So much for blogging every day of November. I can't believe the last time I posted was the day before I brought Smartie home.
Today is the end of Day 8--only 6 more days until I can snuggle him to my heart's content. Or until he says, "Enough, Ma!", which is usually about 10 seconds after I start. But so far, he actually seems to welcome what little scritching and snuggling I do. He's still a bit radioactive, so I'm not supposed to spend more than 10 minutes a day in close contact. I suppose I've been stretching the definition of "close contact" a bit, but, well, my hair's not falling out in clumps yet, so I guess I'm okay.
In a couple of weeks, I have to take him back to get his thyroid levels checked. She chose not to take a reading the day I picked him up. She said it was because she didn't want to put him through that trauma, when the test wasn't likely to show much change and he'd still have to come back for a final test, anyway. But I think the real reason was that she was still scared of him.
I'm fairly well convinced that, had she fed him more, he wouldn't have been so scary. He was pretty skinny when I got him back and, what's more, he wasn't just hungry, he was famished. There wasn't the short of whiny, "Why aren't you giving me food?" kind of thing, it was more "FEED ME NOW, NOW, NOW!!!" And purring while he was crying and purring while he was eating. That kind of hunger.
I could say more, but I'm trying to get over it. It's been more than a week and I honestly can't tell how he's doing. But he's not on meds and he doesn't seem to be suffering, so there's that.
As for the rest of my life--I'm happy to have an Internet connection again. Me and 550 of my neighbors were without cable for nearly two days, with a brief respite this morning. I'm hopeful that it'll still be here from now on, but we'll see. I can't even imagine what causes these things. Whole rafts of neighborhoods get zapped, or sometimes it's just one building. It's weird.
Anyway, one day at a time. Meanwhile, excuse me, Himself seems to want to be fed again. Whine, whine, whine...
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Coming Home
Smartie comes home tomorrow!!!!!! I'm so excited. I have to get up extra early tomorrow in order to get there on time (so we can avoid the Thanksgiving Eve rush hour that probably starts at noon) but I don't know how I'll manage to get to sleep early. So I'll just be sleep-deprived, what else is new?
In other news, Robert Altman died last night. I was very sad when I heard; in fact, I cried. I had no idea I cared so much, but he was such a wonderful director and he probably still had at least one more good one in him...even though he was 81, it was too soon. Sort of reminds me of something I read a couple of days ago, about a 97-year-old man whose friends and family all said that he'd died too soon--can you imagine? How wonderful he must have been, how "alive", if you know what I mean. I can only hope to have friends say that about me if I live that long (not that I want to).
Anyway, Altman's films were so much a part of the landscape for the last 30-some-odd years, some better than others, of course. M*A*S*H, of course, being the most important, at least to me. So many others I've never seen. But a dear friend, who passed away a few years ago, loved, loved, loved McCabe & Mrs. Miller. The Player is another favorite of mine. So much work, so many wonderful films, even the bad ones at least had some good moments, I think.
After reading Stacy Horn's "Waiting for My Cats to Die" recently, I thought that in some ways, she and I are a bit alike, but then other ways, we're definitely not. Like, I'm nowhere near as obsessed about death as she is. I'm not obsessed about death at all, really, despite what I wrote above. I sort of figure it comes to us all, there's absolutely nothing we can do about it and the important thing is to live life as best we can. I'm sure there's plenty of philosophers who have written reams about just this, but I've never read or heard about them, so I can only speak for myself--our only, only, only "job" in this life is to live it. And that is the point of it. That is the meaning, too. I don't understand the idea of trying to find a meaning for one's life, because to me, my life is its meaning and it is in the living of it that I create whatever it means. And the "answer" will be revealed to me in the last second of life (assuming I'm aware/awake/not senile), when I look back and see the totality of my life...and then that's it.
Oddly, I think that's kind of cool.
