Toots was in a lot of pain and doing that panting thing cats do when they're a wits end. I stayed up with him mostly all night, massaging his legs and moving them around. There was really no improvement in the condition of his legs and I could tell by his breathing that he was in hell.
I decided this afternoon to put Toots down. I start to cry even reading what I just typed.
I told him all night long that he is the master hunter and that no cat will ever be able to rule the neighborhood like he did. He was a good kitty.
I think Meow knows something is up. He's kinda looking around the house and meowing. And surprisingly enough, Mutchie stayed right by the clothes basket I had him in all night.
that sucked.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
mysterious cat paraylsis: Toots
Last night, when I came home from the lake, I noticed that my cat Toots was acting a little weird. He was trying to not put any pressure on his front paw, and for a cat such as him, appeared very lethargic.
Now, I must tell you that I complain about my cats a lot. They drive me crazy and when the two I have have gone away to a better place, my car won't be headin to the cat adoption any time soon. I mean c'mon, you'd have to agree with me...
They are the reason number one that I have an activity such as "The three-step-process to basement floor sanitizing; Bleach included" in my weekly regimen, and maybe above everything else I can hold a cat accountable for my last hospital visit. BUT, don't get me wrong. They're mine and I do love them, and I consider it a very serious responsibility to make sure I give them love, food and a clean litterbox. In return , they boss me and Mutch around, and get their laughs by counting how many times I get up to let them in. out. in. out. in. out.
So the cat's acting more like himself this morning, by swatting at the dog and purring like a fire engine. He's wanting to go outside so I let him (I can't NOT let this cat outside). He wouldn't jump down from the ledge by my door as usual but other than that it was happy hunting. A few hours later my neighbor calls me and tells me that my cat is under his little "overhang" foaming at the mouth.
I get home to find him under the house - sorta, wet and COVERED with mulch. He was a mess. I tried to get him out and he didn't move so I grabbed a hold of his body and pulled him out on to the driveway. The only thing that could be said at this point was: "WHAOMYGODWHATSWRONGWITHMYCAT?!" and "HOLY SHIT HIS LEGS AREN'T MOVING!" and "HE'S PARALYZED!!"
I immediently called Dr. Singh and he told me to bring him right in. We waited with a masiff puppy with what looked like "Parvo" gagging and throwing up slime while listening to a woman in the examination room tell Dr. Singh about "Jesus" and how he won't get to see the lord if he doesn't believe in The Lord Jesus Christ. She did it in such a "oh, hahah funny" way too, because she started the whole thing by using the Lord's name in vain.
He's paralyzed indeed. The Dr. thinks that he has aortic thromboembolism, a clot from his heart got stuck in the aorta where it splits off to the two legs thus paralyzing both legs and tail. It's painful, and it's a result of a heart condition, a heart condition that will eventually kill the cat. He gave him two shots and told me to wait a few days to see if he gets any feeling back in his rear end. He told me this was at "the top of his list" of cat problems. It hits so fast and when it does, that's about it. There was a Veterinarian in Pensacola that told us he had a murmur in his heart, but she also told me that I didn't really have to worry about it, some cats have that. Well, I did some research online a little while ago and he should've been on preventative drugs or something.
Dr. Singh looked at me with the raised eyebrows and crooked mouth of doom. I might have to put him down...
I'm not sure how I'm feeling about this. I keep looking to thoughts of the 17 year old girl, Ila having to put down her first horse a few weeks ago for positivity. I never wanted to have to be the one to make a decision like this, I mean I'd do whatever I HAD to do to make sure my animals survive and are healthy but I just can't afford to put him through tons of tests and whatnot- it's kinda easier when you have to decide if the cat can live with three legs.
He's home with me now, shacked up in two clothes baskets one taped on top of the other because he's trying to walk. He got out of the carrier's bottom and I found him in the little litterbox I brought upstairs, lying inside of it. He doesn't seem to want to eat or drink. I gave him a baby asprin and I hope he's not in pain anymore. I will watch him closely and decide what to do in the next few days. Actually it depends on if he gets better. Tomorrow I'm going to get a second opinion from the vet where I take Mutch.
This is the hardest part of being a lover of animals. Having to be the human. Having to be able to be the more intelligent, the comforter and the ultimate judge.
Toots drives me crazy and even attacked me once, but he's a good kitty. I will be really sad if I have to take him on that last ride.
Now, I must tell you that I complain about my cats a lot. They drive me crazy and when the two I have have gone away to a better place, my car won't be headin to the cat adoption any time soon. I mean c'mon, you'd have to agree with me...
