My Commonplace Book

After going through four veterinarians in as many years, I'm pretty confident that I've finally found the right one.

( Val's new doctor )

( Val's checkup -- arthritis and thyroid )

Especially for oniricwolf, sleepingwolf and maxh42:

( Funnee picshurz )

Why is it that whenever I tell someone my cat died, they all say "Oh, that's too bad. Get yourself a kitten."

You can just replace those when they break, they're easy to find.

If I say I don't want to because my other cat is 15 and not up to having an active youngster around, they say, "Oh, you have a cat."

You still have one that works so it's not a problem that the other one broke.


This is basically everybody. They mean well, but it's driving me crazy. What on earth does one say to these people? Two wrongs don't make a right, and I'd rather not stoop to their level of rudeness -- does anyone have good comeback that isn't as disrespectful as what they said?

Val seems to be doing a little better. For days he was extremely restless and jumpy. He'd get up on my lap but couldn't settle down, and leave after only a couple of minutes. He wandered around the house, agitated and unable to relax. He didn't seem to be searching, but he would stand in the front hall and call. Friday often used to call when he woke up and found himself all alone (even though I was just on another floor!), and I'd have to go to him, or keep calling his name until he came down and found me.  But Val always knows where I am and just comes over when he wants attention. He obviously wasn't calling me.

Yesterday he went to the other extreme and began wanting even more attention than usual -- which is a lot. It breaks my heart that I have no way to explain to him why his beloved little brother isn't here any more. I worry about leaving him alone for hours at a time ... he has no one to keep him company any more.

I'm still really depressed. Wendy brought over the carrier and put it in its place in the basement for me so I didn't have to do it, but I'd forgotten to ask her to take away the extra litter pan. It's a Booda Clean Step -- the steps really work to contain the litter, and I had hoped to transition both cats over to it, but it's too small for big old Val. Friday used it sometimes, though, so I just left both of them out to reduce the load on the main box.

But with Friday not here any more, I hated seeing it every time I went downstairs to clean Val's box. But I couldn't bring myself to clean it out and put it away. Today eudyptes stopped by to do something with the computer for me (he set it up and he's the only one who knows what's what) and I asked him to do it.

At first it will be really hard going down and seeing just one box there. I scooped the main box last night, and haven't been able to bring myself to go down and look yet today. But I'm relieved at not having to actually remove it myself.

I loved Friday very much, and I miss him a lot. But he usually did his own thing all day -- tummy sunning in the dining room in the morning, sleeping at midday at the foot of my side of the bed, dozing in the sun in the family room in the afternoons -- so he wasn't around me as much. He loved affection, but he was often off by himself. But Val has always followed me around the house. Whatever room I'm in, there's Val -- if not on my lap, then just a few feet away. He has never slept for hours on end like Friday always did -- he takes cat naps. If I go to another room, he gets up and follows me; if I don't, he comes over wanting scritches every time he wakes up.

Friday was more of a stereotypical introverted cat, and while he loved affection, he was never a cuddler. Val has always been the one with the outgoing personality who loves to do "Vulcan mind melds" and snuggle. As much as I miss Friday, I'm terrified of losing Val. Because he's always so omnipresent, his loss will leave an even bigger hole.

But meanwhile I'm loving and cherishing him -- and spoiling him. I don't care if he develops bad manners,  and I'm the only one who has to put up with them. I don't know how long he has left, and I can't bring back his brother for him, but dammit, I can give him bites at the table instead of making him wait till I'm finished eating, buy him new things, and give him a few of his beloved treats since he doesn't like the low-fat cat food. I'm not going to continue the treats -- I'm certainly don't want to shorten his life by making him gain even more weight! -- but if that will help him get over his loss, it's worth it.

I just wish I had a way to talk it over with him.

R.I.P.




Friday XIII
August 17, 2007
Age 12


It was so sudden.

One of the cats had been eating a little less than usual, but that happens from time to time and they share a dish, so I can't tell who. But it didn't seem that odd, both cats seemed fine, and what I found in the litter boxes seemed normal, so I thought whoever was off his feed would be okay in a few days, as in the past.

