I Have Been In The Hospital

I have had way too many medical adventures these past few months. I do not like that kind of excitement; it is most unpleasant. But, sadly, I have not been a well kitty, and my mom and dad needed to help me get better by taking me to the specialist hospital.

I was having tummy trouble, with lots of pain and discomfort. It got worse and worse until one night I threw up a hairball of profoundly gargantuan proportions. I doubt that in the entire history of catkind, such a gigantic hairball has ever come out of such a dainty little girl such as myself. It was truly shocking. My mom was scared of it, it was so massive. She was almost afraid to touch it, but she mustered the courage from somewhere deep within and cleaned it up. Sometimes I really admire her bravery.

But even after getting such a monstrous object out of my tummy, I still felt really horrible. So much so, in fact, that I vomited a huge amount of blood. My mom and dad were very extremely scared by that, and took me in to the overnight emergency clinic. They gave me pain meds and something else to help my stomach.

They also said that I needed to get an ultrasound to rule out an obstruction, but they could not do it there, we had to go somewhere else to have it done. But the place they sent us to couldn't do it, nor could the place the second place sent us to. And even the next place couldn't do it. There was nowhere in 2 counties that could do an ultrasound that night. It felt like I was spending more time in my carrier in the car being driven all over creation looking for an ultrasound than I was at home. It was scary and stressful on top of me already feeling really sick.

Finally my mom and dad found a place that could do the tests I needed, but it was a long drive away. The people there were very nice. They gave me pain meds and lots of friendly scritchy-scratches, and I had a little snuggle-bed to hide in like a secret cave. I had to stay there for several days because of so many tests they had to do, but my mom and dad came to visit me every day, so that was nice.

I felt really strange from being on pain meds for so many days. It helped the pain to stop bothering me, but I felt so . . . peculiarly silly and goofy, I guess you could say. Everything felt soft and cottony and everything was so relaxed and nice and I didn't care about anything that was happening, because of how the pain meds made me feel.

Except for the day they did one particular test, called an endoscopy. When I woke up from that I felt really lousy, horribly lousy. Not even pain meds helped me feel okay. On that day my mom came by herself to visit me and I spent the whole visit curled in her lap with my eyes closed, feeling miserable. I was so glad I could lay on her tummy for a little while and get some peace and comfort, but it wasn't long enough. I wanted to lie there until the misery went away, but after a little while a nurse came into the room and brought me back to my little snuggle-bed in the hospital. I could tell my mom was really sad that no one knew what was wrong with me and she was really worried.

The nice people at the specialist hospital tried ever so hard to figure out what was wrong with me. All they knew for sure was that I'd had a bleeding ulcer but no obstruction. I had thickening of my stomach but no cancer -- but abnormal cells in the stomach region anyway. No one knew exactly what was making me sick.

I was on a lot of meds for a while, and I had a feeding tube in my neck. I don't know why I had a feeding tube because I wanted to eat regular food and I was able to eat regular food in the regular manner, but I still had a feeding tube because they said I had to have special food that had to get into my tummy whether I felt like eating or not. I didn't mind getting meds through the tube, but getting the special food through the tube was really yucky. I did not like that one bit. My mom and dad gave me plenty of my regular food that I ate eagerly so they were able to taper off the special yucky food, but I still had to get my meds through the tube, and on a strict schedule too because one of the meds had to be given on an empty stomach and the rest had to be given with food. It got so complicated my mom had to make a flow chart just to make sure the right things happened at the right times and that she and my dad didn't forget anything or give the wrong medicines at the wrong times.

The day the feeding tube came out was one of the happiest days of my life. The end of the tube had kept on getting loose from its sleeve around my neck and poking me in the face, and it itched where it came out of my neck. I kept on trying to scratch it but it was attached in such a way that I couldn't twist around far enough to reach it. I was supposed to wear one of those [CENSORED] cones, but my mom and dad wouldn't put it on me. They knew it would stress me out too much, and they watched me to make sure I didn't scratch the incision site or pull the tube out. They were even more glad than I was when the tube was removed.

