| kitty! | ||
| 7.4.2004 |
8:01 PM finally Now admittedly, I'm a procrastinator of the first order. But this had me in alternating states of denial and squicky terror all winter and spring: I was held hostage in my house by the carcass of the dead kitten, that I was too chicken to pick up. But I am not a big girl's blouse. I am not a sissy wussy. All of its brothers and sisters had been caught and fostered. There was just this one left out there. The more I thought about it, the more I felt it was my responsibility, I couldn't just leave it. Or worse, pass the task off to someone else as if it were a stray piece of refuse. It finally had to be done. And I had to do it. I called my mother for moral and spiritual support, threw a bunch of wet paper towels down on top of it, pushed with the broom, scraped with a trowel (it was stuck to the floor boards... (sigh)), bunched plastic garbage bags on top and around it and got it up. All the while mumbling "Poor baby, poor baby, poor baby..." Bag(s) in hand, I fastwalked down the stairs and to the dumpster. If there is a kitty heaven, it's a nice thought that this stripey baby is there romping around with Speedy while Cleo and Buttercup are looking on. Rest in peace, little one. |
|
| 4.3.2004 |
12:11 AM stinky Moji. Me. The monkey is out of the hospital, thank goodness. They'd removed his catheter last night, and had been waiting for him to go on his own. No such luck. They wanted to wait till he urinated on his own before releasing him. And he finally did. Just not in the box. (sigh) When I got him this evening, he'd peed all over himself. And wouldn't let a soul get near him without a growl, hiss, or nip. Of course, Mommy could reach right in and grab him up. And of course, he just snuggled right in for a cuddle. (sigh) I love my baby boy. Yes I do. They told me to watch that he used in his box at home, so we're now in the bathroom, me in fresher clothes and he all disposable-handi-wash-shampooed up. I feel like I still smell, and I'm so tired, I could stretch out here on the floor, but for the aforementioned litter box under the sink and in my way. (yawn) Love, love, love. Sure do love my baby cat. |
|
| 4.2.2004 |
12:51 AM to pee or not to pee The baby cat's in the hospital again. Poor monkey, he was all blocked up again. This time I caught him straining; by the time I got him to Adobe on Wednesday morning, he was all tuckered out. Moji knew where he was going, though, and what those fools were going to do to him, and he wasn't having it, not this time. He tensed up like he was doing isometrics and kegels. After the young vet (not Dr. Christy he was kinda used to) poked and prodded with the tubing and yet didn't get it in (ouch, ouch, ouch, it hurt just to watch), he decided that he'd had enough and could do it himself; when I picked him up to comfort him, he let loose a stream of urine all over the floor and, well, me. "Wow, look at that flow!", the tech said. All through the procedure, everyone marvelled at how good he was, just growling a little. And this time, they gave him some anesthesia and valium while they put the flexible catheter in. The young vet was very sweet. At one point, she bent down and kissed him on his little black nose, telling him he was such a good boy. And in return, he, though drowsy and drugged up, let out the tiniest hiss - "ssss..." - we all had to laugh. I got to carry him back to ICU and put on his collar - the awful cone-shaped thing to keep him from pulling out the catheter and IV. I got a call from a tech that afternoon, asking if I was coming by that evening. "We want to give him some meds, but he's being kinda uncooperative." That's my baby. During my visit that evening, he took his pills with no fuss (while I was holding him), and let me cradle his little head in my hands. I was pleased to see that the urine in the catheter was clear by then. My little fuzzy love, he kept giving me that look, "I hate this place and these people; take me home, right now, please." I'm with you, Booble; I can't wait till you come home, too. |
|
| 3.27.2004 |
10:20 AM good morning! Eh... Wacky's so smart. At around 7 this morning, I woke up with him patting my face and murrrrping. I'd fallen asleep on the dormeuse, and the old man was trying to wake me up. "You want food? You want your shot? Okay, silly," I said and got up, filled the bowls, and gave him his insulin. It's Saturday. My non-working day. I can sleep as long as I want, wherever I want. Looking forward to a lovely day of recovery sleep, I figured I'd move to the bedroom. But first, the bathroom. I lifted the lid - I always keep the lid down - then I discovered it: The toilet had overflowed for no apparent reason, and there was about a 1/2 inch of water on the floor. After a few good plunges, the water in the bowl went down, and I had a lot of mopping to do. My fuzzy flood alarm decided his job wasn't complete, though. As I cleared out the undersink cleaning supplies, the scale, and the sopping bath rugs, then mopped up the water, Wacky sat on the toilet seat to watch the proceedings, and I believe, to keep Mommy company. He's a great cat. |