They are the reason number one that I have an activity such as "The three-step-process to basement floor sanitizing; Bleach included" in my weekly regimen, and maybe above everything else I can hold a cat accountable for my last hospital visit. BUT, don't get me wrong. They're mine and I do love them, and I consider it a very serious responsibility to make sure I give them love, food and a clean litterbox. In return , they boss me and Mutch around, and get their laughs by counting how many times I get up to let them in. out. in. out. in. out.
So the cat's acting more like himself this morning, by swatting at the dog and purring like a fire engine. He's wanting to go outside so I let him (I can't NOT let this cat outside). He wouldn't jump down from the ledge by my door as usual but other than that it was happy hunting. A few hours later my neighbor calls me and tells me that my cat is under his little "overhang" foaming at the mouth.
I get home to find him under the house - sorta, wet and COVERED with mulch. He was a mess. I tried to get him out and he didn't move so I grabbed a hold of his body and pulled him out on to the driveway. The only thing that could be said at this point was: "WHAOMYGODWHATSWRONGWITHMYCAT?!" and "HOLY SHIT HIS LEGS AREN'T MOVING!" and "HE'S PARALYZED!!"
I immediently called Dr. Singh and he told me to bring him right in. We waited with a masiff puppy with what looked like "Parvo" gagging and throwing up slime while listening to a woman in the examination room tell Dr. Singh about "Jesus" and how he won't get to see the lord if he doesn't believe in The Lord Jesus Christ. She did it in such a "oh, hahah funny" way too, because she started the whole thing by using the Lord's name in vain.
He's paralyzed indeed. The Dr. thinks that he has aortic thromboembolism, a clot from his heart got stuck in the aorta where it splits off to the two legs thus paralyzing both legs and tail. It's painful, and it's a result of a heart condition, a heart condition that will eventually kill the cat. He gave him two shots and told me to wait a few days to see if he gets any feeling back in his rear end. He told me this was at "the top of his list" of cat problems. It hits so fast and when it does, that's about it. There was a Veterinarian in Pensacola that told us he had a murmur in his heart, but she also told me that I didn't really have to worry about it, some cats have that. Well, I did some research online a little while ago and he should've been on preventative drugs or something.
Dr. Singh looked at me with the raised eyebrows and crooked mouth of doom. I might have to put him down...
I'm not sure how I'm feeling about this. I keep looking to thoughts of the 17 year old girl, Ila having to put down her first horse a few weeks ago for positivity. I never wanted to have to be the one to make a decision like this, I mean I'd do whatever I HAD to do to make sure my animals survive and are healthy but I just can't afford to put him through tons of tests and whatnot- it's kinda easier when you have to decide if the cat can live with three legs.
He's home with me now, shacked up in two clothes baskets one taped on top of the other because he's trying to walk. He got out of the carrier's bottom and I found him in the little litterbox I brought upstairs, lying inside of it. He doesn't seem to want to eat or drink. I gave him a baby asprin and I hope he's not in pain anymore. I will watch him closely and decide what to do in the next few days. Actually it depends on if he gets better. Tomorrow I'm going to get a second opinion from the vet where I take Mutch.
This is the hardest part of being a lover of animals. Having to be the human. Having to be able to be the more intelligent, the comforter and the ultimate judge.
Toots drives me crazy and even attacked me once, but he's a good kitty. I will be really sad if I have to take him on that last ride.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
to much tv
I watch Dateline. I hear about all of the stalkers going after young girls on myspace. They even get personal information from comments friends leave. Last names!
I realize that I put a lot of personal information on this blog. I just want to put it out there that:
I am skilled in the art of using a horse for war- I keep a pony in my basement for this purpose. I posess Beatrix's Hanzo sword and the Crazy 88 are ICE'd (In Case of Emergency) in my cell phone. I had my dogs teeth removed and replaced with solid gold shark incisors. Implants let him shoot porcupine quills in every direction upon command. At any moment I can turn my house into a maze of lazer beams that if touched could pulverize a kingdom. I know some people that know some people. I know the sacred art of passive aggressiveness. And I will use it if necessary.
I realize that I put a lot of personal information on this blog. I just want to put it out there that:
I am skilled in the art of using a horse for war- I keep a pony in my basement for this purpose. I posess Beatrix's Hanzo sword and the Crazy 88 are ICE'd (In Case of Emergency) in my cell phone. I had my dogs teeth removed and replaced with solid gold shark incisors. Implants let him shoot porcupine quills in every direction upon command. At any moment I can turn my house into a maze of lazer beams that if touched could pulverize a kingdom. I know some people that know some people. I know the sacred art of passive aggressiveness. And I will use it if necessary.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Small doggy door. Big dog. Fitting shit into a bag.
