No kidding, I have a cat named George. And I'm going to tell his story backwards, I guess. He will be 18 in a couple of months, which means that he is the one family member who met my Mom when she was still...herself. He has survived three of my most recent lives, two of his own major illnesses, and being stuck with sharing the name of the stupidest U.S. president in history. (I tried later to change it to Jordi, after the guy in Star Trek, Next Generation, but I couldn't make it stick, not even in my own mind.)
He's quite ill now. He has had inflammatory bowel disease for a few years and we have treated it successfully, but now he has pancreatitis, hurts, can't eat and feels pretty ugly. We put in an esophageal feeding tube yesterday and took x-rays to check the placement, finding that he also has a completely disintegrated disk in his low back--taking after his other mother, Carolyn--which explains some of his strange gait. And he only weighs 6 and 1/2 pounds. And I love him, calling this little old man "my boy, my sweet boy", remembering him as the tiny, tiny kitten he was when he entered my life, not ready to eat from a bowl so we had to run out and get a bottle and some formula for him.
I always worry that I am holding on to them too tightly, not being willing to give them the freedom to leave this life when they need to leave, but both Carolyn and Leni--his doctor--assure me that he is so not ready. George, himself, tells me, too, when I stop being all emotional about it. He purrs whenever I come into the room, checks out anything that looks like potential food and wants to go out whenever the damn snow stops, so I realize that it's all about my fear, not his.
So, I have to go to the beginning of the story. This was a couple of relationships ago and we had bought a house in Danby. We had three cats, one hers and two mine, and now had room for an "ours". Off to the SPCA! I had always wanted a gray cat, so that was the mission. Now this wasn't the new, shiny, no-kill shelter we now have. This was the old, bunch of cages in one room, "we'll kill ya if you're here too long" shelter of the past. Eek. Sad. Really sad. No gray cats. Few kittens, and the ones that were there seemed a little too quiet for healthy kittens. And all of those incarcerated older cats reaching through the bars of the cages at you. I left crying and had nightmares for the next few nights.
And then I went back, on a whim, by myself. Two litters of kittens had come in. One litter was a robust clump of long-haired soccer players scampering around in their cage playing with a ball. And in the cage below was a litter of tiny kittens all meowing at the top of their lungs and looking at the ceiling of the cage, obviously concerned that the elephants upstairs were going to come crashing down on them. I reached in and snagged the only one that was not currently yelling. There were five black kittens who were all male and three tigers, all female. I wondered if it was like "Lady and the Tramp". Remember when Lady had puppies and all the girls looked exactly like her, little Cockers, and all the boys looked like their questionably pedigreed Dad? Any way, I called my partner at work and said, "I found a kitten for us. He's not exactly gray....he's sort of very dark gray." Her response was along the lines of "If I say no does that mean you'll be crying and having nightmares again? Well okay then". And we had our new "ours".
They bathed him, blow dried him, treated him for ear mites--all of which he protested, loudly, and he was mine.
When we got home, my partner declared that she got to name him and we were going to have one cat whose name needed no explanation--I tend to give my animals rather fanciful names with tons of meaning, some would say, baggage. His name was George. Well, okay then.
George did a lot of clinging to us and crying. Everything scared him. After a couple of days, we got the bottle and started feeding him KMR and it was much better. I woke one morning to find him standing on me, playing with his first toy, fiercely battling a tiny scrap of back material that had fallen on the floor of our sewing room. It was about two inches long and maybe three quarters of an inch thick. It was the same color as he was and he knew he could conquer it. From then on he was a new man. He didn't win the other cats over for about a week. My big boy, Path, didn't speak to me for about three days and was shockingly frightened of this little mite. And Kindra, Path's mother, thought she was done bringing up babies, thank you, and mostly ignored him. Then one day, Kindra was sleeping on the couch and George got up there and curled into a little ball about two inches away. She looked at him. She put her head back down. He moved a little closer. She looked at him. Put her head back down. He moved so that he was touching her. She looked at him, looked at me, sighed a huge sigh and reached over to wash his head. "Well, all right, if I have to..." He snuggled just a little closer and they both fell asleep. As soon as she accepted him, Path gave him grudging acceptance as well. My partner's cat never did like him, but she lived her life praying for the abduction of my cats by someone who lived very, very far away, so it was okay.
So there you have the beginning of his tale. Keep my sweet boy in your prayers or good thoughts or whatever, that the end of his story isn't going to happen in the foreseeable future, and I'll be back with his exciting, swashbuckling story soon.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Jack update
Today, Jack started hiding again. I don't know why, but I haven't been able to spend a bunch of time with him in the last few days. so I sat for a couple of hours with him. He started out hiding in the recliner. but as soon as I sat on one of the couches and started reading aloud--bingo--he was right there! he is quite the literary appreciator--is that a word?
