Happy Paul-iversary

Yesterday was our one year anniversary of adopting Paul.  He was such a worried little kitty.  

He had been born at the shelter and adopted as a kitten.  He was returned to the shelter after 11 months for being too active.  He’d been there over year before we found him.  The husband wanted him because he was cleaning himself when he first saw him and personal hygiene is important.  He was also hanging out with a calico in the cat room and he figured that was good practice for living with Powder.

It took him a long time to get comfortable.  Every step was a hard one.  He hid in a closet for weeks and then under the bed for longer.  We knew when he started coming out at night because he was finding cat toys under couches and bringing them out to play.

After a while he’d come out but wouldn’t come into the living room.  He’d sit at the doorway and look in.  I’m assuming it was a Powder rule that he wasn’t welcome.  Now he hangs out in the living room with us.  The final frontier was the bed.

This was this morning.  Now he has his own designated space during reading time.

He’s a thief.  He takes anything he can.  Let’s not forget the Fitbit incident.  He loves to steal ear plugs.  He plays with them and then leaves them for Freckles to eat.  We’ve been getting better about putting the ear plugs in drawers.  The other day I heard Freckles crunching on something and she didn’t seem happy.  Turns out Paul had bit the earbuds off a pair of headphones and fed them too her.  She didn’t like this new type of crunchy ear candy.  I got them from her before she ate them.

He tries so hard to be tough but Powder still steals his food if we don’t watch.  The other day Freckles jumped up on the bed and laid down partially on top of him.  He was so offended.  He took a second to psych himself up.  Then he puffed himself has big as he could and hissed right in her face.  She was asleep already and didn’t react.  He was so sad.  He looked over at me.  I commiserated with him.  “It’s hard being a bad ass when no one notices.”

Here’s to seeing what else you decide to do now that you are comfortable.

Let’s Look at Puppies

I’m sick. I have a cold. That doesn’t sound so bad, right? This is a monster cold though. I don’t get sick. If I get a bit of a tickle in the throat I drink cups of ginger tea with honey and it magically goes away. Not this one.

I’m the kind of sick where the other day I started coughing so hard in the exam room that I lost the ability to speak, excused myself with hand gestures, headed towards my office while doubling over coughing, and then got a bloody nose that sprayed blood all over myself and my surroundings. My coworkers have pictures of the carnage because they are helpful. Maybe I shouldn’t be at work, you say? Yeah, the other doctors are in Montana and Korea.

This is all in the middle of MAJOR work drama that I unexpectedly found myself right in the middle of this week. If the dust ever settles on this, I’ll tell this fine story of greed, lying, mansplaining, and patronization. It’s a good one.

So that’s why I didn’t feel up to putting the finishing touches on my blog drafts and publishing. We’ll resume next week. In the mean time – Let’s Look at Puppies!

The husband and I went to a dog festival in a little village near here. Zoar was settled by German separatists who tried to found a utopian community. That never works. They always end up banning sex and that’s the end of that.

A photo posted by @dvmheather on Jun 12, 2016 at 2:11pm PDT

We started out watching Dock Diving. The goal is for the dog to jump off the platform into the water. Longest jump wins.

Some were enthusiastic.

Others not so much

Some were more enthusiastic than I expected them to be

The dock diving was a competition but there was also a lure chasing course. There is a wire laid out close to the ground in a loop. Plastic bags are tied to a shuttle on the wire. A person runs the shuttle by remote control. Dogs chase the bag. Fastest time through the course wins.

Anyone could try it with their dog. Some dogs chased the bag around the course. The smarter dogs (Malinois, Border Collies) were watching the course while they were in line and came out with a plan. They would cut up the middle to where the bag would be and wait for it. Others would step on the line to have it pop off the rollers it was on so the bag couldn’t move. The husband and I cheered for the smart dogs. We figured they were the real winners even though they did it wrong.

Other dogs just wanted to be adored by the crowd.

