June 18th 2011 6:05 pm
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Thank catness we’re still here. Yesterday started off with Mom turning on the ‘puter and finding out that she could see her desktop but couldn’t do anything with it. There was an automatic Windows update the day before yesterday and it messed up our virus protection. If that puppy doesn’t launch, we found it mucks up the functionality of everything else.
She restarted the computer in ‘safe mode’ and went into ‘Control Panel’ and restored the ‘puter to before the update. Yay it worked!
So you know what she had to go and do? She dumped coffee over the keyboard. It’s not like the folks in the store didn’t warn her. When you have a notebook, you can fry the motherboard when you do that. It’s not the same when you do it to the keyboard of a desktop computer.
Ever seen a notebook computer hanging up to dry? She looked around for help while she was trying to shake the coffee out of the computer and finally gave up, turned the ‘puter spine-side up to drain and ran. She almost collided with me, caught herself and went ricocheting off the wall instead. Samsara and I would have helped but we can’t reach the paper towels. :-(
We got awfully lucky.
So, you know what else happened yesterday? We had these two big thunderstorms. The first one was at daybreak, and the second, an hour before sunset. It was still pouring when the sun came out and we were able to get pictures of the rainbow from our window. It was really amazing so we wanted to share it with you.
We got some other new pictures despite my best efforts at evading the camera. I was sitting in some not so great light the other afternoon and Mom started to play around with aperture and shutter speed settings and… Well the pictures should tell the story. Mom says she wishes she had painted them.
BTW: The battle of the bulge continues. The V-lady decided I should get a second dose of prednisolone last week, and, if the diet weren’t awful enough, that stuff is making me so hungry.
I’m waging the battle from several fronts. 1. Stake out the kitchen—that way I know when she’s in there (which is often—she doesn’t eat much at one sitting, so she goes for little snacks all day long. Hee hee. Now she feels guilty over every morsel that finds its way to her mouth. She even let me sniff some apple the other day. What does she think I am? A hamster?) 2. Guard the kitchen. I sit right in the doorway so she has to step around me. That way she knows I’m there. 3. Sit by the empty dish and pout. 4. Engage Samsara’s help. She won’t let her little darling starve, will she?
Mom keeps lifting the kibble bowl off the floor so I don’t finish everything at once. She says she wants me to enjoy some later. I don’t want to enjoy it later, I want it now. Then we get into a battle again around 2 in the morning. How on earth am I supposed to make it through till morning on an empty supper dish? I’m hungry!
June 15th 2011 11:24 pm
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Nyeh. Nyeh. I’M HUNGRY… FEED ME! NYEH. NYEH.
It’s a good thing we got a notebook computer. I’ve taken it with me and I’m writing to you from my outpost in the kitchen. Every now and so often, and so often, I gaze longingly at my empty bowl.
There was a time in the past when the horn of plenty was filled day and night with scrumptious kibble. Oh what I would give for those tasty morsels of Hills w/d!
These are times of hardship, my furriends, and I fear I am growing faint and may expire from hunger. Oh, the trials I must suffer! I am now forced to scavenge every meager morsel left on the floor in sweeter days.
But…. I have devised a survival strategy. Yes I have! Whilst Samsara partakes of her beauty sleep during the day, I partake of her rations.
Mother, this is gonna' be your Waterloo!
June 12th 2011 2:39 pm
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(Did not.) Did toooo. (Did not.) Did toooo. Did too. Did too. (Did not.)
Then why did I almost get wet?
(See, now you used the operative word: almost.)
So what? Malicious intent involved.
(No way, young lady, the water was running down the wall of the shower; it didn’t get anywhere near you! Besides, you love getting your head sopping wet under the faucet.)
Yeah, well I had to go flying out of the bathtub didn’t I?
Says who? Whatever happened to the Mommy who would have lovingly coddled me out of the tub telling me what a cute girl I am?
(Well, for one thing, what were you doing in there daring me to turn the water on you when I wanted to take a shower?)
I have my first catmendment rights.
(In my shower? What was I supposed to do for a shower?)
You could have gone next door and taken one in doggy lady’s shower. The doggies wouldn’t have bothered you.