But as soon as Friday realized I was awake this morning, he jumped up on the bed and kept crying with distress. He seemed to be trying to pass gas or something, and was breathing really fast. I ran in here to call the vet, and they said the only open appointment was at 6:30 pm. I said he was crying with pain, and she said hold on, and then came back and said "Can you bring him in right now?"

By the time I threw on some clothes and got the carrier Friday had gone under the bed -- something he never does if no one else is in the house -- but fortunately he was close enough to the edge to be reachable, and I pulled him out. As I carried him downstairs to put him in the carrier he cried -- obviously something in the way I was holding him hurt. He barely even protested going in the carrier -- I think he was in so much pain that he didn't care any more.

He's always hated riding in the car, and by the time I brought him in he was panting. I mentioned that he was panting, and the receptionist was alarmed, and had him taken back for evaluation immediately.

After what felt like hours sitting in the waiting room, a vet I didn't know came out and brought me back. (This is a large hospital with about five vets.) She took me to a light box on a corridor wall and showed me Friday's x-ray. She said he had heart failure, and was filled with fluid -- his chest was so full of fluid his lungs couldn't expand, and he had some fluid in the lungs as well, and his abdomen was full of fluid. She also showed me an ultrasound they had done that indicated he was full of fluid.

She started talking about options. I couldn't believe she was going to continue talking just standing there in the hall. I felt weak. I asked "Is there somewhere I can sit down?"

"Oh," she said -- she obviously hadn't even thought of that. She took me in an examining room and I sat down. When I thought about it later I thought it would have been a lot nicer if she had sat down too, instead of standing over me, but she didn't and it didn't occur to me to suggest it. I probably wouldn't have said anything even if I'd thought of it -- I wasn't feeling assertive.

She told me that they could drain the fluid and that would let his lungs exapand so he could breathe a little better, and that a veterinary cardiologist "might be able to give him a little more time." But the more she talked, the more obvious it became that he could never be restored to health. I finally said, "You're dancing all around it, but you haven't said it -- is putting him to sleep the best thing?"

"Euthanasia is an option in situations like this," she said.

I asked to hold him for a little while first, and she said yes, but first they were going to give him a sedative and put an IV port in so they wouldn't have to look for a vein. Such efficiency. This place has the best medical care in town, but it's a very cold, high-tech, efficient place. There's no warmth, no humanity. My previous vet was very chatty and personal, but I was uncomfortable about her competence and when she didn't call me back after Val's visit to the emergency vet, I wanted to go somewhere else. I knew this vet was top-notch, but I didn't realize they were all skill and no heart.

I grabbed my cell phone and called my friend Wendy -- thank heaven she was home! I was sobbing too much to talk, but I finally managed to get out the gist of what was happening and asked if she could come. "I'll be right there," she said.

While I was waiting someone came in with a form for me to sign to permit the euthanasia. It had a series of checkboxes for what I wanted to do with his body. There were five choices: take him home to bury; have him cremated by the pet cremation company they deal with and, so they say, scattered in their memorial garden; have him cremated and get the ashes; just let them take care of it; and I don't remember the other one. Fortunately she said I didn't have to choose right now, just sign it, so I did. I hoped Wendy would get there before I had to give them an answer ... I really couldn't make this decision all alone.

It seemed to take a long time, but they finally brought Friday in. I told them my friend was coming, and they said they'd bring her in. I sat there with in him my lap, crying. He loved petting, but he was never a cuddler, and I certainly didn't want to cause him physical or emotional pain, so I didn't try to hold him close, just let him lie on my lap and stroked his soft, silky coat.

It seemed like forever till Wendy got there, but time seems to slow down when you're in distress. I know she dropped whatever she was doing and ran out the door.

It was a huge relief that she was there ... not only is she a very sympathetic and caring friend, but she is also the only person Friday has ever allowed to touch him. While she was cat-sitting during my Alaska trip in May, she worked and worked on getting Friday to come over, and he finally did and even let her brush him. I was amazed to hear that when she told me.

She's one of the most loving people I've ever known, and gave that love freely to my cats, taking care of them as if they were her own, spending time with them, keeping company with them, brushing them, and doing far more than just "cat sitting." So she bonded with them, and she said she was glad she had the chance to say goodbye to Friday, as well as being with me. I introduced her as Friday's godmother.