This is the same Bearded Collie from the little dock diving jump above.

The Journeys of a Fitbit

My cat Paul is a thief.

He likes to steal earplugs.  He takes them off the nightstand and throws them on the ground.  Then eventually Freckles eats them if I don’t find them first.  We’ve taken to having to hide our earplugs in safe spaces to keep them from him.  He’s a quick little bugger.  If we don’t put them away immediately, he has them.

So, last Monday morning he was on the nightstand looking for earplugs.  I heard a clunk which I recognized as the sound of my fitbit hitting the floor.  He took that once before and put 27 steps on it before getting bored.  It was early and I didn’t want to get up yet so I ignored him.  When I did get up, I couldn’t find the fitbit anywhere.  I had been having a pretty stressful week and this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  I had a bit of a breakdown that ended with me in the bathroom with Freckles nearby but not making eye contact and Paul sitting at my side petting my leg with his paw like he was worried that I was broken.

Monday night – still can’t find it.  Starting to wonder if just maybe Freckles got confused in the dark and ate it before she realized that it wasn’t an earplug.  Check computer but it hasn’t updated fitbit.com.

Tuesday – can’t find it.  When I come home, Freckles has vomited and seems a bit subdued.

Wednesday – Freckles doesn’t want to go for her morning walk.  Get texts at work that husband has come home to lots of vomit and a very lethargic dog.  Tell him to bring her to work.  Run bloodwork which is fine.  I don’t have an xray machine so I run her to an emergency clinic after work to look for my fitbit.  She is the only dog there at the time and is having a blast.  Everything is about her – as it should be.   Xrays show no fitbit.  Sorry I suspected you of nefarious dealings, Freckles.  So now I’m out lots of money, still don’t have a fitbit, and I have a sick dog.  However, her adventures in medicine seem to make her feel much better and she recovers.

Thursday – Freckles feels better.  Paul decides the game is over and brings out the fitbit and leaves it in the middle of the living room floor.  It has 172 steps on it for Thursday but none for the other missing days.

Friday – Ok, back on track.  I have a three day weekend.  Gonna get a lot done.

Saturday – And I’m dead.  It started at 3 AM.  I’ll spare you the gory details but eventually I had a 102.1 fever, which I have to work hard to remind myself isn’t normal in humans.  Wiped out for the rest of the weekend.  I didn’t eat or drink anything for days.  That usually means I’ve gained weight by some mystical process invented by malicious gods.

And that’s why I don’t have a Reader’s Workout post for the week.

What’s Going on Around Here?

Powder went to the cardiologist and no one was injured

Powder had to go get an echocardiogram because of her worsening heart murmur and bad bloodwork.  Since she was horrible to try to get the blood from, I was worried about her behavior at the cardiologist’s.

She was a complete angel.  The only time she got even a little testy was when they were fussing too much trying to get her blood pressure.  All she did was stand up and decide to leave.  No teeth.  No claws.  I was so proud.  She even laid perfectly still on her side for the echo. I was shocked.

She has off the charts high blood pressure and when her heart rate goes up, one of her valves in her heart flips the wrong way and partially blocks her aorta.  No congestive heart failure.

Now she’s on meds for her blood pressure and her hyperthyroidism.  We have a routine.  She gets 3/4 of a small can of cat food.  Her blood pressure meds are made up into a liquid with fish flavoring and she eats them in her food at night.  In the morning, while she is eating, she gets her thyroid meds rubbed on her ear to be absorbed transdermally.

Because everyone else wants to get involved in this, the remaining 1/4 can of food is split between Paul and Freckles.  Now we can’t even go into the kitchen without all the mammalian pets in the house running in and assuming the position beside their respective plates.  Spoiled brats.  I’ve given Paul and Freckles a talking to about chasing the old lady with a bad heart and high blood pressure.  I don’t think they care.

