August 14th 2006 10:40 pm
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It's true. I did great on my tests! Dr. Wexler-Mitchell says that I did very well on my urine, blood, and all my other tests. "Fabulous" is her exact word. Then she added, "given his age and diagnosis." Whatever! I am here, aren't I? And didn't everyone think I was going to DIE last year? I know The Momma did; she was practically planning the memorial when I upped and got pert near frisky, as they say. Take that, Butt Cannon!
The Butt Cannon hissed at me all day when I got back from the vet Friday. I simply ignored him. He doesn't know where I go or what I do. And besides, now that they have trimmed my nails, I am somewhat stealthy! Then yesterday The Momma discovered someone had peed in Samson's bed again. Hmmm. Who could it be? She can't figure out whether a cat would pee in his own bed, or if it's me! The poor woman is sometimes a bit slow.
But back to me. The high blood pressure? Well, people, I am STRESSED OUT by the constant pressure on me to eat, snuggle, and look cute. Dr. Wexler-Mitchell told The Momma to watch me for signs of hyper-vocalizing, pacing, or generally being "spaced out." Ha! As if I'm not that way all the time! Well, not really the pacing part, and not really the "spaced out" part either. Definitely not the hyper-vocalizing. I mean, I caterwaul all the time, but only when I want treats, water, food, doors open, or a human to do my bidding. Which is pretty much all the time.
Now The Momma has set up two bird feeders in the back yard so that I can watch them; honestly, it's a full time job. That, and waking her up every day so she can make money to buy me tuna.
August 13th 2006 11:03 pm
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The Momma kept talking about going to the vet, but everytime she did, I left the room or hit her in the face with my Paw of Death. That's my way of saying, "talk to the Paw." David kept referring to "Angus's European relatives" and saying that I had to "visit out-of-town relatives." I have no idea what that guy is talking about most of the time, so I just ignore him.
Imgine my HORROR when The Momma grabbed me on Friday morning and stuffed me in the Cat Carrier! I peed all over her! Right down her legs and all over her feet! Take that Momma! She put me in the cat carrier and changed pants in the garage. She was all prepared! I was howling with outrage!
When we got to the vet, the receptionist said, "hmmm. Do you smell cat pee?" Right in a room full of people! The Momma was so humiliated at having to admit that it was HER even though she had changed her pants! Serves her right for making me go!
I won't talk about the horrors I was forced to endure - they took urine, weighed me, took my blood pressure, and clipped my nails! Clipped my nails! I was simply stoic through it all.
Dr. Wexler-Mitchell said that I had lost weight and wondered why The Momma didn't feed me more. Yeah, Momma! Why not? Ever since then, she's been tempting me with tuna, graham crackers, bits of whatever she's having. Mmmm. Maybe there has been a silver lining to this whole thing.
In any case, the test results come back tomorrow. Cross your paws for me.
July 20th 2006 11:36 pm
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My fur is SO luxurious, people! Yes it is! So much so, in fact, that The Momma wants to give me a HAIR CUT in order to keep me cool for the summer. No Thank You!
When I had exploratory surgery last spring, they shaved my stomach as well as a patch on my back for the morphine patch. My tummy was pink and naked! The Momma would rub my tummy and kiss me tenderly, so scared of my Frankenstein scar, with zipper-like stitches running up and down my belly. Slowly the fur grew back, fuzzy and white, then thick and fluffy. The scar is almost invisible now underneath my luxurious curly long hair.
The Momma asked the vet if my fur would fall out or get thinner due to chemotherapy. The vet said that no, cats don't lose their fur like humans lose hair, but it might take a bit longer for my fur to grow back, and I might lose some whiskers. After that, The Momma would save all the whiskers she found around the house, sentimentally pressing them between the pages of my cat journal.
Now, that same Momma that caressed my fuzzy tummy and saved all my whiskers wants to shave me bald! Shame on you Momma! I must find a way to hide beneath the bed!