Wendy sat down next to me and put her arms around me, and we cried together and talked. I told her the choices on the form, and said that the last two were out. I know now what they do with deceased pets -- they're rendered and then added to pet food. It's horrible to think about. I didn't trust the memorial garden one either -- the tech said they cremate each animal separately and scatter the ashes, but there was a scandal a few years ago where a pet crematorium in Northern Virginia was just throwing all the animals in the retort together and taking out some random ashes to return to the owner -- and pets whose ashes weren't being returned weren't even being cremated, just dumped in the woods to rot. I didn't think this one would do that, but if you're not getting the ashes back, maybe they just put them all in together and dump the ashes wherever they dump them.

The safest and least costly option was to just bring his body home, I said, but I can't dig a hole. As I expected, Wendy immediately said, "I can." So I talked about that, but I mentioned how Meredith has her cats' ashes together in an urn, and will add the other cats as they die, and I thought it might be nice to put Val and Friday together, since they were so close all their lives.



(This picture and the one at the top were taken just eight days ago, on August 9. They're the last pictures ever taken of Friday. The album is here if anyone wants to look at other pictures of my beautiful, golden-eyed cat, and the two "brothers" together. (I was going to write "my kitty", but that never fit him. He was always too regal and dignified. Val's a kitty. Friday was a cat.))


Once I thought of it that just felt like the right choice, so I said the heck with the cost, that's what I'm going to do.

After awhile I said, "Friday's obviously in pain, I think it's time." She got the vet, and I held Friday in my lap while she put the tube in the IV. He had his head up longer than I thought he would, and I said, "How long does it take?" I think time was just still running slowly for me. "Not long," she said, and then I felt Friday's body relax and his head drooped.

"Is he gone?" I said? She listened to his heart, and said yes. So I scooped him up and cuddled him, knowing that he wouldn't mind it any more, and that he was free of pain. I said I wanted to hold him for a little while, and the vet and the tech went out, and I sat there stroking Friday's wonderfully silky fur and talking about him. I asked Wendy if she'd come home with me to tell Val. Of course I knew intellectually that Val wouldn't have any idea of what we were saying, but emotionally it felt like what I wanted to do, and Wendy understood perfectly.

After awhile Friday's body began to cool, and I felt that I was ready, so Wendy pushed the button to call them. After they took him away, I thought about paying the bill and couldn't face it. They always expect payment at time of service, and I didn't think they'd make an exception, so I grabbed my credit card,  stuck it out toward Wendy and said, "Here -- I can't do it. I'll wait outside." As I passed her at the reception desk on the way out, I said, "Just sign my name.  I can't stand being in here another minute." I saw her nod as I pushed open the door.

I saw a fairly secluded corner where I could cry in relative privacy, but I had barely gotten there when Wendy came out. "They said they'd send the bill," she said, handing back my credit card. I was shocked, but very grateful. "Oh, good!" I said. "Let's get out of here." Wendy asked if I wanted her to drive and we could come back for my car later. I was very grateful for the offer. "I don't think I can see to drive," I said.

We came back to my house and I tried to talk to Val, but he was upset by the bad "vet" smell and didn't want to be held. So Wendy and I just sat and talked. Eventually I finally realized I was hungry. I didn't feel like eating, but I hadn't had a thing to eat all day (and found out that Wendy hadn't either -- dear friend that she is, she never said a word about how hungry she was, but just let me do whatever I needed to).

I really wanted to do something to distract myself, but it was over 90º and much too hot to go for a walk, so I tried to think of air-conditioned places we could go, and finally thought of the movies. We looked in the paper to see what was playing and Wendy urged for Death at a Funeral. It's a British comedy, and Wendy said "I know it sounds wrong, but it's really funny, and it will be good for you to laugh." I knew she was right, and the movies I thought I'd rather see were at the wrong times, so against my better judgment I said okay.

We went out for lunch and then went to the movie. It was a typical broad British farce, and I heard lots of laughter around me, but I didn't laugh. I know Wendy meant well, but I just wasn't up for that kind of humor. She was right that the funeral aspect didn't bother me -- there was no sadness in the movie -- I just wasn't in the mood for that style of humor and would have enjoyed something gentler.

