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.

Bueller...? Bueller...? Bueller...?

This baby is officially tardy. True, he has another 7 hours and 10 minutes to show up, but let's face it folks, it ain't happening today. Despite my best efforts. Like wearing my lucky underpants.

Guess I'll practice swaddling the cat again tonight.

Can has blog?

So I added the I Can Has Cheezburger link to my sidebar last week. I didn't say anything about it because I really can't explain what it is or why I find it so damn hilarious. I'm not sure what an LOLCat is; I mean, I know what a cat is and I know that LOL is internet speak for Laughing Out Loud, so I have the feeling that and LOLCat is a cat that makes one laugh out loud. Duh. But it's more that that. Why does this website and its submission community insist that cats speak with such weirded out accents and strange grammar? And what's the deal with walruses and buckets? And why cheeseburgers? My cats prefer poultry.

Like I said, I don't really get it, but I sure as hell can't get enough. I sit here and LOL at those cats all day long. And their silly dialect. I even found myself telling Milhouse yesterday, "No can has turkey sandwich, iz for me, k thx" as he expertly tried to camouflage himself as part of the table in order to snatch meat out of my lunch.

I don't know what to say. I'm hooked.

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.

Does Apple have a catnip-scented iPod yet?

Over the weekend I rediscovered a beach that I used to go to in college. I didn't actually go to the beach, but I found the street that leads to the beach, and that's what had been evading me for so long. It's this beach with wonderful pebbles and shells, and great driftwood for fetching (for Nanna, not me). Plus, it's right next to some sort of marine preserve place that has these beautiful, foggy groves of coastal trees. Maybe juniper? I don't know what kind, but I'll find out. They're absolutely gorgeous. I haven't been there in 9 years or so, but now that I found the street I'll be stopping by real soon.

After all, I've got more free time on my hands than I'm used to. My best friend and cohort for just about everything won't be around for a while, so I'll be picture-taking, artsy-craftsy project finishing, and generally doing things with yarn more than usual. And that makes Milhouse happy!

Speaking of Milhouse, did I ever post the picture from when Milhouse wanted to be a male model? If so, I apologize, because here it is again:



Poor kid. Apple never even returned his calls.

Feline Friends

I know that, to many of you, it seems like I do not give my cats equal representation on this blog. To you, I say: you're right. My cats, who spend their days home alone and their nights hunting for postcards and underwear, do not get the name time that my dogs get, the face time, none of it. Not when it comes to the blog.

And it sucks because they are such awesome cats. I guess it has a lot to do with whether I want to be known as a cat lady or dog lady. Preferably, I'd be known as neither. But if I had to choose one, I'd go for dog lady. Dog ladies are typically athletic, tanned, fun-loving gals who do admirable things like go for jogs and volunteer for worthy organizations. They have nicely decorated apartments, and can both knit and use powertools. Well. Cat ladies, while sensitive, poetic, and excellent cooks, tend to wear billowy skirts and gem stone pendants. They drink soy lattes and use all-natural hair products.

Ok, I can think of at least three friends whom I've just pissed off.

I'm lucky, however, that even though I'm not a cat lady, my cats are Deborah cats. They love me even if I rarely blog about how fuzzy their bellies are, or how we call Milhouse "Minxy" when he lies across my lap with his head down, all flat and still, like a fur coat. My cats understand, and they forgive. They love. And sometimes, they let me hug them.

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.

Holgariffic

Mmmmmm, art without trying.



Happy birthday, Thomas Jefferson! The big two-six-two. I was going to get you a birthday present, but I couldn't find any liberty or death.

If you want to see an amazing music video, check out Dealership's "All the Kids" video. Great song, great concept, great execution. For another taste of what these kids can do, listen to this melodic gem. Anyone in the San Francisco area who's interested in a little poppy goodness can see them next Tuesday at 12 Galaxies.

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.

Welcome home, my pet

Oh, happy day! It's back! My lovely little laptop is back where it belongs--squarely in my possession. It was a lo-o-o-o-o-o-ong two weeks. Outfitted with a new power board, my shiny little plastic friend has been returned.

Oh, happy day for other reasons as well! Like manna from heaven, a sofa full of beauty has befallen upon me and graced my living room with comforty goodness. The furniture whence Max has begotten now adorns our humble abode and has settled ever so nicely into its rightly occupation: giant cat bed. I did see a wee black kitty climb out from underneath the sofa yesterday afternoon, having woken from a nice sleep, and it gave me pause: certainly the inner-workings of a recliner contain metal pieces and springs which are capable of lopping the head off of a wee black kitty, like so much a zucchini? O, cruel fate why have you cursed me with the sofa of divine comfort and ass-warming, a sofa which also yearns to decapitate my feline companion? Fie, I will choose if I must; the sofa stays.

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.

Today's Sockdollager

In anticipation of MacWorld, my cat Milhouse is coming out of retirement from his long and illustrious career as a male model.



Oh, didn't I mention? He's ready for his close up. Then, he will kill you.

We can thank Windfield for bringing us this darb website.

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."