In other news, Robert Altman died last night. I was very sad when I heard; in fact, I cried. I had no idea I cared so much, but he was such a wonderful director and he probably still had at least one more good one in him...even though he was 81, it was too soon. Sort of reminds me of something I read a couple of days ago, about a 97-year-old man whose friends and family all said that he'd died too soon--can you imagine? How wonderful he must have been, how "alive", if you know what I mean. I can only hope to have friends say that about me if I live that long (not that I want to).
Anyway, Altman's films were so much a part of the landscape for the last 30-some-odd years, some better than others, of course. M*A*S*H, of course, being the most important, at least to me. So many others I've never seen. But a dear friend, who passed away a few years ago, loved, loved, loved McCabe & Mrs. Miller. The Player is another favorite of mine. So much work, so many wonderful films, even the bad ones at least had some good moments, I think.
After reading Stacy Horn's "Waiting for My Cats to Die" recently, I thought that in some ways, she and I are a bit alike, but then other ways, we're definitely not. Like, I'm nowhere near as obsessed about death as she is. I'm not obsessed about death at all, really, despite what I wrote above. I sort of figure it comes to us all, there's absolutely nothing we can do about it and the important thing is to live life as best we can. I'm sure there's plenty of philosophers who have written reams about just this, but I've never read or heard about them, so I can only speak for myself--our only, only, only "job" in this life is to live it. And that is the point of it. That is the meaning, too. I don't understand the idea of trying to find a meaning for one's life, because to me, my life is its meaning and it is in the living of it that I create whatever it means. And the "answer" will be revealed to me in the last second of life (assuming I'm aware/awake/not senile), when I look back and see the totality of my life...and then that's it.
Oddly, I think that's kind of cool.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Sad
It just hit me again how very, very much I miss my cat. All I feel like doing, besides crying, is yelling out: "I Want My Cat! I Want Him NOW!"
This is still rather unexpected. Granted, he's my only cat and he has his moments but, truth be told, he's not my favorite cat, like, evah. Uggams still holds that place in my heart, really. He was such an incredibly sweet, warm, wonderful kitty. Smartie is not particularly any of those things, other than being a kitty.
Still, he's my baby of the moment. And I do love him, more than I realized and I certainly miss him more than I thought possible. It's not even so much that I'm worried about him, now that the AMC technician keeps calling me with daily updates and it sounds like he's doing reasonably well. But, still, he can't be happy cooped up in a small space--the "condo" is larger than a regular cage, but not much--especially being such a big cat.
Okay, so I'm obsessing a bit. But right now, this minute, it hurts, I miss him so much.
I WANT MY CAT BACK!
This is still rather unexpected. Granted, he's my only cat and he has his moments but, truth be told, he's not my favorite cat, like, evah. Uggams still holds that place in my heart, really. He was such an incredibly sweet, warm, wonderful kitty. Smartie is not particularly any of those things, other than being a kitty.
Still, he's my baby of the moment. And I do love him, more than I realized and I certainly miss him more than I thought possible. It's not even so much that I'm worried about him, now that the AMC technician keeps calling me with daily updates and it sounds like he's doing reasonably well. But, still, he can't be happy cooped up in a small space--the "condo" is larger than a regular cage, but not much--especially being such a big cat.
Okay, so I'm obsessing a bit. But right now, this minute, it hurts, I miss him so much.
I WANT MY CAT BACK!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Cat and Mouse
So I've been pretty sure for a while now that I've been having a mouse visitor. Oddly, I became aware of this because my cat was pretty sure we were having a mouse visitor, only he couldn't get at it. What's odd about it is that mice aren't supposed to come into houses with cats, they're supposed to smell them. This one must have a sinus condition.
Anyway, I've made arrangements for someone to come over and move the refrigerator so I can plug up the hole behind it which is where Smartie and I are both pretty sure is where the mouse gets in here. With a plus being that I'll get the chance to dust the refrigerator coils for the first time since 1979, which may help a little with my electric bill, at least until the dust builds back up again. This is supposedly happening Friday evening.