It took me a while to recover, and I had a little relapse where I had to go back to the specialist hospital to get another ultrasound, but all in all I am feeling a lot better than I was. The inflammation has gone down but I still have the abnormal cells that are supposedly not cancer. My ulcer has healed and I haven't been throwing up lately. So that's good. I have days where I don't feel quite myself and I spend them quietly curled up in my mom's lap or on the shelf in my dad's office, but days of quiet curling up are good. Too much adventure is tiresome after a while. I look forward to more quiet days. My mom doesn't feel very well either, so she and I can keep each other company.

I Have Been To The Emergency Clinic

I have been sick. When I went wee it hurt. A lot. And there was blood in my wee. So my dad took me to the emergency clinic, and I had to stay there for several hours because they had to poke me and prod me and stick things in me to find out what was wrong. It was hurting so bad to go wee that I held it for hours and hours and hours, but when I really needed to go I couldn't because I knew how much it would hurt.

Finally they injected me with medicine and I went home with my dad. It was nice to be home but I felt miserable because it still hurt really bad to go wee. I would cry and cry and cry. My mom went back to the emergency clinic in the middle of the night to get pain medicine for me. That really helped me feel better. I began being able to go wee normally. I didn't feel like I was on fire when I went, and I felt like going more often, which helped me feel better. And eventually I didn't need the pain medicine anymore, and I got better.

But my mom and dad took me back to the vet to make sure the infection was really all gone. At the vet they poked me and prodded me some more, and stuck me with needles in my belly and my neck. I really do not like it at that place. It is never nice there. The people who work there all say they like me a lot and that I'm their favorite, but then they do such undignified things to me when I'm there, so how much could they really like me, you know? If they liked me as much as my mom and dad do, they wouldn't poke me with needles or try to take my temperature. It is very confusing for me, and most unpleasant.

Anyway, according to them my infection really is all gone. And I do not have a bladder stone, either. I could have told them that, but no one ever asked me. They just hauled me in to the vet where they poked me and prodded me and took my X-ray, none of which I enjoyed, and none of which, apparently, was really necessary since I am as good as new.

So that is the story of what happened recently. I am strictly not allowed on my mom's computer so I can't tell lots of stories about me very often anymore. My mom doesn't feel very well herself these days and sometimes I sit in her lap when she's sitting in bed. We have a nice cuddle and some quiet time together. She is one of the quietest people I know, almost as quiet as a cat. That's what I like about her.

I Learn More About the Neighborhood Riff-raff

I have learned something interesting about the riff-raff hanging around in my neighborhood. I was listening to my mom and dad talk the other day (sometimes paying attention to humans talking really pays off), and over the course of their conversation I learned some interesting things about Nasty Cat, Evil (and Stupid) Cat, et al.

They are feral.

They have been living in the crawl space under the neighbor's house and drinking the water left for them by those neighbors.

They have been using the other neighbor's yard as their litter box, and they have been eating the food left out for them by that neighbor's neighbor.

And, last but not least, they have been *breeding*.

No wonder there is a problem here! They are not the kind of feline we want around this place! They represent an undesirable element in the neighborhood! The last thing we need is a new generation of Nasty Cats, especially when aided and abetted by well-meaning but clueless neighbors!!

But I learned a few more things too. The neighbors under whose house they have been reproducing themselves have been humanely trapping them so they can get spayed or neutered and vaccinated. This is a good thing! We do not need anymore of the likes of them inundating the neighborhood. They are an undesirable element that should not be allowed here. All they do is cause trouble and fights and really make my blood boil, and they probably spread feline diseases too.

So it's good they have been spayed and all, but there is a downside to this: after the surgery they are being released back here! It is good they cannot reproduce anymore but it is very bad that they are back here again. I have had two fights through the windows with a couple of them already since they are back. Too bad neutering hasn't made them any nicer.

I know I sound like an insufferable snob (at least, that's what my mom thinks), but really, think about it -- they are not good neighbors. They stir up trouble. They go looking for fights. They are feral. They will reproduce themselves, escalating the problem. They are probably spreading feline diseases. They talk trash to me when trespassing on *my turf*. They sneer their pathetic little kitty sneers and taunt me with their insolent little kitty taunts, as if they have all the right in the world to usurp my territory. Ooh, it really makes my blood boil the more I think about it! They are so lucky I can't get outside and give them all the proper thrashing they so richly deserve . . .