During the movie I was sorry I hadn't chosen Arctic Tale. I'd read two reviews of it that said the anthropormorphism and cloying sweetness went much too far, and I was afraid I'd be annoyed by that, but of the two, I think I would have enjoyed it more than Death at a Funeral. But it was good to escape reality for a couple of hours, and who knows, I might have been much more upset by the death of real animals in Arctic Tale. The more I think about it, the more I'm thinking that the escapism of Death at a Funeral probably was the right choice after all. Even though it didn't make me laugh or even smile, it certainly was an escape from the real world.

But tomorrow's weather is supposed to be beautiful -- much cooler and drier, with highs in the low 80s. So Wendy and I are going to spend the day in the woods. On a gorgeous Saturday after weeks of heat, we needed to pick a place that wouldn't be jammed with people enjoying the beautiful weekend, so we're going to drive up to the least-known place we could think of -- Middle Patuxent Environmental Area. Unfortunately when I just thought to check the trail status page I found out that part of the Loop Trail -- my favorite trail -- is in such bad condition that it's pretty much impassible. We'll still go, but we'll have to decide whether to give that a shot, go through Clegg's Meadow, or go down to the Southwind Trail. We can talk it over on the way there.

I never expected that Friday would go first. He was 12 and a good weight, and Val is 15 and very overweight. (Maybe now I can slim him down a little bit since I can regulate his food without worrying about Friday not getting enough to eat.) So far Val hasn't tried to search for Friday, but I'm wondering what's going to happen as the days go by and his kid brother isn't around. I really feel blindsided by this happening -- I thought he just needed some care. I never expected them to tell me that I was going to go home without him.

So, that was my day. It's taken hours to write this, but I feel calmer for having gotten it all out. I'm going to have something to eat and go to bed.

I got this in email. Whoever wrote it has been looking in my windows! If you have a cat, better check it to see if they've been looking in yours.


Let's face it, if you own a house cat, the house isn't really yours anymore. It belongs to the cat. Here are some handy tips you might wish to share with kitty so he can be more effective in running the house.

( Rules for Cats )

I started to add this to the previous post about Oscar, the nursing home cat who can sense when a resident is about to die and cuddles up with them, alerting the staff and comforting the families. But it spoiled it, so I had to make it a separate post. (Go read that one first, or this one won't make much sense.)

Just as I was feeling all warm and fuzzy, I went looking for one more picture -- and found the asinine headlines some media outlets are putting on this story.

Beware the death cat is the headline in the Boston Herald.

Fox 2 News in St. Louis had a very similar head, Oscar the Death Cat.

But the worst -- the absolute worst -- is the story apparently sent out by CBS to their local affiliates. It's inexcusable. I ran across three different CBS stations that all had the same story,  with the same headline: Gray and white cat appears to be a bad omen

The very, very brief story has an AP credit, which is strange, because a much longer, more compassionate story in the responsible media is also from AP. Apparently they sent out two different ones -- one real one, and one sensationalized one. Apparently CBS went for sensational. Even Fox didn't do that.

"You shouldn't be too worried if Oscar the cat crosses your path," the story begins. "But if he curls up beside you, you may want to call your loved ones."

After a half dozen or so explanatory sentences devoid of emotion, it ends: "The furry grim reaper grew up in a third-floor dementia unit. The staff there is so convinced of his ability, they will call family members once he has chosen someone."

Once he has chosen someone?

Once he has CHOSEN someone??

I would write to them, but I wouldn't know how to begin expressing my fury. And they'd only laugh at me and say "Hey, it sells."

GRRRRRRRRRRRR.

If I ever have to go to a nursing home, I hope it's a compassionate one like Steere House in Providence. They moved to a new building in 1991, and within the first week they found a mangled and starving cat under a car in the parking lot. They took him in, and he lived in the nursing home for the rest of his life. Steere House is now home to 120 humans, six cats, a slew of parakeets and a floppy-eared rabbit.

But one of the cats, a gray-and-white tabby named Oscar, is special. The two-year-old cat can predict when a resident is about to die.

Oscar was adopted as a kitten and grew up in the end-stage dementia unit. After about six months, the staff noticed Oscar would make his own rounds, just like the doctors and nurses. He'd sniff and observe patients, then sit beside people who would wind up dying in a few hours.

