Furbaby Worry

October 20, 2013

So…last night [there may or may not have been alcohol involved] I confessed to twitter that I’m worried about the Kittehs.

The truth is that I’m ALWAYS worried about the Kittehs. I rarely voice it because it’s so constant. But that’s what happens when you have a 15 year old cat that the vet said wouldn’t live past 5.

Geriatric kitteh has a heart murmur. But the murmur never got worse like the original vet said it would. But, because of the heart murmur, she’s never had her teeth cleaned (anesthesia can be particularly dangerous with the murmur) so she has bad gingivitis. Oddly, the current vet wants to clean her teeth. As if I’ve waited this long for no reason (apparently anesthesia is somewhat safer now than it was?). I’d rather her teeth fall out than to subject her to more needles and poking and prodding. She’s 15 and deserves a nice, quiet and peaceful old age. And she freaks out easily. A trip to the vet without needles is traumatic enough for her.

And she’s 15. I know some cats live to 20 but most keel over around 12. Not that I want her to go but she’s had a good run. If I found out she had cancer I wouldn’t treat it.

Every year since turning 10 I’ve dutifully taken her in for a yearly exam with pri$ey geriatric kitty bloodwork. And every year it’s come back normal. Even when I’ve taken her in for a specific reason, her labs always come back normal. The only definitive things they’ve ever said about her is the heart murmur and that she gets dehydrated more easily (which is common in older kitties).

So this year I didn’t take her. She’s current on rabies so what’s the point?

Except now she’s losing weight. She feels bony.

But she’s lost weight before and then inexplicably gained it back.

We’re feeding her more canned food and that is definitely helping her coat – her fur is super soft now. But there are no other real symptoms. She has an appetite. She goes C-R-A-Z-Y when she hears a can opened. She moves more slowly and doesn’t like to jump as high (she’s figured out how to use various pieces of furniture as steps to avoid one big jump) but that’s been a consistent decline for some time now and doesn’t seem to bother her too much. At least, it doesn’t prevent her from going up and down stairs, etc. She just does so more slowly, less often and bit more delicately.

And so I pet her and feel bones and worry. But I don’t think a trip to the vet is warranted. Yet.

The other one has a freckle on her nose. Which is common in older orange tabbies. Except she’s neither old nor orange.

Again, the vet seemed worried but just said to watch it. I’m watching it. It looks like a freckle. It *might* be getting bigger/darker. But it’s not raised or oozing anything or otherwise looking gross.

Honestly? I think vets are prejudiced against white cats. There is all this lore out there about white cats being deaf, or having this problem or that problem. But I think it only applies to white cats with blue eyes. And both of mine have green eyes.

So… I’m wondering if the younger one really has early stage skin cancer or if this is just like when they told me the older one would die young. And it just reminds me of how doctors can sometimes be stupid.

In any case, this is how the three of us spent yesterday morning: in bed.


On Men & Cats

October 1, 2013

I seem to have angered the Tech Gods. Either that or they really don’t want you to read this post. At this point, I’m not sure I want you to read it either since I’ve had to rewrite it so many times. Each time I think it got worse.

First my phone had a massive stroke attempting to either enter or come out of what I now call Evil Airplane Mode (never using that again). It reset itself to Android Churn Your Own Ice Cream. After two weeks, I am still working on reinstalling apps and such and Android is still telling me there are no new updates when clearly there are – Although it is now at something akin to Android Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean – a distant mutated cousin of Jelly Bean that is sometimes surprisingly good but more often rather disgusting. I was fortunate enough not to have lost all my contacts and numbers – they were backed up online. And I guess photos live on a different part of the phone so I retained those as well (thank you God of Partitioned Hard Drives). But I lost all app data not stored elsewhere: texts, IMs from Kik, and… all local draft blog posts. Never mind that I had hit the save button on what I had written from the phone thereby supposedly uploading it to the server. It didn’t.

So I started over. On a real computer. And then Firefox (bad Fox!) had some sort of brain freeze (perhaps Android uploaded too much homemade ice cream?) and AGAIN even though I pressed save IT DIDN’T.

And then the brain freeze must have infected the entire computer with Ear Wax flavor because it happened AGAIN. I hit save and the screen went BLANK. So I just said, “Fuck it” and restarted and everyone seems to be playing nicely thus far.

So, by all means, read on. If you dare anger the Goddess Autosave. I hear she’s one you don’t want to poke with a stick. She’s pretty hangry and wants to eat all your bytes. And bits.

——— Without further ado… I give you: On Men & Cats. Totally not worth the wait. ———

I recently had a conversation with my therapist about Right Guy using the kittehs to express himself. I viewed it as a positive thing. I mean, he doesn’t talk much so at least he’s expressing himself in some manner. Right?

And then I read someone else’s blog post about refraining from calling each other Mommy & Daddy in front of the furbabies. And about whether to even refer to them as furbabies.

My first thought was, “Whoa. We are SO far gone. We never even made a promise not to do that.”

When I was first told that my AMH was 0.1 and I could never have children I decided to adopt a kitten. Then Right Guy said he wanted one too. So we got two kittens on top of the cat I already had. Referring to each other as Mommy & Daddy just sort of…happened. And I liked hearing the word Mommy. I suspect he liked hearing the word Daddy.

