Side Effects

Our cat Potter has given us more than her fair share of scares. On multiple occasions we have carted her off, clawing and howling, to the vet or the Pet ER when things looked dire. I've never tallied up exactly how much we have spent on her medical care, mostly because it would depress me too much. Don't get me wrong, I love my kitty and would go the extra mile to make sure she is okay, but on every single occasion the results have been inconclusive, and basically, she just got better on her own. Thousands and thousands of dollars have been spent on what time alone fixed.

She's always been a puker. At least once a week, sometimes more often, sometimes less, she would revisit upon us her lunch. But lately things have been bad. Because of her history, we were hesitant to rush her to the vet, spend a ton of money and get no answers. However, after weeks and weeks of her throwing up A LOT, as in multiple times a day and on our bed on more than one occasion, we finally decided to take her in.

OF COURSE, the vet couldn't find anything wrong with her. All bloodwork came back fine. The diagnosis, such as it was, was that hair must be accumulating in her digestive tract and causing a backup. So the vet prescribed her Catlax, a molasses-like substance that serves in much the same way as Exlax does on humans. Which is to say, it greases the chute.

You might think this would cause a disturbing litter box situation, but in fact had almost no effect on that end. And at first, the vomiting slowed down and we thought "HALLELUJAH! We're on the right track."

But then we woke up Friday morning.

It was a morning like any other. Sophie woke us up at ohgod o'clock. We went through the upstairs part of our morning: pottying, face washing, changing diaper, putting on warmer clothes; before we headed for the stairs. And that was when I saw it.

It was everywhere.

It was on every step from the top to the bottom. That's thirteen steps. It was on the wall from the top nearly to the bottom. And there was clearly a spray pattern. It was like something had stood at the top of the stairs and a fire hose of vomit shot out of it. I didn't need Dexter or a team of CSIs to figure out what had happened.

I called out to Neil. When he met me at the top of the stairs, his mouth fell open and he said, only half kidding, "Do you think she's alive?" I'd had the same thought myself. It was an explosion. I have never seen an animal produce that kind of mess. HazMat teams usually deal with this sort of thing.

I went downstairs to track down Potter to confirm that she was, in fact, still among the land of the living. I found her in the kitchen circling her food dish waiting for some breaky as if nothing had happened. After refilling her bowl, I headed back upstairs to clean that ungodly mess up. It took a half a bottle of 409 and an entire roll of paper towels, but our stairs are back to their pre-disaster state.

We called the vet's office as soon as they opened and it was decided that we take a break from the Catlax and proceed to the next level of treatment: prednisone. So now our 7 lb cat is on steroids.

The good news is that the puking has slowed down to once a day for the last three days and we're optimistic that things are on the up and up. The bad news is that she's got acne and her meow is three octaves lower.

Whatever. As long as I never have to clean a mess like that again.

More Drama For This Mama

Our little Gomez is a very affectionate kitty. He is also one feisty little thing. It's no coincidence that one of the first words Sophie said was "kitty" and one of the next words was "GET." As in, GET DOWN, GET OFF, and just plain GIT!

Pretty much whenever either of us comes home, he is at the door to greet us. And while he, like most cats, spends a good portion of his day sleeping, he can usually be found wherever we are.

So tonight, when Neil got home from work and Gomez didn't come running, it raised alarm bells. I had been out most of the day, and in the short time I was home before Neil got home, I hadn't seen the cat. We realized that neither of us had seen him since the night before.

We began a search of the house. It's not unknown for him to find little hidey-holes for his naps. On more than one occasion, we have searched the house for our "lost" kitty only to find him tucked into some little nook. Both of us fully expected that to be the case today.

Except he wasn't anywhere to be found.

Not in any of the closets.

Not behind or under the dressers.

Not under the bed.

Not in the ceiling in the basement.

Not on top of the cabinets in the kitchen.

Nowhere.

So we took to the streets. We drove up and down. Back and forth. Slowly. Looking under every bush and tree and porch. It doesn't help that we finally got the rain they've been forecasting the last three days.

We were so upset, I couldn't cook and we had to go to Chick-Fil-A.

Dinner was a pretty solemn affair. Both of us worried about our little missing Gomez. Neil was especially upset. Gomez is his boy. He sleeps curled up next to him every night. We both spent the whole time wondering what could have happened to him. Had he found a way into the walls and met with misadventure? Had he slipped outside? He's an indoor cat, how could he stand up to the nasty toms that cruise the neighborhood. He's such a little thing, and with the soft claws on, he's not going to be much in a fight. Or god forbid, what if he tried to cross the street.

Every few minutes, one of us went to either the front or back door and shouted out for him. But there was no response. I hate to say it, but I was starting to lose hope.