OK, I digress. Anyway, there is a problem here because they really ought to be relocated somewhere far away where they can't ever find their way back to my turf. I thought once they were carted away to get spayed or neutered and vaccinated, that would be the last I'd ever see of them once and for all. I thought I could finally have some peace and quiet around here at night. I thought I would never again suffer the insult of them violating my personal territory. But I guess that is just not to be, and I am stuck with their miserable presences for the foreseeable future. Oh, woe is me. Is there no end to my nightmare?

July 4th

I have spent two and a half hours huddled under the table.

I. HATE. FIREWORKS.

And firecrackers. And M-80s. And those screamer things that shriek like the end of the world is about to happen.

I hate them all.

The Beast

The Beast is big. The Beast is loud. The Beast is scary.

I do not like the Beast.

Every week my mom pulls the Beast out of its lair in the hallway closet and drags it around the house, over every square inch of floor. The Beast roars its belligerent song the entire time. It is scary.

The Beast has a single glowing eye that never blinks. This is an abomination. Any creature that roars so savagely and never blinks cannot be up to anything but unmitigated evil.

Sometimes the Beast gets close to where I am trying to sleep. It approaches and retreats, approaches and retreats. Even though my mom has a grip on it, I can never be sure when it might break free and lunge at me just when I let my guard down. I know it would swallow me up in two seconds and I would never see the light of day again. I would have to listen to that relentless, brutal roar for all eternity inside its belly. It would be very, very scary.

I do not like the Beast at all.

An Even Stranger Day

Yesterday was a strange day. Today was even stranger.

My dad took my litter box out of the nearly-empty bathroom and put it in the hallway next to the paper sacks full of stuff. Then he took the sink off the wall and put it in the garage (I didn't know sinks came off the wall). And then he covered everything in the bathroom with large sheets of plastic. Then he shut the door and for the next several hours there was all kinds of commotion in there: scraping noises; loud noises like The Beast only twice as loud; clanking and thumping noises; then muffled swish-swish noises. And after a while a peculiar, noxious smell came out from under the door. Finally he emerged covered in a fine dust and holding a paintbrush in his hand. A huge mass of noxious-smelling air came wafting out from the open doorway. I have smelled this smell before, but not nearly this strong and usually from much, much farther away. It was bad enough when it was faint, but this is really strong here in the house and I don't like it. Hanging out by an open window helps, but it's so pervasive that it's hard to be free of it. The whole house smells like it, no matter where I go. After my mom and dad put all the stuff back in the bathroom I almost had to hold my breath when I went in to use in my box. I went wee as fast as I could and got away from there pronto.

Well, I must say that the bathroom looks really nice now, after all the commotion is over. The smell is awful but it looks nice. So I don't feel quite as crabby as I did yesterday. And once the smell goes away even more, I'll be even less crabby than I am now.

Strange Day

Today was strange. My hip hurt and I felt crabby. My mom was acting sad and upset and my dad was acting worried. I meowed and meowed but they just looked at me and then away again, my mom staring blankly at the floor and my dad looking at her.

This annoyed me, so I meowed a few more crabby things and went into the other room. A little while later my dad began moving things out of the bathroom and placing them in 2 paper sacks in the hallway. This was peculiar. I did not like how peculiar it was. I've learned that when peculiar things happen around here, the next thing I know I'm at the vet, and that's the last place I want to go. I was just there 3 days ago and it was no picnic, let me tell you. So I was afraid I was going to wind up there yet again, judging by the level of tension in the house. So even though there was no direct connection between the bathroom and the vet, I decided it would be best to go hide behind the living room curtain for a while anyway. So I did.