(Pfsst. I need an attorney!)
June 9th 2011 10:41 pm
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Another trip to the V-Lady. Nük, you’re right. It IS the tortury.
Oh, the ignominy! First off, I found my catness whisked off the dining room table and into the bag. I hardly had the chance to put up a fight. And, my stars! Was it hot while we were waiting for the bus to come! (It hit 99 degrees in our area yesterday.)
We got to the v-lady and there was this dog who walked right up to my bag and stuck his nose out to sniff me. Pfsst! Keep your nose to yourself guy! Mom said he was cute as a button and played with him.
We’re now in the exam room. Vet lady wants me to come out of the bag. Is she nuts? Uh uhh….
I dug my nails into the Sherpa lining of the bag. Mom reached under the Sherpa mat (and me) and loosened it from its Velcro. I didn’t move a muscle; if she wanted to loosen it while I was sitting on it that was just fine by me. Was she presuming I would take a magic carpet ride out of the bag? She could have the Sherpa—I stepped off. No, thank you. Gave at the office; so kind of you to ask; thank-you-very-much. I think I’ll just stay where I am, if you please. Giggles. You ought to have seen her face holding up that piece of carpet without me on it!
They picked up the bag and dumped me!
Then the doctor started poking at my belly. Grrrr… Keep your paws to yourself, doc!
The official pronouncement about the pouch Mom found behind my belly….. oh, heavens, a chic girl like me! ….. what! … surely there’s been some mistake! … horrors… I’m o-v-e-r--w-e-i-g-h-t -!
Next on the list: heart recheck. Yup, still have that murmur, grade 2 on a scale of 10; it never went away after my radioiodine treatment.
Poop show and tell. Nothing remarkable until Mom showed the vet the pictures on her camera. She took those snaps while things were still hot off the press, if you know what I mean. V-lady called the blood on them “significant”. Mom e-mailed those pics last night.
Now Mom was complaining about how I don’t let her mess with my coat. Haven’t I said it a million times? You don’t cut my nails and you don’t mess with my coat! Wait… where’m I going? WAIT…. NOOOOOOOOOOOO. GRRRR….. PFFST…. NEEEEOOOOW!
Bloods, REALLY, I GAVE AT THE OFFICE! Grrrrrrrrrrr… pffst…
Mom didn’t hear much from the examining room this time. That’s ‘cause I made the doc’s two stupid African Parrots nuts. I screeched, they screeched louder. All three of us had a horrible time. See… even THOSE STUPID BIRDS had the sense to get upset about my belly shave. Vet lady gave me such a hard time I peed myself. And they have the nerve to say that they couldn’t do such a great job ‘cause they didn’t want to stress me too much. They all should have left me home if they didn’t want to stress me.
They brought me back to the examining/recovery room a bit soggy. I was exhausted. There was no way I was getting back on that table. I headed for a chair at the end of the table and laid there crumpled in a heap. Why don’t we furs get a bed in the recovery room?
Then we waited for an eternity for the doctor. Mom got cold in that room so she scooped me up and headed back out to the reception room. And we waited. (The doctor was reading over the first draft of her IBDKitties case study.)
Finally, the doc came out and went over a bunch of papers with Mom while poor over-wrought , captive little me got to sit and wait in the bag.
Mom was also concerned about my slowing down since Keshy went to the Bridge. The doctor thinks it could be all the pred I’m taking, or the heat. She thinks Mom ought to keep an eye on it, but isn’t really concerned for two reasons: 1. I’m approaching middle age. Ah heck, I’m not a tweenager anymore??? 2. I’ve been gaining weight (so even though I could stand to uh… well, you know… practice some moderation, shall we say…) , she’s says I’m not retaining water, so there’s nothing new going on.
Doc lady also upped my pred again to twice a day because of the blood and Mom has to call her in a week.
Okay, back out into the heat. Half-hour wait for the bus, then bumpety, bumpety, bumpety, all the way home, hanging from Mom’s shoulder, bouncing off her hip.