Now we all know that men are like 5 year olds (just kidding! not. sorta.) so it should come as no surprise that the man likes to torture the cat. No, no, not in a Call-The-ASPCA-Right-Now kind of way but in the 5 year old kid way – yank the tail, play dress up, etc. I fully suspect that when we finally get a kid in this house he will tease it and lie to it, hold it upside down and generally be silly with it. Again, not in a Call-DSC kind of way. In a *I once convinced my niece that elephant ears were actually elephants’ ears and not some tasty fried dough with powdered sugar on top that can only be procured at the Fair* kind of way.

cat and beer

Exhibit A

It started with cradling. Nothing surprising about that. Lots of people hold cats like tiny humans – a position they abhor, by the way. But most people are able to avoid the stare of daggers coming from the cat until or unless their eyes are scratched out. Or maybe they just prefer to make fun of said kitteh while she desperately looks around trying to identify her best escape route.

cat and cancer journal

She helps him read

Then it progressed to swaddling. At the time I didn’t really recognize it as a progression per se, just another form of torture for the kitteh, similar to dress up.

But last month Right Guy started trying to teach the cat to walk on her hind legs. Holding her little front kitty paws up in the air just like you would do with a ~9 month old tiny human. And it hit me. Dude wants a baby in this house just as much as I do. He just expresses himself differently.

I use words like ME – BABY – WANT – NOW.

And he plays with the cat.

We totally speak the same language.

If the language is called CUTE.

arm around cat

Foto Friday – Pets

July 17, 2010

This week’s theme from Calliope is pets. I have a love/hate relationship with taking pictures of my cats. When I get a good one I LOVE it. But it’s SO difficult. Of my three cats, one is super photogenic, another not so much and the last one not at all. But I wanted to make sure they were all represented. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to my fur babies:

My 12 year old cat Daisy:
Daisy is my sort of photogenic cat. I can get decent pictures of her but she has some perpetual eye leakage that just isn’t very attractive – especially on a white cat. She turned 12 last month. I can’t believe she’s been with me 12 years!

Now for the kittens. They are now about 9 months old and beginning to look more like cats than kittens.

Lily is my absolutely impossible to photograph cat. She won’t stay still. Her eyes are always closed if I use a flash. And she too, has some leaky eye problems.

And last, but not least (except in size and age), we have my little model: Moxie. She never takes a bad picture.

brought to you by
Photo Friday

This week has been… well… fairly craptastic. A few good things have happened but they’ve been overshadowed by doubt and bad things. I’m not just on the Infertility Roller Coaster. I’m also on the Elder Care Roller Coaster. It runs a little slower. And the highs are not quite as high. But the lows might be lower. Despite the fact that he’s not on a roller coaster I always think of George Jetson when I have wild weeks like this. “Jane, get me off this crazy thing!”
Jane, get me off this crazy thing
The week started off pretty great. I knew Pops was sick and I’d need to take him to the doc. But I was concentrating on the positive OPKs I had Sunday and Monday. And the re-blogging of a photo I posted on another blog. I was pretty happy that five whole people liked my photo enough to re-blog it (yeah, my standards are low ūüėČ ). Good photos, ovulation… who could ask for more? On Monday morning all that was overshadowing Pops’ illness.

But by Wednesday I was doubting that ovulation. My temps are not being cooperative. They seem to indicate ovulation. But not definitively. They’re up but just slightly. So I went today to get my progesterone checked. We’ll see. With all the stress of Pops this week I can’t imagine there’s much chance I’d get pregnant even if I did ovulate.

And when I got home last night I found my cat bloody. She’s OK I think. I think she hurt herself ripping off the pheromone collar I put on her to calm her down and hopefully stop the inappropriate peeing. I feel HORRIBLE. Because of me, she has bloody paws and a bloody neck/face. I can’t imagine what made her do that. Poor thing. There will certainly be no more experimentation with pheromone collars.

On Monday, I figured Pops had pneumonia again and I would take him to the doc and he’d be admitted to the hospital. I figured all that would suck but he’d be cared for and I’d get a break. No such luck. He got sent home. And here we are several days later, and many missed hours of work later, sitting in the ER. Waiting. The hospital is full again – there are no available beds. And apparently the heat wave has the ER backed up further. ::sigh::

Foto Friday

May 7, 2010

This week’s theme, as designated by @CalliopeBlogger is your home desk (or the desk where you blog from). I can’t keep the Kittehs off my desk. My office chair is all scratched and frequently used as a jumping point between the floor and the open staircase above. So this is a picture of one of the kittens playing with a pen on my desk. Note the #infertility book on the desk. ūüėČ

Be sure to stop by on Sunday for a photo bouquet of flowers for all you Still Waiting To Be Mothers!

Fur Babies

April 29, 2010

When I got my official diagnosis last December I decided to give myself a kitten for Xmas. ¬†I already had a cat, Daisy. ¬†Daisy is almost 12 now and I just thought that if I wasn’t going to have a child I would get myself a kitten. ¬†Turns out Right Guy wanted one too and the shelter advised getting two so they could play together and not annoy Daisy too much. ¬†So I got two kittens for Xmas.

I spent Xmas alone, sad and depressed. ¬†I wasn’t up for being around people, not even family. ¬†It was 100% my choice to be alone for Xmas. ¬†It could have gotten ugly. ¬†But kittens are funny. ¬†Laugh out loud funny. ¬†They are often far more entertaining than the TV. ¬†They make me laugh when I most need it.

There was one unexpected side effect, however. ¬†Since they were shelter kitties they were sick and it took some time to get them well. ¬†My nurturing & mothering instincts came flooding to the surface. ¬†On the one hand it felt good to have a small creature who needed my attention. ¬†On the other hand, kittens are very different from babies. ūüėČ ¬†Sometimes they only serve to remind me of what I don’t have.
But mostly they bring me joy and make me laugh. ¬†Even if I annoy the crap out of them trying to treat them like babies. ¬†I’m sure they’d be happier if I had something else to cuddle.

Have you started or added to your furry family because of your infertility?  Please share.