Meanwhile, though, Smartie has been getting radioiodine shots for the last 8 days over at the Animal Medical Center and so, yes, the cat's away and the mouse will, indeed, play. I heard some noises in the kitchen last night that I kept trying to put down to, oh, the oven is cooling off after I'd used it earlier, or some papers I put in the recycling bin were resettling, but I'm pretty sure it was the mouse I was hearing. This was confirmed for me when I found the little mouse turd on the kitchen windowsill this morning.
So it is with some glee that I found myself thinking a little while ago, "You know, Mouse, you can have your fun now, but you better not get stuck on this side of the wall when we spackle some steel wool into that hole. Because very soon now, my cat will be home...AND HE'LL BE RADIOACTIVE!"
Bwahahahaha!
Anyway, I've made arrangements for someone to come over and move the refrigerator so I can plug up the hole behind it which is where Smartie and I are both pretty sure is where the mouse gets in here. With a plus being that I'll get the chance to dust the refrigerator coils for the first time since 1979, which may help a little with my electric bill, at least until the dust builds back up again. This is supposedly happening Friday evening.
Meanwhile, though, Smartie has been getting radioiodine shots for the last 8 days over at the Animal Medical Center and so, yes, the cat's away and the mouse will, indeed, play. I heard some noises in the kitchen last night that I kept trying to put down to, oh, the oven is cooling off after I'd used it earlier, or some papers I put in the recycling bin were resettling, but I'm pretty sure it was the mouse I was hearing. This was confirmed for me when I found the little mouse turd on the kitchen windowsill this morning.
So it is with some glee that I found myself thinking a little while ago, "You know, Mouse, you can have your fun now, but you better not get stuck on this side of the wall when we spackle some steel wool into that hole. Because very soon now, my cat will be home...AND HE'LL BE RADIOACTIVE!"
Bwahahahaha!
Monday, November 13, 2006
Next!
I'm thinking, the real reason why Puerto Rico isn't a state yet is that nobody can figure out where to put the extra star on the flag.
Okay, maybe that's not the real reason. Maybe it's just one of the reasons.
Look, so I suck at keeping up with a blog. It's not like anybody's reading it, anyway, so why should I care? It's my other writing that I'm also not doing, that's the real problem. At least my fantasy life is still good. I was just thinking what would happen if Iwere to be on a private jet with Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro. In my fantasy, I'd talk a mile a minute and be charming and smart and they'd think I was funny. In reality, it would never even happen, of course, but even if it did, I'd probably hide in a corner and try to stay out of their way. Anyway, with an imagination like mine, you'd think it's inform my writing. And I suppose it does. When I actually do any writing.
Today I heard that Smartie will be at the Animal Medical Center another 8 days at least, because he needs more radioiodine, which will be administered tomorrow. I miss him so much. I even miss not having to step over all his food bowls in the kitchen. I miss not having to leap over him when I'm racing to get to the telephone. I miss him when I'm changing the sheets and he's not "helping". Presumably, when he's all cured, he'll be a little different, that some of his behaviors over the last few years will go away and he'll get fat again and be nice and plush and not as much of a nudge. I suppose that'll be all right, esp. the last part.
Meanwhile, I'm enjoying salami and cheese sandwiches and pepperoni on my pizza. When he comes back, I'll be eating healthier, I'm sure.
Okay, maybe that's not the real reason. Maybe it's just one of the reasons.
Look, so I suck at keeping up with a blog. It's not like anybody's reading it, anyway, so why should I care? It's my other writing that I'm also not doing, that's the real problem. At least my fantasy life is still good. I was just thinking what would happen if Iwere to be on a private jet with Martin Scorsese and Robert DeNiro. In my fantasy, I'd talk a mile a minute and be charming and smart and they'd think I was funny. In reality, it would never even happen, of course, but even if it did, I'd probably hide in a corner and try to stay out of their way. Anyway, with an imagination like mine, you'd think it's inform my writing. And I suppose it does. When I actually do any writing.