This is a photo of the three dogs that hang out at my family's business. (l-r) They are: Pico- a Bishon Frise that is actually owned by my youngest brother Steve. Pico is a circus attraction, by the way he likes to lift his leg I'm sure he'd be great at lifting both of them for money on top of a big ball with lights. And glitter. I can't even say how annoying and adorable he is at the same time- but he came from a pet store that should say enough.
In the middle is Abbie, my mom's dog. She's a sweetheart and will bring an abrubt end to any offset of attention in Pico's direction by clenching the back of his neck in her teeth. When the two of them get going, it's just a big white blur. It's the equivalent of the blur you see when the Tazmanian Devil rolls across the television screen, Only white with scwehching barkings. They like to show it to everyone, right as soon as you enter a room. They're mad, rebellious, and getting horney.
The dog on the right is my other FRAaaaaaaNK's dog. Orion. For the most part he's totally cool and laid back just like my brother. The largest Chow-Chow you'll probably ever see. He knows it too. He chased four Arabians around a pasture until he had them cornered, they were rearing and bucking all up in his grill and he DODGED every hoof. He had them so worked up they broke through the fence and hauled ass down the country street (at least the fence would get fixed right away). I personally saw him pull himself into a car with it's window rolled down 1/4 of the way to get at a Dalmation. He's "dog amazing" when he want to be and today isn't the day.
There's a doggy door in between the desks at the office. You can see that Abbie fits through it lickity split.
See how small it is? Not as small as the door Alice had to squeeze into, but smaller than Orion...
I tried everything I could think of to get him to go through that door. I threw treats out there. He just looked at me. I had the other dogs go out. He just looked at me. I swear that this dog will go through that door. He does it. He knows I want to blog it. Just as I started to give up, I heard my brother come into the office. SWEET, this is like trump card. I ran around the corner "Frankie! will you go outside and call Orion?!!"
"Whaaa? for what?" he said
"Because I have to get this. I have to let the people know that theoretically, you can fit 13 pounds of shit into a 6 pound bag. And I want to do it by showing that Orion GOES THROUGH that door."
"Oh man, he's old and you're crazy. Don't make him go through that door."
After a brief bargining session Frankie headed outside to call his loyal dog through. That. Door.
I was getting my camera ready and my heart was beating like crazy "I am so getting this." I thought...
He called for the dog a few times. "c'mon orion. come." like: "yeah, I'm ready for my catheterization." Then his voice stopped and he appeared around the corner. He came in looked at Orion and walked away- this is what Orion did
He turned around and said SUCK IT. Of course, my only reply was: "yeah, well go shave your ass."
So maybe the universe is telling me that you can't fit all that shit into a bag. It only goes in there when it feels like it.
thanks blogger blog peeps
Thank y'all at Blogger for suggesting that I use Firefox to blog on blogger instead of Safari. I wasn't even aware I could get it on my mac. It's SO MUCH better! I can "runaround" photos! I spent an hour trying to discipher the code to do that last night.
I've said it before, I'll say it again. YOU ROCK.
I've said it before, I'll say it again. YOU ROCK.
thirty three POW.
Last Thursday night I was walking into a bar to meet some friends. As I entered the doorway I tried to get by three guys that seemed to all be looking at me in the way that you get looked at when somebody is waiting for a response from you..."can we see your ID?" the one with the larger of all three sets of muscles said to me. I wasn't even thinking, because I...well, I was drunk. (I highly suggest the hour of power at Jolly Joe's- ANY shot $1. ANY SHOT. ANY.)
I reached into my pocket to get my driver's license and at the same time the door dudes were guessing back and forth to each other what my age is..."23!" one said. "25" the other replied as the third dude stood looking at me like he's the man with the microphone at the "guess your weight, win a prize" carnival attraction.
"oooh, good guesses!, Thirty three." I said.
Ok now. What I really need to do is tape the expression on people's faces when I tell them (or they find out) how old I am. Granted, these guys might've been trying to hit on me. BUT, at least the rest of the general public that looks young (and I know they exist) would buy it.
Here's what it looks like from this angle; a bunch of OOHS AND AHHHS. They look around and punch whoever is standing next to them like the half-snake, half-lady straight up off the sideshow midway is standing right there. Oy, only now can they indeed say they've seen it all. Women get jealous sometimes... Then the compliments (thank you) and the questions: 'are you married?", "ever been married?", "have any kids?" interestingly enough to end every time with the unremitting game of "OH, HOW OLD DO YOU THINK iiIiiiee AM?!"
