Purrrrrrr

Nap Time

You Vet Your Life

Have I mentioned lately how much I like difficult things? I'm a huge fan of impossible tasks, or at least doing stuff that involves military-style planning and a small army to get them done. And I like to do these things alone. And when they don't go smoothly, I get pissy and blame other people. Yeah, I'm a real doll.

So my day today appeared to be calm, not too much running around or getting dressed, just a leisurely lunch with my mom and my brother Paul who's visiting from Brooklyn.

Well screw that.

I decided that today would be a great day to bring the cats to the vet for their annual check ups and their vaccines in preparation for their teeth cleaning appointments next week. Not so horrible on the surface, except for catching, caging and transporting two furious 14-ish pound cats. And let's not forget about the baby.

Since I was already going to the vet, I might as well bring the dogs just to get their intranasal bordatella vaccines so that they can go to doggie day care tomorrow while we're all having lunch at Greene's in the city. They were just in last month for their respective lumps, so we know that nothing's wrong with them.

Ha!

The vet noticed Ozzy's new red eye spot--it's been there about 2 days and I've applied my new "watch and see for one month before freaking out and going to the vet" philospophy to it. After looking at his eye, the vet announced that Ozzy probably has a tumor on his third eyelid, a common condition in dogs with unpigmented eyelids. Since we were there, the vet might as well check out the new lump on his rear end--another "wait and see" test for me--and that one had to be sent out to the lab for further diagnostics.

Sigh.

Let me just add that my mom rocks for not letting me take on such tasks solo. Even if she did lock herself in the backseat of the car with Samson, ha ha.

Updates on all fronts

Animals:

Nanna got her stitches removed, and the incision promptly filled up will fluid, making a jiggly tennis-ball sized lump of goo. The vet assured me today that this is OK, drained it, and told me to massage the incision site twice daily to avoid fluid deposits. At which point, I swear to god, Nanna looked up at me and smiled.

Miru gets to stay unmedicated for another 6 months, at which point he is gets another cardiogram ("cardiogram" always makes me think of "candygram" which always makes me think of the land shark routine from SNL. And now it also makes me think of this.) to check his rate of deterioration. Fine by me.

Milhouse gets louder and friendlier every day. Has taken to sleeping in laundry baskets full of freshly washed baby clothes.

Ozzy continues to fart frequently. Sigh. Has mastered the art of hogging a California King sized bed. Sigh.

Married life:

Just over one month old. It's great! Both the Social Security office and the DMV were very helpful when I changed my name, and customer service representatives keep congratulating me when I call them to order new cards, checks, what have you.

Samson:

Terrific! We've definitely moved into that super uncomfortable phase of pregnancy where sleep is hard to come by and food must be consumed in small quantities because there's no room in my body for anything but a baby, let alone a full order of garlic mashed potatoes form Black Angus. We won't go into how little room there is for my bladder or it's contents. I did have to make a little trip to the emergency room Friday night when I sliced the bejesus out of my thumb while chopping onions. The thumb's fine, but the tetanus shot they gave me still kills. The ER doctor promised me that the tetanus shot wouldn't cause Samson to be born with horns or wings (although how cool would that be?), and I came to a concrete decision regarding the epidural. I don't like pain at all. I've been whiny and cranky and mopey for the last three days, and I swear my arm is going to fall off or explode at any second. Not to mention my ginsued thumb. Ow.

So all in all, things are good if not a little whiny. Coming soon: something hopefully a little more interesting than this kind of stuff.

First Crush

I just love this video.



Nanna is healing nicely; stitches come out next Tuesday. Still waiting on Miru's test results. Milhouse tried to eat my granola this morning. Ozzy still smells questionable. Samson is preparing for the world soccer championship, or maybe some kind of martial arts contest. Either way, he's sure to being home the gold.

In other words, not much is happening around here lately, which is good. I'm getting a little more tired every day, and I'm training for the napolympics. I'm hoping to get sponsored by Sealy or Mattress Discounters.

Lumpdate

Nanna is out of surgery and slowly recovering. Miru's heart may or may not be safe for another year. Ozzy most likely has nothing more than a lump on his tummy. Oh, and gingivitis.

We won't know 100% for sure whether or not the cancer in Nanna's lump has spread beyond the bits reoved in her surgery until next week, but the doctor felt pretty confident that she got everything. Even then, there's nothing that says the same cancerous cells won't show up in some other tumors a few months down the road. But for now, she's lying on the living room floor, more zonked out than I've ever seen her before, with another one of those frankendog looking row of stitches running up from her belly to her side. The doc says that this recover will take longer than her previous ones because they had to take a good chunk of muscle out off of her rib (again), plus she's a bit older this time around (11 years old at the end of this month!). Poor, poor dear.