I stepped out of the Sherpa bag. To let Mom know what I thought I left a present in there. It was nothing untoward—a little token of my appreciation. My FIRST WELL-FORMED, solid …. pooo ball! Not a rope, mind you, a poo ball!
But you know what? I was so uncomfortable later I kept walking up to Mom complaining about the way I felt. She lifted my tail and checked my floofy pants.
A BATH! OHHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
June 7th 2011 1:15 am
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Mom has been writing my life story. It’s going to be called: “Colette: a life in poop and blood”; we’re writing my memoires for IBDKitties.net. Strictly non-fiction: you know, like the movie stars have them? Sorry Samsara. I’m going to be furmous, you’re not, ha ha! (Colette, it’s not a story, it’s a case study.) Oh.
Anyway, that’s why we haven’t been around all that much. After hours of agonizing over it, the first draft is with Finney and Lacey's Mom. So we have a bit of a break right now. Good thing. I'm beginning to feel neglected. Mom says how can I feel neglected when she’s been paying attention to each little intricate detail. Yeah, carve me up and say you're paying attention to the whole!
I ask: is this all it comes down to? A symptom picture? Are we only bits and pieces of ourselves? What about my thoughts? My feelings? My psyche? Jeez!
Maybe she’ll include something about the moth I killed and presented to her tonight. He was pretty big. Not bad for a start. New title perhaps: “Colette: the Mighty Huntress”. I’d like that story better.
We still have to thank some furs for the pretty hearts you left on our pages. First the Catster fleas got to our pages and we couldn’t see them, then we couldn’t find the gifties.
We’re going to try to tackle that tomorrow. Mom also says she got some really nice pictures of Samsara. She’s such a ham! (I haven’t been cooperating with the camera lately.) She’ll try to post some tomorrow.
May 7th 2011 10:36 pm
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Pfsst … I lost. If I thought Mommy-Scissor-Hands was bad, you should’ve seen those ogres at v-lady.
They’ve got this machine with huge teeth and it growls really loudly. Mom wasn’t around to snoopervise this time either ‘cause they took me in the back. (Did she have to ask v-lady where her talon gloves were?)
I gave them my best snarls. I warned them. I yowled, I hissed, I spit, I thrashed around….. You should’ve seen me fight tooth and nail….
Alas, I was out-gunned and out-numbered.
I got a haircut. (Did I hear Mom cackling in the background?)
When the vet tech returned me, my coat was wet in the spot where they shaved me. One of the females in the back pinned me down. I spent the whole day smelling like her perfume.
Take note, though. When the vet tech returned my tortured self to Mom, she was most definitely pale and whining about my ruining her day. You know what Mom did???!!!! She said to the tech, “well, why do you think you did that and not me?” She cackled again and said that there were times that I was definitely not a nice pussy cat!
I also had bad poops today, so vet lady increased my Tylan again. It’s back to twice a day. Grrrr….
May 7th 2011 12:11 am
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Wow. It’s been a long time since ‘the boss’ allowed me to write last. So what have I been doing, aside from keeping a low profile? In a nutshell, keeping ‘the boss’ busy.
At least up till now, she’s been graciously doing my runs to the vet for me. Or should I say my poops have been graciously doing my runs to the vet for me. Ms. Obsessive-Compulsive has spent the last month squirreling away my poops and running them to the v-lady. I think she’s beginning to have a problem with that. The last batch started taking over the bottom shelf of the refrigerator (all those nice, neat snack baggies, dated and filed away into a grocery bag). I began to hear grumbles like ‘good thing no one scrounges around in here looking for something to eat’. Ewww!
She said that she already learned to double the plastic bag she carries them in. On one of those poopy runs, she and this lady were sitting side-by-side on the bus. Some of my eau-de-parfum escaped from the bag and wafted into the air. Mom said it was hysterical. Both she and the lady were wrinkling their noses and, at the same time, trying to pretend that the air still smelled sweet. Yeah, right. A rose by any other name…
I think she’s getting revenge tomorrow. She’s been taking a good deal of advantage of me lately. I keep getting mats around my hips. I won’t let her comb or cut them out. (She got me a few times already. How could she! Shame on her: sneaking up on a girl with a pair of scissors just when she’s eating her supper! She deliberately delayed supper so I was so hungry that I was completely defenseless. She’s gotten me out of a dead sleep to do my nails a few times too.) I repeat, don’t touch the mats in my fur! But now I heard something about her trying to get an appointment with the v-lady tomorrow to shave me! Help! I already have a couple of bald spots from when Mommy-Scissor-Hands did her last hack job.