It's kind of humbling, really, when you are trusted by one of these little people that has no real history of trusting people. Y'know...I really love him. I really do. He is funny and sweet and so willing to trust. He cannot live with me, but he deserves to have someone in his life that can love him as much as I would. Anybody out there?
It's kind of humbling, really, when you are trusted by one of these little people that has no real history of trusting people. Y'know...I really love him. I really do. He is funny and sweet and so willing to trust. He cannot live with me, but he deserves to have someone in his life that can love him as much as I would. Anybody out there?
Monday, April 11, 2011
Zuza, Today
So, I wrote a long, witty blog last night all about Zuza and how well she is doing. And then cyberspace ate it. ((sigh))
To recap: she's doing pretty well. The scary mass turned out to be an inguinal hernia and it was removed and all stitched up in 15 minutes flat. (I tell, ya, these people are good.) And as long as she was under anesthesia, they then cleaned her teeth, trimmed her nails and called us at the restaurant to which we had departed so we didn't hover around the doctors trying to work with her. Carolyn was smart enough to know she couldn't be in the building. I thought that I could; I do believe that they is an element of awareness that remains even when we are sedated, and I wanted to be near her throughout the surgery--but then they sedated Zuza and she sort of drifted into that not-so-very-alive look of limp puppy and suddenly I was not sure that she needed to bond with me just then, and breakfast somewhere else seemed good.
She spent the day tired and wanting to be held. Which I was happy to do. Her brother Lukas was terribly worried--did some serious howling when he was away from her--and then set himself up as bodyguard when we went home. Unsuspecting cats wandered too near to her bed in front of the fireplace and he would lunge growling at them. (He's pretty fierce when he isn't busy being afraid of things. Like Velcro. Or dry grass under his foot. Or having his underarms touched. Or starlings. He's a sensitive boy.)
Our girl's fine. There is no cancer. We feel unbelievably blessed.
So, 3 years after the fact, I found the original blog post in cyberspace hell and I am posting it here just so my brilliant writing isn't lost. Okay, not really all that brilliant, but anyway...
Zuza, brave little soldier that she is, is doing fine. The unknown mass turned out to be an inguinal hernia which was easily repaired by our extremely talented surgeon. Our other two doctors were there for consultation and dental cleaning--no kidding, they stitched her up so fast that they had time to clean her teeth. Carolyn and I left the building while the surgery was happening. On one hand, I do believe that there is some degree of consciousness that remains when they are sedated. On the other hand, as she slipped under sedation and began looking not really very alive...I started to cry and figured if she could tune into me under sedation I better not be looking at her as a limp little creature. I am truly impressed with the quality of the team we now have. She woke up quickly and, I am told, started looking for us right away. And since it is Briar Patch and not some giant, impersonal place--and this is the bosses' kid--she went from one person's arms to mine instead of to a cage. She kissed and kissed both of us and we held her wrapped in a blanket until I took her to work with me in the afternoon.
Poor Lukas was incredibly worried, kept trying to squeeze as close to her as possible, and tried to clean her incision at any moment he could get in close enough. She, in her generous way with her brother, growled at him every time he tried, even when she was too tired to lift her head. Head down, grrrrrrrrrrrrrr, like a little gargle.
When we got home she slept in their bed by the fire with Lukas on guard in their chair next to her. When any of the cats walked near them, he would lunge out, fiercely warning them away. Okay, he's 4 pounds and not a rottweiler, but he can sound very, very fierce. Unless he is frightened by scary stuff. Like Velcro. Or unexpected dry grass under his foot. Or just walking around outside for too long. Sometimes pooping scares him. BUT, when he appoints himself a protector, it brings out all of his best self. When we adopted Tenzing and Eddie, Lukas kept them safe when any of the big cats approached them. He will still stop any of the cats from hissing or fighting. And when Tenzing was sick last summer, Luke slept next to his cage and warned even Zuza away from him.
So, right now both of my canines are curled into little packages next to me on the chair. She has a couple of ugly bruises and a tidy incision, (and me); he has his stuffed fox and a blanket, (and me). And we're all happy.
To recap: she's doing pretty well. The scary mass turned out to be an inguinal hernia and it was removed and all stitched up in 15 minutes flat. (I tell, ya, these people are good.) And as long as she was under anesthesia, they then cleaned her teeth, trimmed her nails and called us at the restaurant to which we had departed so we didn't hover around the doctors trying to work with her. Carolyn was smart enough to know she couldn't be in the building. I thought that I could; I do believe that they is an element of awareness that remains even when we are sedated, and I wanted to be near her throughout the surgery--but then they sedated Zuza and she sort of drifted into that not-so-very-alive look of limp puppy and suddenly I was not sure that she needed to bond with me just then, and breakfast somewhere else seemed good.