It's not just that. I often feel like I have to bring the fact that I am OVER 30 up in many situations and conversations.
I was talking to my mother about it the other day and she recalled a few instances when she was out with me and my brothers and how people would treat her thinking she was not even old enough to have three kids. -She looked very young too. I remember when I was in first grade, I told everyone that my mom was 40. She was actually 24 or 25. She showed up at a confrence and the teacher was looking for a 40 year old. She's laughing at me as I continue to talk...
I told her of a situation I ran into earlier where I felt like I was unintentionally called "not an adult", in a way that I could not supervise activities at a place where others aren't allowed to be "if there is no adult present". I understood that part but the day earlier the only adult present was me. In this case I understand that there needs to be rules and I don't want to call attention to the conversation had. I find no fault with the other person I was speaking to, they didn't mean to insult me.
I have to be careful when I feel that need to defend the many many many years that I have been alive. It's really my problem and I have to remember that I do not need to outwardly call attention to something that's my deal. I have made choices that I will never regret and I've shaped a life much different than much of the rest of my peers. I'm comfortable with it. It works for me. Kiss didn't name the song "Christine Sixteen" for shits-and-giggles. Christine's just 33 now.
I have nothing against the "big ideal", really. I think about having my own little girl riding a pony someday...I think of it. It just hasn't been the right time for me I guess. - I might need a kid because Christmas is getting bOOorrring, and I'm running out of things to take photos of.
Did I mean it to be like this? eh. I don't know. I think I ran from every perspective offering of babies, houses in the suburbs, getting my nails filled, using hairspray, and credit cards for Talbots. I'm more interested in that $5,000 Hermes saddle than that $5,000 diamond bracelet (I like them too, but not as important as HORSES.)
When the girls I graduated with were on their first honeymoon, I was at some phish show tripping on acid and in love with my life. Yes. I have responsibilities and I strive to move ahead in life. I have grown up and I have to giggle when I think about that one hot night somewhere in Virginia where I told myself that I NEVER stop doing acid. Because now, I don't want to do any acid. Hell. I want to protect my credit, and make sure my car payment is on time. I took off the hemp necklaces and yes, I wear makeup again...MAC makeup. And black stilettos (when the need arises)...But I'm still a hippy.
Where I'm at? well, who ever coined "supposed to.." would say I made alternative choices. I don't have to call divorce lawyers or babysitters. Even Economically I fall through the cracks. I can't get Medicade or $3,000 back from my taxes (hey, I understand that's not alot when you have kids) because I don't have any children, and I'm not disabled. I put a hatchet in my foot by accident and I get NO HELP- just working a full time job like every other responsible single american adult living practically paycheck to paycheck and I have an accident. Health care is not even available at my All-American FULL TIME JOB.
Socially, it's sometimes entertaining. I can be involved with a wide range of mixes. I know the proper boundaries of when I can get away with saying "shoot" instead of "shit". I know what a Bratz doll is and 50cent's new song, but I also hold my own in a conversation about Surrealistic Art or pending litigation. Sometimes "the adults" worry about me. I think my mom get inundated with inquisitive aunts and friends saying "does Christine have a boyfriend yet?" or better, to add insult to injury... "do you have any grand-childrend yet?"
I'm not sure what I have to do to look older psysically. I'm pretty sure the answers are: to wear shoes that make noise when I walk,
to purchase one of those cheesy goddy six carat 24k gold tone rings at kaufmann's and make up an husband, to dress with pants that come up to my real waist, to layer base coat makeup so thick on my face so that it looks like I'm hiding wrinkles, wine and cry until the grass gets cut "BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN. I DON'T CUT GRASS"? Did anyone say hairspray? uhh, what else? OH! get rid of the Jetta and Buy a minivan and stock it with carseats? fake carseats? from the thrift store?
NOOOOOO thanks.
I'm here to tell you. I'm alright with my house that's never been kid proofed, my stumbling in drunk at 4am, and the dirt scattered across my kitchen floor, and being taken for an early twentysomething. Being alone while sick is another whole story.
I reached into my pocket to get my driver's license and at the same time the door dudes were guessing back and forth to each other what my age is..."23!" one said. "25" the other replied as the third dude stood looking at me like he's the man with the microphone at the "guess your weight, win a prize" carnival attraction.
"oooh, good guesses!, Thirty three." I said.
Ok now. What I really need to do is tape the expression on people's faces when I tell them (or they find out) how old I am. Granted, these guys might've been trying to hit on me. BUT, at least the rest of the general public that looks young (and I know they exist) would buy it.