I heard my dad rummaging around in the garage for a while, and I heard my mom pushing The Beast around the house. Then I heard them searching for me and calling my name, in the house, in the garage and in the yard. But I sat still and didn't make a sound. Not a peep. I heard them look under the bed in the bedroom, searching for me. I heard them lift up the living room couch, searching for me. I heard them look in my dad's closet, calling my name, searching for me. And I sat still and silent, not a peep.

Then I heard my mom's footsteps get closer and felt the curtains move. "Oh, here she is," she said. The curtains fell back into place and my mom's footsteps went farther away. I was still kinda crabby so I was glad they left me alone.

I came out later and investigated the paper sacks of stuff in the hallway. They were full of cleanser, sponges, towels, brushes and combs, a hairdryer, a box of cotton swabs, some cotton balls, a can of shaving cream, tubes of toothpaste, bottles of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, kleenex, baby powder, a scale and a little whisk broom; and a shelf unit and 2 paintings leaning against the wall. Very peculiar. The bathroom looked bigger without so much stuff in it, and it was even a little echoey when I went poop-poop in the box. Very peculiar. It seemed very sad. I don't think I like it this way. I like it the way it was, with all the familiar things around me, not all empty and bare like this.

I feel crabby about it still. Maybe I'll go back behind the curtain again, just because. Yeesh, what a strange day.

*Red Alert*

*Red Alert!* *Red Alert!*

Everybody, take cover! Stand back! Clear the decks! Hairball alert!

It's going to happen. Any minute now. I can feel it, in the pit of my stomach, growing, escalating, getting ready to launch itself free. Here it comes, watch out! Don't say I didn't warn you!

. . .

*gak* *gak* *gak*

. . .

Uh . . . um, false alarm, sorry.

Go on about your business.

Evil Cat Attacks Our House (Sort Of)

Apparently there are no depths to which Evil Cat will not stoop. The other night he attacked our house! (Sort of.)

It was a quiet evening. My mom and dad were reading and listening to music and I was taking a nap next to them. Suddenly there was a THUMP against the wall of the house. We all turned our heads and listened very carefully but there were no other noises. My mom looked out the window but didn't see anything because the motion-sensitive security light did not come on.

A few more minutes went by, and suddenly there was another THUMP, and then I saw him -- Evil Cat on the side gate! It was his jumping up on the fence and onto the cross-brace for the clothesline that made it thump into the wall of the house, disturbing our evening.

My mom and dad went to the window, but Evil Cat was gone before they could do anything else. I didn't even have a chance to let out my war cry (a bloodcurdling long, low, loud menacing moan). I would have told him a thing or two if I'd had the chance, you can count on that.

Can you believe how evil he is, thumping our house? Just what kind of place does he think this is, some cheap, flea-ridden hovel he can just THUMP whenever it pleases him? Is nothing sacred? I ask you, can we not have an evening of quiet enjoyment with nice music and naps inside our own home without being rudely assailed by neighborhood riff-raff?

Sometimes I just don't know what this world is coming to.

I Go Back To The Vet

I have had all kinds of ups and downs here lately. My thyroid medicine keeps changing and sometimes I feel really meh and other times I feel really irritable. Thyroid disease is no fun! It is a roller coaster ride of emotions and feelings. One week all I want to do is sleep, the next I feel like fighting everyone and everything around me. It is very frustrating to deal with.

My mom and dad try as hard as they can to do the right thing, and they are very patient with me through all my ups and downs. Unfortunately, part of doing the right thing involves taking me to the vet every few weeks, where I scream and yell and try to escape or hide, to no avail of course, and then they take me in the back and draw some blood. I don't like that part at all.

The vet techs keep telling me I'm really sweet and I'm their favorite cat. I think they're lying. They coo in soft voices and give me skritchy-scratches behind my ears, and then they insert the thermometer to take my temperature. Is that any way to treat a "favorite cat"? No way! Why don't they just ask me? I'd be perfectly happy to tell them I'm feeling fine, not feverish at all, thankyouverymuch kthxbai, instead of going through with that thermometer rigamarole.

You know, I'm beginning to think that it's that thermometer business that's the worst part of going to the vet. If we can skip that, it wouldn't be quite so bad.

I think I'll go kill one of my toys now and pretend it's the vet.