She spent the day tired and wanting to be held. Which I was happy to do. Her brother Lukas was terribly worried--did some serious howling when he was away from her--and then set himself up as bodyguard when we went home. Unsuspecting cats wandered too near to her bed in front of the fireplace and he would lunge growling at them. (He's pretty fierce when he isn't busy being afraid of things. Like Velcro. Or dry grass under his foot. Or having his underarms touched. Or starlings. He's a sensitive boy.)
Our girl's fine. There is no cancer. We feel unbelievably blessed.
So, 3 years after the fact, I found the original blog post in cyberspace hell and I am posting it here just so my brilliant writing isn't lost. Okay, not really all that brilliant, but anyway...
Zuza, brave little soldier that she is, is doing fine. The unknown mass turned out to be an inguinal hernia which was easily repaired by our extremely talented surgeon. Our other two doctors were there for consultation and dental cleaning--no kidding, they stitched her up so fast that they had time to clean her teeth. Carolyn and I left the building while the surgery was happening. On one hand, I do believe that there is some degree of consciousness that remains when they are sedated. On the other hand, as she slipped under sedation and began looking not really very alive...I started to cry and figured if she could tune into me under sedation I better not be looking at her as a limp little creature. I am truly impressed with the quality of the team we now have. She woke up quickly and, I am told, started looking for us right away. And since it is Briar Patch and not some giant, impersonal place--and this is the bosses' kid--she went from one person's arms to mine instead of to a cage. She kissed and kissed both of us and we held her wrapped in a blanket until I took her to work with me in the afternoon.
Poor Lukas was incredibly worried, kept trying to squeeze as close to her as possible, and tried to clean her incision at any moment he could get in close enough. She, in her generous way with her brother, growled at him every time he tried, even when she was too tired to lift her head. Head down, grrrrrrrrrrrrrr, like a little gargle.
When we got home she slept in their bed by the fire with Lukas on guard in their chair next to her. When any of the cats walked near them, he would lunge out, fiercely warning them away. Okay, he's 4 pounds and not a rottweiler, but he can sound very, very fierce. Unless he is frightened by scary stuff. Like Velcro. Or unexpected dry grass under his foot. Or just walking around outside for too long. Sometimes pooping scares him. BUT, when he appoints himself a protector, it brings out all of his best self. When we adopted Tenzing and Eddie, Lukas kept them safe when any of the big cats approached them. He will still stop any of the cats from hissing or fighting. And when Tenzing was sick last summer, Luke slept next to his cage and warned even Zuza away from him.
So, right now both of my canines are curled into little packages next to me on the chair. She has a couple of ugly bruises and a tidy incision, (and me); he has his stuffed fox and a blanket, (and me). And we're all happy.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Zuza
What I didn't say about Zuza before is that she is just the brightest little light in my life. Lukas is wonderful, sweet, funny, always eager to give you kisses and always wanting to spend the evening curled up next to you.
Zuza loves me best. Of all the people in the world, I am the one she chooses to love. She warns me when my blood sugar dips too low, worries when I'm upset, makes me laugh, always wants to cuddle and paves the way for me in the world by being so cute that everyone smiles (or laughs out loud) when they see me coming down the street with a dog in my shirt. (Once an entire Korean family with cameras stopped and took pictures of me sitting at an outside table off the Commons because Zuza had crawled into my shirt so that I looked like I had one really large boob that occasionally sprouted huge ears. I know I'm on YouTube somewhere. Search for "alien breast".)
And tomorrow she's having surgery for a mass removal...and I am quietly terrified. She is so brave, such a force to be reckoned with and she holds a huge piece of my heart in her tiny, tiny paws.
Zuza loves me best. Of all the people in the world, I am the one she chooses to love. She warns me when my blood sugar dips too low, worries when I'm upset, makes me laugh, always wants to cuddle and paves the way for me in the world by being so cute that everyone smiles (or laughs out loud) when they see me coming down the street with a dog in my shirt. (Once an entire Korean family with cameras stopped and took pictures of me sitting at an outside table off the Commons because Zuza had crawled into my shirt so that I looked like I had one really large boob that occasionally sprouted huge ears. I know I'm on YouTube somewhere. Search for "alien breast".)
And tomorrow she's having surgery for a mass removal...and I am quietly terrified. She is so brave, such a force to be reckoned with and she holds a huge piece of my heart in her tiny, tiny paws.
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