Here's what it looks like from this angle; a bunch of OOHS AND AHHHS. They look around and punch whoever is standing next to them like the half-snake, half-lady straight up off the sideshow midway is standing right there. Oy, only now can they indeed say they've seen it all. Women get jealous sometimes... Then the compliments (thank you) and the questions: 'are you married?", "ever been married?", "have any kids?" interestingly enough to end every time with the unremitting game of "OH, HOW OLD DO YOU THINK iiIiiiee AM?!"
It's not just that. I often feel like I have to bring the fact that I am OVER 30 up in many situations and conversations.
I was talking to my mother about it the other day and she recalled a few instances when she was out with me and my brothers and how people would treat her thinking she was not even old enough to have three kids. -She looked very young too. I remember when I was in first grade, I told everyone that my mom was 40. She was actually 24 or 25. She showed up at a confrence and the teacher was looking for a 40 year old. She's laughing at me as I continue to talk...
I told her of a situation I ran into earlier where I felt like I was unintentionally called "not an adult", in a way that I could not supervise activities at a place where others aren't allowed to be "if there is no adult present". I understood that part but the day earlier the only adult present was me. In this case I understand that there needs to be rules and I don't want to call attention to the conversation had. I find no fault with the other person I was speaking to, they didn't mean to insult me.
I have to be careful when I feel that need to defend the many many many years that I have been alive. It's really my problem and I have to remember that I do not need to outwardly call attention to something that's my deal. I have made choices that I will never regret and I've shaped a life much different than much of the rest of my peers. I'm comfortable with it. It works for me. Kiss didn't name the song "Christine Sixteen" for shits-and-giggles. Christine's just 33 now.
I have nothing against the "big ideal", really. I think about having my own little girl riding a pony someday...I think of it. It just hasn't been the right time for me I guess. - I might need a kid because Christmas is getting bOOorrring, and I'm running out of things to take photos of.
Did I mean it to be like this? eh. I don't know. I think I ran from every perspective offering of babies, houses in the suburbs, getting my nails filled, using hairspray, and credit cards for Talbots. I'm more interested in that $5,000 Hermes saddle than that $5,000 diamond bracelet (I like them too, but not as important as HORSES.)
When the girls I graduated with were on their first honeymoon, I was at some phish show tripping on acid and in love with my life. Yes. I have responsibilities and I strive to move ahead in life. I have grown up and I have to giggle when I think about that one hot night somewhere in Virginia where I told myself that I NEVER stop doing acid. Because now, I don't want to do any acid. Hell. I want to protect my credit, and make sure my car payment is on time. I took off the hemp necklaces and yes, I wear makeup again...MAC makeup. And black stilettos (when the need arises)...But I'm still a hippy.
Where I'm at? well, who ever coined "supposed to.." would say I made alternative choices. I don't have to call divorce lawyers or babysitters. Even Economically I fall through the cracks. I can't get Medicade or $3,000 back from my taxes (hey, I understand that's not alot when you have kids) because I don't have any children, and I'm not disabled. I put a hatchet in my foot by accident and I get NO HELP- just working a full time job like every other responsible single american adult living practically paycheck to paycheck and I have an accident. Health care is not even available at my All-American FULL TIME JOB.
Socially, it's sometimes entertaining. I can be involved with a wide range of mixes. I know the proper boundaries of when I can get away with saying "shoot" instead of "shit". I know what a Bratz doll is and 50cent's new song, but I also hold my own in a conversation about Surrealistic Art or pending litigation. Sometimes "the adults" worry about me. I think my mom get inundated with inquisitive aunts and friends saying "does Christine have a boyfriend yet?" or better, to add insult to injury... "do you have any grand-childrend yet?"
I'm not sure what I have to do to look older psysically. I'm pretty sure the answers are: to wear shoes that make noise when I walk,
to purchase one of those cheesy goddy six carat 24k gold tone rings at kaufmann's and make up an husband, to dress with pants that come up to my real waist, to layer base coat makeup so thick on my face so that it looks like I'm hiding wrinkles, wine and cry until the grass gets cut "BECAUSE I'M A WOMAN. I DON'T CUT GRASS"? Did anyone say hairspray? uhh, what else? OH! get rid of the Jetta and Buy a minivan and stock it with carseats? fake carseats? from the thrift store?NOOOOOO thanks.
I'm here to tell you. I'm alright with my house that's never been kid proofed, my stumbling in drunk at 4am, and the dirt scattered across my kitchen floor, and being taken for an early twentysomething. Being alone while sick is another whole story.
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