Miru's heart murmur is a clue that he will eventually develop this cat condition that has a crappy symptom: sudden death. But because it was caught before his heart exploded, we can monitor it as time goes by and get him on medication before there's any manifestation of physical symptoms (like suddenly dropping dead). The question is just when he goes on the medication, and the today's cardiogram should give us the answer to that question by next week. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if the side effects of said medication are hair loss, incontinence and kitty dementia. He's fine tonight, except for the fact that he's being tortured by his cruel captors who keep him locked in a townhouse when by all rights he should be roaming the streets of Foster City till the wee hours.

Ozzy basically got jealous of all of the attention Nanna was getting regarding her lump, so he said "Look, look! I gots a lump too! Can I have some turkey now?" If any dog could will himself to have a small, non-cancerous, turkey-getting lump, it's the Oz. But We're glad he's OK (comparatively).

Human health: Samson and I had our 32 week check-up today (what, only the pets get to go to the doctor today?), and we are practically perfect in every way. Seriously. I love this doctor because he says things like that. Our fundus is the right hight (31 centimeters), our blood pressure is just right (some bigger number over some other smaller number), and our weight is just right (yeah, as if I'm going to post that here). Hearts beat as they should, movement is present and regular, everything is normal and A-OK. I love it! Now if only they doctor could do something about this heat wave so I could get some sleep...

Another Lump for Nanna

And this one's another cancerous tumor. But thanks to constant belly rubs and our daily post-breakfast love fest, I found it really early and the vet thinks it will be no problem to remove the whole thing and get good margins on Thursday. The same day Miru goes in for his echo-cardio-thingy to check the status of his heart murmur. We'll probably have to go in even earlier in the week because we found another lump last night, this one on Ozzy's belly. His first lump. My first 3-animal medical crisis week. Plus, when Miru got out last week, he brought home some fleas. Yay.

But not all news is sick animal news. Some of it is expecting friend news! LDB up in Portland is growing a little friend in her belly for Samson to play with! How cool is that! Four hundred cool.

The portrait shots from the wedding are up on Picasa Web. There are still some digital photos and a few quick cams to handle, but I think we're mostly set on picture posting.

The cat came back

Just not the very next day. Six days later, actually. And the word on the street is that he's in one piece, and rather famished. This wasn't the first time Miru ran away. Wasn't the 2nd time either. Or the 3rd. But he's back, safe and sound, and that's what matters.

I'm enjoying my last few days in Dublin, and by "enjoying" I mean packing, organizing, planning, and list-making. Good times! Of course I'll miss Max, but really, this will be the shortest length of time we've ever lived apart from each other. And I'll get to replace one Max with 2 dogs and 2 cats (thankfully).

We had our 23 week OB appointment and scan yesterday. Samson got a great report from the midwife: "Size appropriate for gestational age. No evidence of any structural abnormality." Those are the two best sentence fragments I've ever read in my life. Except for maybe "Salt water taffy half off," and "Kittens free to good home." There's nothing like a box of kittens.

Back in Dublin

More than a little jet lagged, I'm back in Dublin. And guess what? It's c-o-l-d cold! Max tried to warn me. He said it was cold enough for thermals. I decided he was being wimpy. I was wrong. He was right. Brrr.

The night before I was scheduled to leave, Miru decided he didn't want me to leave, so the he willed the festering wound behind his ear to fill with puss and explode. Apparently, Milhouse (prime suspect) had bit him at some point during the week, and it had become an abscess. The resulting shaved-neck kitty is pretty funny, but also too gross to show on this blog (even though I know you're all dying to see kitty gore). But here we are at the emergency vet.



And here we are running away from oral antibiotics and warm compress the next morning.



I still left on schedule, but I was full of kitty guilt. Fortunately, I was also full of turkey sandwich. A great guilt fighting agent.

My brother and his Kristy are coming tomorrow to celebrate Thanksgiving. I'm really looking forward to showing off my fancy Dublin lifestyle and our cute little European apartment. I think we're even going to rent a car and go find some sheep. Sheep!

Faaaaat caaaaat

Sit, Too Much Tongue. Good dog.

The USA network captured pretty much my undivided attention this weekend with their epic (series? mini-series?) show, Into the West. Basically, a bunch of pioneers and a bunch of Lakota are born, fall in love, kill, and die. And lots of stuff happens along the way. It's sort of like Deadwood if it were rated G. Or at least PG. And it's directed by Steven Spielberg, so there are lots of emotional gazes, lots of big sweeping movements with the cameras and the music. And the Lakota have really fun names, such as "Loved by the Buffalo," "Thunder Heart Woman," and "Runs with Foxes." Of course, when a Virginian marries a Lakota woman and they have a daughter, her names is "My Great Light," which becomes "Margaret" around the white folk. Clever!

As the series moved along (3 two-hour episodes over the holiday weekend), my human, feline and canine roommates all got much more interesting names. Over the course of 72 hours, Ozzy was known as "Rolls in Grass," "Barks at Air," "Hogs the Bed," and "Trembles with Fear" (this last name was due to the fireworks, which, to him, apparently signify the end of days.).

