used to beat the living hell out of poor Borish.
X-rays show that Katy may have pneumonia.
Or she may have lung cancer.
She hasn't been on anti-biotics long enough to know which, but probably this Wednesday, I'll take her back for more x-rays.
Also?
Taylor has not sprung back. In fact, she may be going to the vet even sooner than Katy. I'm worried about her. She's back to hiding in the basement.
Sigh.
At the vet's. Hunky Vet's sister said, "Xman was here on Thursday. Had a kitty put down." It turned out to be Xman's favorite cat. I think he probably still felt the same about the cat as he did when I knew him. He madly adored that cat and had saved him from death not once but twice.
She said that he'd thought about having the cat cremated but when he found out how much it was, he took the kitty's body home. I'm willing to bet he buried the kitty in his back yard.
Hunky Vet's sister said he was there by himself. And I said, "So now he's a sad, lonely, cheap bastard."
But I am sorry about the cat.
But not too much. Because he used to beat the living hell out of poor Borish.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Taylor is Sick
This morning, I couldn't find Taylor. Of course, it took me a couple of minutes to realize that she was not to be found. I was sitting on the couch, drinking coffee, and looked at the peaceful kitties next to me. Boris, Gus, and Dylan were piled on me and sleeping happily.
Whoa, I thought. It didn't take long for everyone to settle down.
That's when I realized it was because Taylor was not running around antagonizing everyone.
I searched for her and finally found her in the basement, asleep in a dark spot.
This set off every one of my kitty alarm bells. Cats usually head for someplace like that when they're very sick. Most usually, when they're close to the end.
I picked her up. I got her to purr, but she wouldn't let me hold her. She has a problem with her bottom, but what exactly that is, I don't know.
Now here comes the heartless part.
I am not rushing her to the vet this morning. I am going to work and will make an appointment with the vet for this evening. I can't afford to miss any more time off work and I certainly can't afford any more visits to the emergency vet.
It wasn't easy to get to this point.
And I realized that if a worst-case scenario hit, I could lose Gussy (16), Boris (14), and Taylor (a mere 10!) this year. If I gave Blue to Rosy, I know he would live like the king of the cats. That means I could end up with four cats by the end of the year.
It makes me shudder. And at the same time, making me feel guilty beyond all imagining, it would be a relief to only have to care for four cats.
I feel overwhelmed by it sometimes.
In the meantime, please think good thoughts about a pussycat. A psycho pussycat named Taylor.
Whoa, I thought. It didn't take long for everyone to settle down.
That's when I realized it was because Taylor was not running around antagonizing everyone.
I searched for her and finally found her in the basement, asleep in a dark spot.
This set off every one of my kitty alarm bells. Cats usually head for someplace like that when they're very sick. Most usually, when they're close to the end.
I picked her up. I got her to purr, but she wouldn't let me hold her. She has a problem with her bottom, but what exactly that is, I don't know.
Now here comes the heartless part.
I am not rushing her to the vet this morning. I am going to work and will make an appointment with the vet for this evening. I can't afford to miss any more time off work and I certainly can't afford any more visits to the emergency vet.
It wasn't easy to get to this point.
And I realized that if a worst-case scenario hit, I could lose Gussy (16), Boris (14), and Taylor (a mere 10!) this year. If I gave Blue to Rosy, I know he would live like the king of the cats. That means I could end up with four cats by the end of the year.
It makes me shudder. And at the same time, making me feel guilty beyond all imagining, it would be a relief to only have to care for four cats.
I feel overwhelmed by it sometimes.
In the meantime, please think good thoughts about a pussycat. A psycho pussycat named Taylor.
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.
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