Okay, so what else. A month ago I started getting 3 Tylan (anti-diarrhea) pills a day along with Marrakech’s cherry yuckies. We got the Tylan routine down pat now. I even get called good girl for that. But the cherry yuckies—hmmm—I’ve learned how to make at least some of that go splashing back in Mom’s face. Last week I was on two pills a day, this week it’s one pill a day. And starting next week, if I make it that far, it will be a pill once every other day. In other words—my poops have been pretty good so far. They’re staying together now and there isn’t that much blood on the outside.
Now for the bad news. Mom saw some blood on my floofy pants again today. :~( Anyway, the low-down on all of this is that the v-lady is trying to help Mom out for the moment by delaying the testing she really wants to do. In order to do the tests, I have to be off the cherry yuckies (prednisolone) for a number of months. The replacement medicine is a corticosteroid that costs $300 a month, and then the v-lady wants to do an intestinal biopsy. She’s looking for a definitive answer to the question of whether or not I have Inflammatory Bowel Disorder (IBD). If the test comes back negative for IBD, that’s going to be even bigger trouble—she’ll have to open me up in a couple of places to look for a tumor in my intestines. Purrs needed.
Now, the Samsara thing. She likes doing stuff with me. I like hanging out in the bathtub when Mom is in the bathroom. I like seeing the look on Mom’s face when I come exploding out of there. Samsara got the bigger giggle from her yesterday. I kept telling Samsara that I really do like being in the bathtub all by myself. I’m not much into her “me too” routine. Mom heard me talking while I was in there. I use the bathtub as my zoomie launch pad. Explode!!! Zooom!!! Mom still heard talking after I was gone. Huh? “Me too” followed me out of the tub. Explode!!! Zooom!!! She’s stealing my thunder! Do you know how crowded it is when there are two of you in there? How’s a girl supposed to get a good running start?
Okay, she’s been here longer, she’s older. Do I really have to kiss the top of her head so often? When she gets to be too much I just smack her. She smacks back! I’m not the only one complaining. Do you know how many times I’ve heard Mom say to her, “you’re not going to lord it over me too, Little Missy”! She thinks that she’s supposed to have the pillow on Mom’s computer chair 24/7. (That’s the one that Keshy shared with Mom just before she went to the Bridge.) Giggles. Mom gets to do her work sitting on one butt cheek, while ‘Little Missy’ occupies three-quarters of the chair. Little Missy is winning. I’m just waiting to see Samsara’s diary entry on the day that Mom ends up on the floor.
Anyway—wish us all luck. If I lose hair tomorrow, someone’s going to lose a few ounces of blood by way of my slice-and-dice maneuver.
April 22nd 2011 9:59 pm
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If we could write a sonnet about our Easter … We tried our best at rhyming and… well, let’s just say we landed on our floofy tails. It kind of began and ended when we reached Samsara’s name. Let see, uh… Sahara, umbrella—uh no… kinahara (oops, wrong language).. So the kitties at Trout Towne composed this really good one for us. You need to sing it to Here Comes Peter Cotton Tail so you get the "full effect".
Is effuryone ready for some great Caterwauling?
:) Thanks Dude, Daisy, Boomer, Tuna ‘n Sauce!
Happy Easter Effuryone!
Sing along !!!!
Colette has a floofie tail
"I don’t care", Pook did wail
Easter's on... the way
"I'm purebred" Samsara roared
Colette declared, "I am bored"
Easter is Sun...day
Mom loves me best Colette declared
Samsara's temper now is flared
"Colette you're crazy
I WAS CAT OF THE DAY"
Happy Easter Carol and crew
from Trout Towne, we love you
Easter bunnee ...HEY !!!!!!