Today I heard that Smartie will be at the Animal Medical Center another 8 days at least, because he needs more radioiodine, which will be administered tomorrow. I miss him so much. I even miss not having to step over all his food bowls in the kitchen. I miss not having to leap over him when I'm racing to get to the telephone. I miss him when I'm changing the sheets and he's not "helping". Presumably, when he's all cured, he'll be a little different, that some of his behaviors over the last few years will go away and he'll get fat again and be nice and plush and not as much of a nudge. I suppose that'll be all right, esp. the last part.
Meanwhile, I'm enjoying salami and cheese sandwiches and pepperoni on my pizza. When he comes back, I'll be eating healthier, I'm sure.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
I'm baaaack
Where have I heard that title before? Hmmm.
But, so I didn't post while I was away in Florida with Mom (and stepfather, who shall remain nameless). But I'm back home and here I am. Tired, but no longer exhausted, though who knows what tomorrow will bring? But that's: tomorrow. Tonight, I'm okay. At least I know the next time I go to see my mother, I can take a freakin' non-stop flight on Jet Blue. No more of these cheap-ass Delta one-stops where I spend the majority of a day in airports and on planes.
Anyway, I took Stacy Horn's book, "Waiting for My Cats To Die" with me to read on the plane, etc. And I did okay up until the point where Veets dies and then I realized I couldn't read it in public anymore. I don't know why I thought I could.
It's particularly tough because I got word when I was at Mom's that my cat will be going in for the radioacive iodine treatment this week, except instead of Thursday, it's moved up to Tuesday and instead of being there for a week or so, he may well be there for two weeks and need up to three (3!) shots instead of just one or two. He's that far gone. I'm grateful that they didn't say that he's not eligible at all, that he'd need surgery to reduce the tumor first, because that would have been the end of it, I wouldn't put my cat through that much.
In fact, I'm sort of wondering if I'm doing the right thing at all now. Have I done enough research? Is he really healthy enough to withstand this treatment? How will he be when he's away from me for so long? Will he become so depressed that he won't eat? Will he die while they're treating him, when he's away from me? Honest, I'm not entirely projecting here, he behaves like an angel when I'm in the room, but just ask the vets and techs who have seen him without me when he's had to stay for a treatment or overnight for some reason. He's Dr. Jekyll with me, Mr. Hyde with them, I'll tell ya.
I'm going to be a wreck until he's home with me again. Hopefully a healthy, happy Smartie.
But, so I didn't post while I was away in Florida with Mom (and stepfather, who shall remain nameless). But I'm back home and here I am. Tired, but no longer exhausted, though who knows what tomorrow will bring? But that's: tomorrow. Tonight, I'm okay. At least I know the next time I go to see my mother, I can take a freakin' non-stop flight on Jet Blue. No more of these cheap-ass Delta one-stops where I spend the majority of a day in airports and on planes.
Anyway, I took Stacy Horn's book, "Waiting for My Cats To Die" with me to read on the plane, etc. And I did okay up until the point where Veets dies and then I realized I couldn't read it in public anymore. I don't know why I thought I could.
It's particularly tough because I got word when I was at Mom's that my cat will be going in for the radioacive iodine treatment this week, except instead of Thursday, it's moved up to Tuesday and instead of being there for a week or so, he may well be there for two weeks and need up to three (3!) shots instead of just one or two. He's that far gone. I'm grateful that they didn't say that he's not eligible at all, that he'd need surgery to reduce the tumor first, because that would have been the end of it, I wouldn't put my cat through that much.
In fact, I'm sort of wondering if I'm doing the right thing at all now. Have I done enough research? Is he really healthy enough to withstand this treatment? How will he be when he's away from me for so long? Will he become so depressed that he won't eat? Will he die while they're treating him, when he's away from me? Honest, I'm not entirely projecting here, he behaves like an angel when I'm in the room, but just ask the vets and techs who have seen him without me when he's had to stay for a treatment or overnight for some reason. He's Dr. Jekyll with me, Mr. Hyde with them, I'll tell ya.
I'm going to be a wreck until he's home with me again. Hopefully a healthy, happy Smartie.
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