And Then There Are People Who Don't Suck

Yesterday I heard dad telling mom how a lady he works with showed him a couple of kittens that she rescued from nearby.  She'd put them in a carrier (eek!)  and had them in the bathroom at the office.  Then he said another lady in the office told him "Come on, don't you think orbit would like a new friend?".
     Dad said something that sounded foreign to me- something about, I don't know, taking them home or some shit like that- but I think he was under the influence of something.  They know damn well that this is a one-cat home, if they know what's good for them.  If they even consider bringing another cat into this house they're going to find out first-hand what their security deposit is going to be used for!  Gotta go sharpen the claws...

So Far So Good

Well, they don't know that I can tell, but the slightly off-taste of the pepcid is a small price to pay for the tasty morsels of canned food I don't get too often!  I haven't heaved recently, but I think it's still too early to tell.  Thank you for all your kind, positive feedback, and let's hope this works!

GastroKidneyPepcidWhat??

Well, dad sat me down and had a talk with me yesterday.  He and mom have been concerned with the frequency of my puking up clear, frothy liquid (his words, not mine) lately, especially after I eat or drink, so he called my doctor.  Seems I've developed some slight kidney issues recently, and was put on a special diet (dad has to save up several paychecks for the special food they have to buy, but I'm worth it, dammit!) (my words, not his), and the doctor said things might be more serious than she thought, or she might need to "try something different" as far as my treatment goes.
     She did, however, suggest something for them to try in the meantime, and said to let her know how it goes.  I guess I'm supposed to take something called Pepcid, and I'm not looking forward to that since I don't do pills well. Apparently the nausea and vomiting are caused by my kidney problem, and this is supposed to quell my need to spew (no one in particular's words- I just wanted to say that).  I like catching mom and dad off guard, though I must say I've gotten good at giving them clues to my gastrointestinal distress.  I've never been one to "meow" as cats should.  I have my own unique way of talking, but when I feel I'm going to upchuck (I just want to see how many different ways I can say "puke") I start chomping my jaw as if I'm chewing and swallowing something, then I'll let out a low, distressed-sounding warbleymeowwerow, and within seconds I start heaving.
     So today mom's supposed to pick up some of this pepcid shit, and we'll see how it goes. As much as I love getting the rare treat of canned food I've gotten good at sensing when something's been hidden in it, and I'll either eat around it, or just sniff it and walk away.  They even got one of those plastic things that lets them "shoot" a pill at the back of my throat a while back for something else, but they've since gotten rid of that.  Now dad is supposed to place the pill as far back in my throat as he can manage (without me biting his finger off) and massage my throat, forcing me to swallow.  We'll see how this all goes.

People Can Suck

Yesterday mom and dad went out for a while and, while pulling into a parking space dad noticed a bunch of animal cages in front of Petco.  They walked over there and, sure enough, there was an adoption spree going on.  Cages were lined up along the front of the store and people were milling about, some holding kittens and some just trying to talk to the poor things that were housed in the cages.
     There were a few dogs there as well, but most of the cages held cats and kittens.  Thorough documentation was clipped to the front of the cages, and dad noticed at least one that stated "My owner didn't want me anymore".  There are so many cats and kittens out there that need loving homes, and I'm sure there are so many more that are suffering in homes that shouldn't be allowed the honor of having pets. 
     I hope that by the end of the day most of those poor things found new homes, and I'm reminded of my indebtedness to dad for rescuing me and, together with mom providing me with a loving home.  But I'm still a little grizzled for the combing thing.  

Grrrrrrr!!!!

Oh, these two are really pissing me off!  They had to go and spoil a perfectly lazy Sunday afternoon by combing me again!  Don't they realize I can do my own grooming?  So I swallow some hair now and then!  So I occasionally puke!  GET OVER IT ALREADY!! 