April 6th 2011 1:27 am
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Hi effuryone. I have a lot to say the moment Mom can catch her breath long enough to play secretary, but I'm not going to say it tonight 'cause it's already really late.
Some of the furs were asking about the flowers in the pictures of me and Samsara. We assure you THEY ARE FAKES! We just learned from CFA's toxic plants and flowers list that, indeed both tulips and poppies are toxic to us kitties. Here's the link to CFA's toxic list page: http://www.cfa.org/client/plants.aspx
Mom learned a long time ago when (Angel) brofur, B.A., broke almost every large vase filled with real flowers, to either put those vases well out of reach, or not keep them at all. The only places that ever see real flowers in our house are the ones that are really impossible for us to reach. Judging by that list that CFA has published on their web site, it's probably a good idea not to keep the real thing around.
Mom loves really good fake flowers so when she sees them, she picks them up and adds them to a couple of really nice vases. For example, she came home from Europe over 15 years ago with the most delicate ashes of roses colored tea cup roses made out of silk. They are still sitting in that small limited edition Makkum pottery vase she bought in the Netherlands at the same time. They have been a gorgeous addition to the house for over 15 years, gracing any surface or table they are placed on.
But the flowers need not be silk either. We check for delicate gradations of color in the fabric on the petals and that you can't see any plastic for stems and leaves. Woven fabric leaves should either be starched or wired through the center for longer leaves and there should be no threads visible at the edges of either petals or leaves. We prefer stems that are wired through the center as well--you can bend them so they mimic the way flowers actually grow. We add dried eucalyptus as filler.
Hope all this helps.
March 22nd 2011 10:07 pm
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We’re all trying to adjust. Samsara just put up her diary entry about being alpha kitty--that’s right. She is the old furt after all and she was here before me. She’s kind of cute too. I like her well enough, so I let her.
Mom tries to treat us both equal anyway. She calls me and asks me to participate in what she’s doing. I always greet her in the kitchen or the bathroom first thing in the morning and she always greets me back with “Good morning, Miss Colette. How’s my pretty girl?” See I get respect! I don’t like laps anyway and the doctor says I can’t have the other food. The new canned w/d isn’t bad and it sure is a change from all that chicken stuff anyway.
Mom’s wrapping me up in a towel when she gives me my medicine and sometimes it’s kind of comforting. I get lots of kisses and hugs after, and that’s always good. I’m not completely impossible—I also don’t want to go where Kesh went.
It was a lot of fun playing with that belt last night. I hope we keep doing that.
Don’t tell anybody: Samsara is doing me a favor getting those brushies. I’m not used to them anymore. Mom started prioritizing what had to be done when Kesh, Samsara and I got sick, and there were quite a few days that she forgot about them. She and I had a bad time of it two days before Kesh died. She found a mat on my back just below my tail. It was a really bad one and I was afraid to let her take care of it. We got into an argument and I put a couple of holes just above her wrist. Serves her right—she should’ve left me alone. You know what she did??? (Good thing I have so much floof you can’t see it.) She waited till I was eating my supper and she snuck up on me with a pair of scissors. I start getting really cranky about those brushies after a few minutes. We both have to get used to doing them again.
Samsara is also right about my launching into RKN mode that terrible day, last Wednesday. Geeze, I might not have liked Marrakech all that much, but it was just awful seeing her so sick. And it was Cat-awful watching Mom and Samsara suffering over it. Mom looked so bad when she came home. I needed to go right over and take care of her. She takes care of me and she loves me, right? Well, I love her back.
We’re all trying to get used to things. When Marrakech was here and she wasn’t in the kennel cab I used to like sitting in there. Come to think of it, I haven’t been in there in over a week. And, you know what else? The only time I’ve ever been on the pillow in the wicker chair where the girls slept was the afternoon Mom put me there for our Valentine’s Day pictures. That seems like it was years ago.
Mom had her voice lesson and class yesterday evening—it’s been the first time in a week that she started singing. You could see that it really cost her to do it, but she made it. It’s still too quiet in the house. At least she isn’t going over to the bookshelf where she put Kesh’s picture so much anymore and she’s slowing down on replaying the video clips on her page.
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