Meanwhile, our other cat, Potter, was running around like a kitten. It would be an understatement to say that she is less than fond of Gomez. She was purring and rubbing up against us. Whenever we'd say, "Potter, where's Gomez?" She wouldn't say a thing, but I swear she was grinning from ear to ear.

Around 8 o'clock, I went upstairs to start the bath for Sophie. Neil began to follow me up, carrying Sophie, but as he hit the stairs, he turned around and said he was going to go out and check for Gomez. One last time. We both laughed knowing that we would keep going out all night.

I was hunched over the tub when Neil yelled out to me. I ran out and looked down the stairs and there stood Neil, Sophie under one arm and Gomez under the other. He was hissing and pissing (quite literally), but he was alive and unharmed.

Evidently, when Neil went outside, Gomez came running up to the door. Neil said he was under the porch, but as many times as we were out there hollering, I can't imagine that he had been there all along.

Whatever the case, we're so happy to have our little guy back that we didn't even really yell at him when he jumped up on the table and started knocking things off. Tomorrow, though? The gloves are off.















PS - I saw the parking lot guy again today at the gym. I'm pretty sure he recognized me. I may have to change gyms.

PPS - My boobelas are killing me. I haven't suffered through engorgement in so long, I forgot how much it sucks. Please tell me that cabbage actually works, because I've got vegetables in my bra and I'm waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I'm being punk'd.

The Great Hunter

He stalks his prey with stealth and grace. Poor things, they never even see it coming.

Catbook

I've gotten into Facebook. A little. And by little I mean that I check it every five minutes, all day long. Just kidding. Sheesh, I'm not that crazy, I only check it every 10 to 15 minutes. Sometimes I even go a half an hour. Kidding, kidding. I do worry that I spend a little too much time on it, though. Between FB, blogging and, you know, taking care of my child, my schedule is FULL.















Last night, a friend mentioned Dogbook. Dogbook, I thought, what whimsy is this? So I googled it and sure enough, it's real. It's an application within Facebook, but for DOGS. You create profiles, put up status updates and post pictures. Your dog can even have friends.

Since I don't have a dog, I thought, hey, maybe there's a CATbook. Indeed there is, friends. I just spent an hour creating profiles for my cats. MY CATS. I wrote thought provoking and funny entries for their Interests. I went through all of my pictures looking for good ones of our furry babies. I even contemplated inviting people to be "cat" friends. But then a touch of sanity returned.

Just so you other animal lovers don't feel left out, there is also Horsebook, Fishbook and Bunnybook (ahem, Julie), there's even Rodentbook.

Heaven help us.

A Tail of Love and Loss

"I'm just going to ride my lion around the room. Tra la la.
Hold the phone! What's that?"

















"Why, hello kitty!"

















"Your fur is so soft!"

















"Do you mind if I just rest my head here?"

















"How sweet! A little love nip!"

















"Wait, where are you going?"

















"I thought we had something. KIIIITTTTTYYY!.....I miss you."
















Finis.

Nightime Rituals

We haven't really established a complex nightly routine for Sophie's bedtime yet. She doesn't enjoy being read to and singing, at least my singing, doesn't seem to calm her. We do give her a bath every other night followed by a lotion massage, so I guess that's something. The only consistent thing is nursing. Each night, I will turn down the lights and change her into her night clothes and then we will sit down in the rocker for her bedtime cuddle and nursing. She lays down on the Boppy pillow curled up around my waist and settles in for a snack. Every single night, about one minute after we sit down, our older kitty, Potter (her full name is Notsohairy Potter), strolls into the room and jumps up onto my lap in front of the Boppy pillow.

She sits down with her front paws on one of my legs and rear paws on my other leg. While Sophie nurses, I caress Sophie's hair with one hand and Potter with the other. Many nights, although not all, Sophie will reach back with her top arm and ever so gently pet Potter. Potter always rubs her head against Sophie's back and arm, purring loudly.

What is remarkable about this to me is that at no other time would the word "gently" apply to the way Sophie acts towards the cats. In fact, aggressive and rough would be far more appropriate terms. However, the cats are always gentle with her. Gentle in ways that they are not with older humans. I wonder if they know she is a baby. If they understand that she is not just small, but also young. In particular, Potter, who we discovered too late has no maternal instinct towards other cats, or at least to the only kitten she has been exposed to, Gomez. So it surprises me that she is so gentle with Sophie when she grabs her or rolls onto her and further that she seeks her out.

I suspect it has to do with how calm Sophie is during these quiet hours of the evening. Potter can curl up next to her warmth and just enjoy her smell (she is so yummy, mmmm) without fear of eye poking, ear pulling or whisker tugging. I know these are special times for me.

But who knew that me having a baby would bring out the mothering instinct in my cat?

PS - For all you kitty lovers out there, go see this!