     Okay, if I sit nice and still for them I'll be rewarded with some sort of treat afterwards.  BFD!  I still don't like being combed.  I hope they read this. Oh shit!  here they come.  Gotta go

A Perfect Morning

As much as I've talked about sitting with mom and dad it's been quite a while since I've curled up on dad's lap when he sits and reads in the early morning hours.  This morning, however, I felt that I needed some quality dad time.  Long, long time ago, when dad lived  by himself I was always right there on his lap in the morning, but as time went by and new faces came along and new situations arose we kind of got away from that routine.  Enter mom, with whom I've bonded like I'd never have imagined. 
     I'd slept out in the living room, and I awoke to dad stirring at around four this morning as he shuffled out to the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.  I followed him lazily and sat next to him while he stirred his lifeblood, then followed him out to the loveseat.  Once he was comfortably situated I hopped up onto his lap and settled right in, nuzzling my cool, wet nose and forehead against his right arm and instantly, it seemed, falling asleep.
     I only left a tiny, stinky spot of drool on his stomach, and once he'd drained his coffee cup I stretched and headed for the empty side of the loveseat while he rose with a groan and went for a refill.  The whole time he read I could sense, through my sleep-haze, that he was stroking my back gently and scratching my neck, and it made me realize just how good I have it here. 

Milestone For Dad

As he does every morning dad got on the scale yesterday and was sooo happy to see that he'd finally hit a new low of 170!  He says he hasn't seen that weight since long before I came along.  He and mom have been working at getting fit and trying to eat healthy (they think they're going to outlive me!), although it's really mom's persistence and vigilance that has kept dad on track.  She says that if it were up to dad he'd still have the horrible eating habits he's had for many years.  Mom's been doing good, too, and has reached a weight she's happy with, but wants to go further.  I'd tell you her weight, but I don't think she'd be very happy if she knew I told you.  Enough about them.  This is, afterall, my blog!
    

Indecision, Comfort and Bathing

Why can't I just sit down?  Why is it that, to find just the right position I have to circle a spot once, twice, maybe even a third time, then twist myself into my favorite position?
     I have this same problem going from point A to point B.  I decide I want to sit up on the back of the loveseat, for example, and instead of going from where I'm standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DAMN THING I jump up onto mom's lap in her rocker next to it, jump onto the arm of the loveseat, step over dad's lap and across the cushion, then, finally climb up onto the back of it.  What, exactly did God have in mind when he gave feline's their thought process and decision-making skills?  Or how about their inability to feel shame?  I seem to have no problem whatsoever plopping down on mom or dad's lap, or on top of them in their bed and lifting my leg to start lapping at my privates.  Sometimes I even manage to lift both legs, my feet high in the air, and just go to town washing my already-neurotically-obsessively-cleansed groin area. 
     And while I'm on a roll here, why do I have to walk over my food and water dishes, turn around, and sit at them from behind with my back to the wall?  Why can't I just approach them from the front and eat and drink?

Poopballs

So the other night I'm doing my thing in my litterbox, and I casually step out and walk back over to the loveseat, where the three of us had been sitting until I got the urge to poop.  As always, I stop in the middle of the floor to wash up, and dad suddenly got up and stepped over me on his way toward the room where my box is.  Mom watched him bend down for a closer look and there, about five feet away from my box sat a lone ball of poop!  If I were capable I might be embarrassed, but I don't think we cats can feel such emotions.  Apparently, I've done this before.  I guess that, because I'm such an obsessive groomer I get lots of hair in my system, and, once in a while after I'm done doing my business I don't realize that something's stuck, and it'll drop on my way out of the litterbox.  I guess.  Sound plausible to you?  I get the feeling they think I do it on purpose.  Is there something wrong with me?  Have I shared too much? 

A Quick Correction

I just realized I worded something poorly in my last post, and I need to set the record straight (especially before mom reads it!):

Where  I mentioned using the pillows on the bed I said, in parentheses "the real ones, in this case.  Not mom's".  This was not meant to imply that mom's pillows aren't real.  I was talking about the actual bed pillows, not mom's, umm..., bosom, which I'd referred to as pillows in a previous post.  Sorry mom, if you read that last post.  Oh, and don't be mad at dad.