I’ve Made A Whovian of Him

Remember back when my husband was refusing to watch Doctor Who with me? He’s hooked now.  He got a TARDIS mug and Jammie Dodgers for his birthday.  I came home last night and he was seriously considering buying a TARDIS shower curtain for our green and beige bathroom.  He’s always been a big stickler for everything matching so I reminded him that TARDIS blue doesn’t match our bathroom.  He yelled, “It’s a TARDIS woman!  It @$#$%%^ goes with anything!”  I hugged him and told him that I was so very proud of him.

When I came home from the dog park this morning he was watching a video on youtube that showed River Song’s story cut in chronological order so it makes more sense.  It made him teary.  My work here is done and he hasn’t even gotten to the 50th anniversary episode yet.

I’m Still Writing

I’m at 35,666 words into my NaNoWriMo story.  Not bad for having no idea where this is going.  I started with a character and a setting and no idea of the plot.  Last week a character went rogue and got rid of my main bad guy way too early in the story so I’ve been improvising.  The husband can’t understand when I say that I have no idea what is going to happen next.  It is exciting to see what comes out.

It’s Almost Thanksgiving

And I still have roses blooming!

My birthday is Thursday which is Thanksgiving in the U.S. Having a birthday on a holiday is generally no fun but I’m embracing it this year. I’ve decided to treat the whole day as a national celebration of thankgiving for my birth and am giving people the day off work with my blessing.

What’s Going On In Your World?

My No Good, Horrible, Rotten, Bad Week

Monday late afternoon the cats were lounging on the porch.  I wanted them to come in for the night so I grabbed Powder and hauled her inside.  I went back for Riley but he looked away from me and obviously didn’t want me to pick him up.  I told him, “Fine.  Stay out here then.”  He’s my cat that always wants to be outside and has spent most of his life spending the nights outside.

I didn’t know that it was the last time I’d see him.

I started to worry when he didn’t want in Tuesday morning.  I was panicking by Tuesday night.  There were neighborhood searches and signs put up.  I have a theory about what happened to him but without a body there is no proof.  I’m sure he’s dead.  This isn’t a house cat who goes outside and gets scared and hides.

Cats that go outside don’t die of old age usually.  I know that and have experienced that often while sharing my life with barn cats but this death hurt extra.  He was my lover boy who always wanted a cuddle.  We are hysterical and devastated.  There has been sobbing all week.  Powder is clearly grieving.  She took care of him from the time he was 6 weeks old.  Nine years later she still sniffed him when he came in from outside and would give him a cuff upside the head if she didn’t approve of where he’d been.

We still automatically check the patio doors when we walk into the room to make sure he isn’t asking to come in.  It is a jolt every time he isn’t there and we remember all over again.

It’s taken me this long to be able to write this without getting hysterical and there aren’t any pictures because I can’t face that yet.  Maybe later.

Adventures in Babysitting

I have a coworker who was going to have exploratory brain surgery. She texted me on a Tuesday two weeks ago to see if I would keep one of her cats whenever her surgery was scheduled. I agreed to this theoretical question. Ten minutes later she texted back and said that she had just gotten off the phone with the doctor and her surgery would be Friday. They had to leave to get to the doctor on Wednesday so could she drop off the cat in a few hours? That gave me no time to kitty proof a bedroom since I was at work.

The cat has cerebellar hypoplasia. That is a birth defect where the part of the brain that controls motor function didn’t develop correctly. This cat is pretty severely affected. She is able to stand but can only walk for a few steps before she falls over. She can’t climb or jump. She’s been this way since birth though so she thinks she is normal. I didn’t think she could get into anything but I asked anyway and was assured that she didn’t get into anything. <— That’s called foreshadowing in English class.

She was pretty freaked out by going to a new house and especially freaked out about going home with the evil vet. On Wednesday morning before work she ran away from me and hid under the bed.

At 5:30 Wednesday night the husband called me at work.