By now, when Oscar settles down on the bed with someone, the staff calls the family. So far he's been at the bedside of more than 25 residents within two hours of their passing. He stays there quietly until they die, then jumps down and leaves the room.

I don't know why Oscar does this, but I have no doubt that he's able to tell when someone is about to die. Personally, I think it's a matter of scent. ms_interpret has told me that she can clearly smell when someone is sick, and if a human can, certainly a cat can. Service dogs have been trained to alert epileptic owners when they're about to have a seizure, and I believe the dogs can sense a difference in scent caused by whatever cascade of chemicals is beginning to take place. As much as we know about the human body, there's far more that we don't know.

One of the doctors who practices in the unit wrote a beautiful essay about Oscar and submitted it to the New England Journal of Medicine. It was published today, which started the media storm. Get a tissue before you read it.

I love this story because my mother died in a dementia unit in 1991. I wish they had had animals living there -- my mother would have enjoyed that, as long she didn't have to take care of them! I wasn't with her when she died because there was no warning. I'm glad the families of the residents on the third floor at Steere House have Oscar.

The Boston Globe also has a wonderful article about Oscar, with a photo.

( I can has cheezburger? )

I had a big adjustment to my braces this morning. It hurts. Except when I nuzzle faces with Val. Whenever I hold him in my arms or lap, he lifts his head up for me to put my chin or face against it. Then we sit there like that for awhile, gently pressing against each other. With the lower part of my face snuggled into the warm, soft fur of Val's head, there's no pain -- just peace.

Val likes to do experiments with water. He knocks over a plastic cup in the bathtub, and then watches the water run down the drain. He peers into the drain, then checks the cup. Is it still in the cup? Is it under the cup? Where does it go when it goes down that little hole?

I always thought it was really cute, and meant he was pretty bright -- but he doesn't hold a candle to Gizmo. Gizmo likes to watch water swirl down the drain too -- but in the toilet rather than the tub. However, while Val has to wait impatiently while I bend over -- over and over -- to pick up the cup and refill it, and has to stop when I get tired of it, Gizmo has learned to flush the toilet himself so he can keep watching! He obviously knows what he's doing. It's absolutely hilarious ... and extremely intelligent behavior!

Faith is a dog who has no front legs. She was discovered among some dead puppies, and the family who rescued her taught her how to walk on her hind legs. And she doesn't just dance around for a minute or so like a poodle -- she is fully bipedal, ambulating comfortably and adeptly. Her hip and thigh muscles must have developed tremendous strength -- she even leans over to drink water out of a bowl on the floor while standing on her hind legs, which puts her center of gravity far from her legs. She's truly an amazing dog. 

A California "lifestyle pet company" called Allerca has developed cats that don't produce the protein that most commonly causes allergic reactions. At a price, of course.

( Hypoallergenic cats )

I haven't been posting because I've been feeling really upset.

( Cats )

( Cars )

I'm not good at making decisions in general, and it's even harder for me when it's an important decision. I have too many important decisions to make in too short a time, and it's really getting to me.

Thanks so much to those who have been commenting on my entries about my travails ... even though I don't always answer, I always appreciate the support!

Giving Val pills is ... interesting. I didn't know how good I had it with Friday. Friday is skittish but otherwise passive -- for example, although he loves belly-rubs best I can pet him any way I want and he doesn't mind. He'll hang around hoping to get something but is never intrusive -- the most he'll do is meow softly and plaintively. But Val has always been very strong-willed. You can only pet him certain ways, and at any given time it has to be the way he wants to be petted right then. When he wants something, you know it! He'll meow and pester and do whatever he has to to get dinner, or petting, or whatever.

So I didn't appreciate how comparatively easy it was to give Friday his pills. For one thing, Val is much bigger, and the big bath towel I had been wrapping Friday in wasn't big enough to hold him. Actually the beach towel I dug out isn't big enough either, but I'm afraid a blanket would be too big. (If anyone has any ideas of what I might have around the house that would be larger than a beach towel but smaller than a blanket, please mention it!)