On Loveseats, Warm Spots, and, Well, Whatever

As much as I love sitting with mom and dad I occasionally only want their warm spot.  Whether in the bed or out in the living room, if I see a place I want to curl up in, I'm going to do everything in my power to get it.  As  happens quite often, the other night we were sitting together on the loveseat (who the hell named it that?) when mom needed to get up for something.  I was in dad's lap, purring away, and the three of us were watching tv.  Just as soon as mom got up I watched her walk away, then got up and stole her spot.  Mom's is a multipurpose butt, you could say- it provides a nice little place to rest against at night, and it preheats the loveseat cushion for my comfort and pleasure.
     Sometimes mom will be sitting in her favorite rocker, and if I notice her getting up I'll jump up into it, and when she comes back we'll fight over who gets to sit in it!  Once again, mom is usually more forgiving and flexible.  Dad got up the other night, and I saw my chance to slip into his warm spot, and when he came back I just ignored him (one of my finer traits), and he turned and bent and just started to sit on me!  Can you believe the nerve?!  There I was, this gentle, old, love-giving pleasure-providing creature, and the shadow of this giant ass is hovering over me, threatening to squash me into the cushion!
I stuck it out and refused to budge, but because he's bigger than me (and ONLY because he's bigger than me!) he won his spot back.  Usually, he'll pick me up and try to get me to stay in his lap, but by then I'm so pissed that I refuse to sit with him, so I'll jump off his lap and go sulk somewhere. 
     I do the same thing in the bedroom.  Up gets the human, over goes the kitty!  I even like to use the pillows (the real ones, in this case.  Not mom's) to rest my head against.  They find this so damn cute!  I always seem to know when it's bedtime, too.  I usually head into the room, stop in the doorway, and turn and talk, trying to get their attention.  I can't tell time, I just have this built-in thing that tells me it's time for bed.  Sometimes I'm off, but I'll say this- they get confused, too.  I'll see them head into the room so, thinking it's bedtime I'll get up from wherever I'm sleeping and head in there.  I'll jump up onto the bed, but for some weird reason they're not laying still under the covers.  My favorite place is unavailable, and they're moving around a lot and doing strange (to me, anyway) things and making weird noises.  I just can't figure these two out.

Curiosity did WHAT?!

Is it just me, or are cupboard doors intriguing to all of us?  I love making mom and dad think we have a ghost in here.  Dad will get up some mornings, and on his way to the coffee find a cupboard door or two hanging wide open.  It's just me, exploring, and I like pulling the closet door open, too.  It's funny- I open the same few doors around this place, sometimes day after day.  You'd think I'd get bored peeking into the same places.  Why do I do that?
     Sometimes, if mom and dad see me doing this, he'll get up and sneak over behind me and watch, and once I'm inside the closet or cupboard he'll close the door on me!  Mom usually feels sorry for me, but I think dad has a mean streak, and enjoys watching me push open the door from inside.  Sometimes I panic and come rushing out, but sometimes, if I'm embarrassed, I'll just kind of saunter out and look at them, as if it didn't bother me that he tried to lock me in there.  Apparently they find this all very entertaining. One of these days I'm gonna surprize dad by locking HIM into the closet or something.  Maybe I'll lock him outside.  Then I'll sit in the window and laugh at him.  See how he likes it!

I Sleep, Therefore I Am... and other stuff

I think my job here is to get as much sleep as I possibly can.   One thing mom, dad and I have in common is our love of the sun.  They go out every chance they get (leaving me with the whole place to myself) to what they call the beach.  They have this whole routine- the cooler, the water bottles, sandwiches, some slimy stuff mom always puts on her skin (and yells at dad for not using!), and they're off.  When they come back they're always tired, and I swear they seem a little darker. 
     I take the easy way.  Why go through all that shit, when you can just plop right down in a spot of the comfy, golden stuff right in your own home. Sunlight is like a drug to me.  Not that I need an excuse to nap, of course.
     One good thing about the approaching cooler weather is that I know mom and dad will be using blankets.  Well, mom, at least.  As much as I love to sleep on their laps I still prefer a soft, warm cover to their bare skin, or even these shorts-things they have on all the time.  I've curled up on dad's lap for most of my life, but I've grown quite accustomed to mom's since we met, and I know I'll get more mom-lap time since (sorry, mom!) she's always cold. 
     By the way- Thanks, mom, for rearranging the living room.  The lengths these humans will go to for my comfort is amazing!  Now I can sit atop my favorite loveseat and look out the front window more easily.

