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.