Friday allowed me to push him down into a lying position and basically lay there while I rolled him up -- Val sticks his legs straight out and makes it impossible! I'm afraid to force him too much because he obviously has arthritis, and I'm afraid to hurt him. He's been making "hey, that hurts!" noises when I try to push him down. He goes every which way to escape -- I really need four hands for this job! But he does love those treats, and I've been giving him a couple to soften him up ahead of time, and then giving him more as soon as the pill goes down. If he realizes he'll get treats afterward, maybe he won't fight as hard.

Fortunately I only have to medicate him for a week, while Friday's medication is (or was) ongoing. Friday stopped vomiting so I think it was the anti-thyroid pills, but I guess we're going to have to try again -- but after Val is off the medication. Pilling two cats a day (the hard one twice) is too much to even contemplate.

But Friday isn't eating the canned food, and I'm worried about that. He seems to prefer the dry food he's been eating all his life, and I think he's becoming dehydrated again. He's not drinking as much, and if he won't eat the canned food I don't know what I'm going to do ... I can't keep going to the vet for IVs! Is there any other way to get fluid into them if they won't drink or eat moist food? Has anyone ever heard of giving cats IVs at home?

I went to bed at midnight last night (early for me) and woke up at 7:00 this morning. (NB: "this morning" is Tuesday, despite what the time stamp says.) I had the alarm set for 10:00 since I had a dental appointment, but didn't think I'd need it -- however I fell back asleep and woke up with a start from a vivid dream when the alarm went off. I slept for 10 hours! I really needed it, and I'm glad I caught up. I hoped it would help alter my schedule so I could go to bed earlier, but it's 1:30 am already.... =sigh=

The dental appointment was mildly harrowing. It was just a cleaning and it was fine until the end, when both my general dentist and the periodontist were scheduled to come in together and confer. They have a huge amount of work planned, and the perio especially is really champing at the bit -- he wants to call the ortho and tell him the braces have been on long enough (since November 2003) and they need to come off so he can start working!

I realize that the sooner my teeth are treated the better, but I paid $4000 for these damn things and I want the job done right! I asked the perio not to rush the ortho, but this ortho is a know-it-all and I don't think he'd take well to being rushed anyway, so I don't think I have to worry about that.

But my dentophobia reared up from talking to the two dentists about what they want to do to me. And it's going to cost thousands of dollars. We haven't even talked about that, but I need a whole bunch of new crowns, and I don't remember what else because I was too traumatized.

We also talked about tooth whitening, which woofiegrrl has been urging me strongly to get. (She wants me to have it done so much that she offered to pay half the cost if I would. It was off in the future when we talked about it, but pretty soon I'm going to have to ask her if she really meant it!) If I do it I would have to do the instant Zoom* procedure, because I'll have a night guard and a retainer and I can't do the overnight trays at home.

I spent ten minutes in the back office talking to the secretary who checked me out about my dentophobia and how great everyone there is, and that was helpful. I mentioned the possibility of tooth whitening, and she saw an assistant named Nora who had had it done and called her over. She told me all about it and she also assists with it herself, so she even took me back and showed me the light. It sounds very scary, but then so does everything else we talked about today. I'll just have to ask for a new Valium script.


* Links for me to check out later: 

Zoom website
Animated-teeth.com
Dentist.net
Google for more

To start with, everybody's okay -- more or less.

I finally got to sleep a few minutes before 3:00 am, and I had my alarm set for 7:00 so I could call the emergency vet about Val as per instructions. But I was so worried I woke up around five-something, and then again around a quarter to seven. So I put my glasses on and called.

The morning receptionist wasn't nearly as nice as the night receptionist had been. Dr. W is in surgery, she said, call back in a half hour. I called back in a half hour. Still in surgery. Call back in a half hour. I did. Now she was in rounds with the day vet, who would call me back. "I won't get to speak to Dr. W?" I asked.

"Dr. W will tell the day veterinarian everything she needs to know."

But around 8:00 I got a call from Dr. W, who had told me last night she leaves at 7:30. I guess between the surgery and rounds she ended up staying late, and it was nice of her to take an extra minute to call me. She said that Val had finally urinated copiously, which was good, and they were able to test it and he does have a urinary tract infection. "That's good," she told me, quickly adding, "I don't mean that having a urinary tract infection is good!"

I chuckled obediently. "I know what you mean," I said, "It's better than the alternative."

( The rest of the story )