Nanna was mostly "Runs with Toy," where "toy" was substituted with "ball," "duck," "moose," etc. At times, however, she became "Lover of No One," "Knee Licker," and "One Who Begs Incessantly."

Miru was known as "Sleeps on Laundry" and "Hunter of Postcards" (he's taken to carrying around pieces of mail at night, and screaming about it as if he'd just caught Osama bin Laden.).

Milhouse is now "Dances with Flies" and "Makes Great Stink." We'll leave that one alone.

Luckily for me, I referred to Max most of the weekend as "Brings me Beer" and "Friend of BBQ."

The whole situation was dangerously similar to that time that I kept referring to President Bush as President Bartlett. So much wishful thinking.

A love-hate relationship with fangs

I live with two cats. I think a lot of people live in multi-cat households, and they already know where this is going. Multi-cat households experience one of two general atmospheres:

1. mutual affection between the cats, lots of running around and chasing and wrestling, very little blood.

2. two or more cats who are rarely, if ever, in the same room at the same time, lots of running around and chasing and wrestling, copious amounts of howling and blood ensue.

For the 7 years that I have lived with these two cats, our situation has been closer to atmosphere #2. But something happened about a year and a half ago, and both of these cats became much more tolerant of each other. Both seem content to sleep in the living room at the same time, and I've even seen them eating on the same table (food: the great unifier). Everyone who knows them agrees that they seem like different cats. Happier. More friendly.

But I never expected this.



Miru and Milhouse, just hanging out on the bed, not fighting. Not hissing. Not making awful kitty howling noises. And this went on for about 10 minutes--I did, eventually, get sick of sitting on the floor and not wanting to disturb such allied feline tendencies by actually getting into bed.

Ozzy's jealous ways solved that problem. He jumped up onto the bed, Milhouse promptly leaped out of the way, and Miru proceeded to deliver his patented "Cobra Bite" (tm) to Ozzy's face.



The cat won, Ozzy left, I took advantage of all of the space available in bed now that there was only one additional animal, and got in bed. Everybody wins! Sort of. I win, anyway.

Photo Friday: Soft

This little house lion may be just about the softest thing ever. Of course, referring to Miru as "little" is done only in comparison to a regular-sized lion. Ain't nothing little about him.

Super sofa

As you can see, the kitties enjoy the new sofa. Pillowy arm rests and heated cushions make for feline happiness and marathon napping sessions.



It's funny because these two don't really get along all that well. You'd be hard pressed to find them napping in the same room, let alone on the same piece of furniture. This sofa brings out the best in all of us.

When I wasn't busy reclining this weekend (and even when I was), I was hard at work knitting (drum roll please) completed project #2: Arm Warmers!



Complete with ribbing on each end, and super professional tapering through the wrist, these lovely tubes 'o yarn will keep my arms and hands warm until summer quits slacking and finally get here. And they're functional too! The lack of finger tubes and the generously-sized thumb holes make everyday tasks like typing and channel surfing a breeze!



Many thanks to the D.I. Your Own Damn Self section of jejune.net for the inspiration.

Sincere Apologies

First of all, I'd like to apologize to Arthur for the rather odiferous conditions of the office today. I suppose it's part of the package when you work in a dog-friendly office, but that doesn't make any easier to breath around these monsters today!

But they're really sorry. Look:



A forensic photo of the offending end:



In all honesty, Nanna is the most likely culprit. She had four suppers last night. That's right, four. Let's count:

1) Nanna's very own supper
2) Ozzy's very own supper, which she stole (he just didn't get up the stairs quick enough last night)
3) Miru's kitty supper (as evidenced by the empty kitty bowls which were lying at the bottom of the stairs when I got home last night, and not sitting in their natural habitat upon the kitty-feeding table.)
4) Milhouse's kitty supper (see #3 above)

I mean c'mon. Look at her. Is that the look of guilt, topped with indigestion or what?


For those of you who don't want to read about canine digestive issues, please read this. And then buy me the pink and red one.

Getting in touch with my feline side

Did I mention that I have cats? Poor things, they're so often overlooked. But full of love and fur--and more than a little spite--just the same.



Up top is Milhouse, a feisty little devil also know as "Pure Evil." He came from the back of a pick-up truck in the parking lot of a mall in Eugene, Oregon one hot summer day in 1998. The orange guy below him is Cassidy, who sadly passed away in January of 2002. He was adopted from the San Francisco SPCA in 1991. He was chosen because the pound had dubbed him "Pizza Man" and had thusly placed a small name tag bearing said monicker on his cage. Being the 15 year old girl that I was at the time, I had a tremendous crush on a boy who delivered pizza: obviously, a match made in heaven.



Miru is the oldest of the pack, dogs included. He's a 9 year old fluff ball who likes to eat house plants and flowers. He also likes to hunt rubber bands, clothing tags, coasters and other household items all night long--oh yes, and he finds it absolutely necessary to shout about it when he's caught the dreaded twist-tie. He is, as I said, fluffy, and a bit on the pudgy side, hence his nickname: "Fatty fatty fat fat."