“Did you take the cat with you to work?”
“No.”
“She’s not in the bedroom.”
“She has to be in the bedroom. She was under the bed when I left.”
“She’s not under there. There is that crawl space in the wall. She’s in the wall!”

The crawl space has a heavy panel in front of it. It opens a space behind our bathrooms to access the plumbing. I had a hard time getting it open. My cats have never bothered it. There is no way a disabled, uncoordinated cat can get in there. That’s the logical response. I started to panic. If you are babysitting a cat for a person having brain surgery of course the cat would find a way to get in there.

“Is the panel open?”
“It moves.” Imagine the whole string of expletives about the cat in the wall from the husband.
“Go in there and see if she’s there.”
“I have to move the bed to get to it. I’ll call you back.”

I’m shaking at work. I have an hour and a half until I can leave. I’m imagining having the call the cat’s owner. “So, I killed your cat in less than a day. Have a happy brain surgery!”

He texted back. “She’s not in there. She’s gone.”
“Where could she go from there? Basement?”

I’m having visions of her falling through holes for the plumbing. A normal cat could fall one story. She can’t catch herself. Dead cat in the basement visions start.

He texts back. “Not in the basement.”

Then nothing for 10 minutes and I am in full panic mode.

Text “Freckles found her. She was under the dresser.”

Under the dresser. She never left the room. Of course she couldn’t leave the room. Of course he didn’t look under the other piece of furniture before he started imagining disaster.

“She seemed pretty scared.”

Of course she did. There was a crazy man who came in the room and started swearing and then moved the bed and disappeared into the wall. I’d be freaked too.

After I calmed down I was talking to other people at work. We imagined what we could have done if we hadn’t found the cat. It wasn’t like we could go find another orange and white wobbly cat and pass her off as the same cat.

1. “Um, I had some time with her this week so I managed to fix her brain.”
2. “Wow, brain surgery must of messed you up to make you think you had a twitchy orange cat instead of this perfectly normal black cat that you’ve had all along.”

It has been two weeks since the events described in this post and I think I’ve mostly recovered. It took a few years off my life, I think.

An Epic Battle of the Wills

To understand this story you must first accept the basic premise that I tell clients all the time when they ask why their dog does something weird – Dogs Are Gross.  Freckles, for example, likes to help out with the cleaning of the litterboxes.

We recently moved our upstairs litterbox downstairs.  One side effect is that we know when we hear the pitter patter of little doggie feet heading downstairs that she’s up to no good.

Freckles decided that she needed to go out at 1:30 in the morning. When she came back she decided that it would be nice to have a little snack. She headed downstairs. I asked where she was going. She turned and casually strolled back upstairs. We went to bed.

Immediately she ran back out if the room. I followed. When she heard me she detoured to get a drink. I made her go back to bed.

I closed the door but didn’t latch it. I have a theory that my cats are inter-dimensional beings who lose their powers if the doors closed. That’s the only way to explain why they throw themselves against the doors and scream any time the doors latched. Freckles hurled herself out of bed as soon as I lay down. She managed to bump the door open with dexterity she doesn’t usually have. I followed her again.

We stared at each other in the kitchen. She went over and took one sip out of her water bowl. She laid down in the kitchen. “Really? You expect me to believe that you want to sleep in the kitchen for the first time ever? Get back to bed.” She glared at me but followed.

We both got in bed. She bolted as soon as I was still.

I laid down on the couch which is comfy and is right by the stairs. She walked in and stared at me for a while. This was an unexpected hiccup in her plan. She stomped off to her food bowl. She is free fed so she had a snack while she thought about what do to next. She stuck her head back in the living room. I was still there. More snack. She barked at a cat and then chased her. She came and sat on the couch and glared in my direction. Then she went and ate a full meal to make the bad feelings go away.

Eventually I fell asleep. She may have snuck past me in the night. I’m not sure. She may have just gone to bed and slept on my pillow.

Nice to know my parenting can be as annoying to a dog as it is to children.