|
| 3.11.2004 |
12:03 AM oh, my moji-boo Poor booby, he's been so sick.  Sunday, I found him peeing on the kitchen floor. He had blood in his urine, and was crying and drinking water to beat the band. I rushed him to Adobe where we sat for 2 hours waiting to see a vet. The doctor said, "He's forming crystals in his urine and is blocked up. And he may have kidney damage."Oh. My. God. I held him while they tried to unblock him with a catheter attached to a syringe, then while they inserted a more flexible one attached to a bag, and drew blood from his back leg, and shaved his little arm and inserted an IV. My poor little love, he only growled quietly a few times. They carried Moji off to ICU and left me with a paper to sign saying they were not to be held responsible if anything happened to him. And that charges would run from $400-800 the first day, then $200-300 each following day. And that I needed to put down a $200 deposit. (sigh) I visited him on Monday, rubbed his little head and murmurred to him; he purred and rested his head and paw in my hands. Outside his cage were two tags, one with a picture of an alligator, and another with a picture of a cat in boxing gloves and shorts: A biter *and* a fighter. That's my baby. (Oh, his Auntie Darwin would've been proud!) Hey, if you had folks inserting a catheter and an IV *and* taking blood *and* trying to poke and prod you and push things down your throat... you'd bite and fight, too.  He'd pulled out his catheter and they were more than happy to let Mom hold him while they reinserted it. The little girl who was trying her best to scour out his wee-wee with the plastic tubing made me so angry, I had to ask her if she'd ever had a catheter; of course, her answer was no. And while I was there, Moji was grumpy yet cooperative in my arms while they did just about everything they wanted, but finally he balked at getting a pill shot into his mouth and went a little nuts, snarling and swiping and spitting. During his two days at the hospital, I heard him hiss and growl more than I'd ever heard in the previous two and a half years of his life.He's back home now. And sweet as pie with me, letting me dose him with his meds - all except the nasty antibiotic chews (I don't blame him, they're foul.) He's still a little litter-averse (it may have been the Mojinator peeing on things - although over the years, I've caught BBOB more than once in the act...), though.  Tuesday night, his first night back home, was rough since he kept squatting and straining but not peeing, or not peeing pee, but watery blood. I was so afraid that we'd have to go back, I had to do something. I decided to sit up with him in the bathroom. I'd watch for him trying, then grab and squeeze him to "express" his urine. All night long. I'm a good kitty mommy. Since then, I've been following him around the house, watching for squatting, scooping him up, and thrusting him in his box. By Wednesday night he was peeing clear; I could tell this because during one scooping he started to pee, on me. Again, I'm a good kitty mommy. I was so happy it was clear, I didn't mind. |
|
| 1.29.2004 |
3:47 PM (blog * 2) My cat hates you. (So funny, I've blogged it twice.) |
|
| 11.27.2003 |
3:30 PM sweetness Mojo, snuggled under an afghan, makes a great combo footwarmer/footrest. |
|
|
2:50 PM problems 1) professional diagnosis BBOB's not sick, he's just crazy. We went to Adobe yesterday to see Dr. Shandro, then I left him there so he could pee and they could test but he wouldn't give it up. She had to extract urine from his bladder with a syringe (not fun for sure) and saw some blood but chalked it up to having to use a needle instead of getting it the old fashioned way. When I picked BBOB up, Dr. Shandro gave me a thick sheaf of pages on inappropriate urination. Possible causes, besides illness:
Arrrrgggggh. I need to start a "pee countdown/pee alert", something to show how many days since the last inappropriate act. A geeky project! So far, it's day 10. 2) little ones I've been feeling anxious about the outdoor infants. And today, the worst of all: I found a little one dead on my patio, tucked in a corner under the potting bench, now a deccimated carcass. It must have been out there during the big rainstorms two weeks ago. The one I dried off and returned is fine, but I didn't see the other. Poor little thing. I feel so very bad. The others are growing and running around, but they've got to be caught and fostered. Very, very soon, before it's too late. And I can't do it. What with BBOB's peeing and me keeping an eye on the old man (he'll be 15 in February), I don't have the space, time, bandwidth, energy... There's gotta be some solutions, to both problems; any kind thoughts or ideas would be appreciated, by both me and the fuzzy muffins. |
||
p o w e r e d b y B l o g g e r
c a e s u r a e a n a c h r o n i s t i c a b s u r d i t i e s k a h u n a m a n w h a t ' s a g i r l t o d o ?
|
||