Back To The Sarcophagus

So anyway, I'm sure some of you will find it weird, but the sarcophagus is Isaac's final resting place.  Dad had him cremated individually, and his ashes are in there with pictures of him and dad together.  I'm just glad that he's here with us.  I think that mom finds it a little uncomfortable, but she's accepted it.  I think.  Maybe.  Not sure.
      I gave mom and dad a scare a couple of years ago.  I started having problems with my ears, and what they thought was an ear infection turned out to be a small tumor.  It was kind of gross- the fluid from the related infection began to build up under my scalp!  The top of my head was all squishy and bulging, and it was really uncomfortable. The doctor removed the tumor, drained the fluid, and sent me home with medicine, and, paws crossed, it hasn't returned.  The doctor told mom and dad that it could possibly return- there was no guarantee it wouldn't- but so far so good.  I'm just making sure that mom and dad make the most of my time here with them. I think dad wants me to be with Isaac when it's my turn, but he and mom haven't really discussed this yet.

     Overall, I'm pretty healthy for a cat my age.  I do have some kidney issues, though.  We're keeping an eye on that.  I'm also stubborn and moody, and I do things MY way and in my own time.  I think this last part is how we all are, right?  Dad woke up in the middle of the night last night and found me stretched out and tucked neatly into the tight space between him and mom.  I thought it was funny because my butt was right under his nose, more or less!  He tucked my tail down, put his hand under his face, and went back to sleep. 
    



 

My "Brother" Isaac

I said I'd get back to that sarcophagus I mentioned earlier, so here I am.  Though technically and historically a sarcophagus is made of stone or limestone, this one is carved from a heavy, solid wood.  It was given to dad by his youngest brother, who has been gone for a few years now.  I lived with him and his girlfriend for a while when dad couldn't have cats, and I miss him lots.  I used to climb up on him when he napped and curl up like I do with mom and dad now.
     Anyway, Isaac was my dad's best buddy for years, and he reached the age of about sixteen years.  Isaac was dad's faithful companion and, at times, his only friend, and they grew to be inseparable.  All of dad's kids loved Isaac, a tubby, black and gray domestic short-haired tabby, and it wasn't long before Isaac settled in as a permanent part of dad's family.  Isaac had seen it all over his lifetime with dad- kids, houses, marriages and divorces, and many, many moves.  Unfortunately, Isaac had a tumor growing below his left ear, and, in spite of attempts to treat it, it took Isaac away from dad.  Without his knowing it I found dad's account of Isaac's illness, and the following is an excerpt of that piece, which made me cry when I read it:


 

     I held up pretty well at the vet’s office,  wanting to get the necessary paperwork out of the way before bringing Isaac in, and when asked if I’d like to be with him during his final moments I responded with a shaky “Yes”, even though my legs were beginning to wobble.  As we tried to hold Isaac down on the table he kept turning and trying to climb up onto my shoulder, which had become a comfortable place for him over the years.  Sometimes, while in my apartment, we would just walk around, his paws on either side of my neck. 

     It was extremely difficult to watch him, clawing at the exam table, trying to get up onto my shoulder, and I began to wonder if I should’ve just left him off and drove away.  I helped hold and comfort Isaac, and as the doctor prepared to do his part I kissed Isaac on the forehead, and he and I just looked at each other- he with confusion in his eyes, and me with sadness in mine.

     When the doctor whispered “He’s gone,” after listening to Isaac’s tiny heart beat for the last time ever my heart sank to a depth I can’t even explain.  The doctor left the room and I was alone with Isaac, who I assured was now in a happier, more comfortable place, and I just sat there with him for about fifteen minutes, petting him, thinking about all the years of unquestioning companionship, and trying to dry my eyes.

     Well, that's it for now.  I have to go.  I'll pick up where I left off tomorrow, maybe.