is anybody out there?

She was a fighter till the end. Fuzzum always was a scrappy little princess of a cat.

She was brought into my home as a dumpster refugee. She was a beautiful mostly-black calico with rather long, lush fur - a beautiful girl, with a beautiful disposition. She took to strangers as another curiosity, and accepted lovin's from just about anyone. She chirped more than meowed. She was my oddball who loved the smell of toothpaste (when she was younger, she sometimes tried to crawl INTO my mouth to get it), would bite my fingers if they had catnip on them, and also went nuts over the smell of bleach. (There were a couple of other very weird things about her that are TMI for this journal!)

One of my fondest memories about her was back in about 1996 or 97. I was living alone in a small townhouse, a rather oldish building, and the bathroom had ceramic tile on the floors and walls and a porcelain tub. One morning, taking a shower, I was singing, and you can imagine the sound in that room with all that tile. I think I was singing Chain Reaction, and next thing I know I hear Fuzzum whining with concern on the other side of the curtain. She actually looked around the end of the curtain to make sure I was ok, and kept whining as long as I kept singing - and I took the hint that she didn't like my voice. I guess my singing voice wasn't what she wanted to hear that day....I'm so going to miss her. It's already weird to get out of the shower and not have her pacing her long-haired body around my wet legs - she thought I needed fur.

The sub-Q fluids had been going rather well over the past week or so - Fuzzum not only tolerated them, but could be found in the bathroom waiting for me in the evenings, so she knew they helped. Wednesday I didn't get to the vet in time, and ran out, so I picked up the new bag Thursday and came home to administer them at lunch time. At dinner that night she came back to the dish for 2nds and 3rds, but each was still only a small amount. I drew the line at force-feedings, but I had tried the suggested 1/2 Pepcid to help her nausea. Fuzz didn't appreciate it, though, and after several days of trying to do this alone and getting scratched (and aggravated), I decided that wasn't the way for a dignified kitty to spend the end of her days. Either way, her condition was terminal, it was just a matter of how much time there was left, which was dependent upon whether she would eat, which she did less and less of. (I did try a homeopathic supplement, but she detested it, and since it was made from fish oil, it made her smell like a fish market that hadn't been cleaned in some time because of course she got it on her fur. Even the blankets where she layed still smell like fish, and they've been washed twice.) By Friday night into Saturday, she ate less gravy and walked away from kitten food. Sunday she was so weak, she couldn't even get up to use the litter box. She did change rooms a few times, but she swayed and wobbled, and I felt I had let it go on too long.

On Saturday and Sunday night, we had some cuddle time. Sunday afternoon she finally slept some, resting her forehead on my hand, at least until I had to move. Sunday night, she stretched out lengthwise on my chest, put one paw on each side of my neck, and touched my face gently - I think she was saying "I love you mom - I know you tried." Then she got up and tried to eat again, but couldn't bring herself to take a bite - and I knew it was time.

Back in April, this was the cat that even the vet thought looked fine. She wanted blood work on Bud, not Fuzzum. This isn't supposed to be happening!

Poor Bud - he's a loner now. I'm debating getting him a kitten to keep him company, but though he's still pretty spunky, I'm afraid a kitten would either drive him nuts or make him feel he's being replaced. On the other hand, I'm afraid he'll become depressed spending all of his days alone here in the house. I don't quite know what to do with that situation yet.

::sigh:: Last year's Christmas videos showed 4 cats. Now I have one. I think Bud's happy having me all to himself, until I have to leave for work.

Fuzzum, I hope you have bleached sheets to roll in and fields of catnip to chew on. I hope I will see you and your adopted sisters again someday. I miss *all* of my girls terribly.

This, I can truthfully say, has been one of my worst years.

It seems there's only one sure-fire way to get me to actually post to my LJ. Any guesses? C'mon, I'm sure you've figured it out by now.

Yes, I fear I'm about to lose another of my feline family. You see, 15 seems to be the number of doom. Fuzzum just turned 15 approximately 2 months ago. She was found by someone my ex used to work with in a dumpster in the parking lot. One employee tried to take her home, but it didn't work out. Since we already had four kittens, what's one more? We thought it would be bloody chaos, but thankfully there was very little blood. A bit of flying fur and hissing, and they fit her into the hierarchy. She became everyone's mommy - she used to be obsessed with washing them all until they slapped her.

Fuzzum is now in renal failure. Being that it took so darned long for me to admit that something was seriously wrong, and because the first trip to the vet did not reveal this potential diagnosis, she very well may be beyond help. She tries to eat, but one of the side effects of renal failure is nausea from the build up of phosphorus in the system. She tries to eat but really can't stomach anything more than gravy. I've tried baby food, which worked for a short while, but she now doesn't really want it. I'm going to try kitten food tomorrow.

Yesterday I started administering IV fluids at home. I never thought I could do it, but she tolerates this way better than having a pill shoved in her mouth or being fed Nutrical (fancy word for "sticky goo") with a syringe. She's still very quick with the claws.

Financially we can't afford to do much more, as Tim's job situation is tenuous. (You've read what Chrysler recently announced - probable layoffs of 14,000 people? Tim's company is owned by the same company that owns Chrysler. Said company has been threatening "changes" for a couple of months now.) I have to face the fact that she is 15, which is a respectable age for a kitty, and that kidney failure is incurable. By the time a cat exhibits the symptoms, they have very little kidney function left. And I did not know what the symptoms were. I didn't know she was sick until she stopped eating bits of lunchmeat at night. But the old girl hasn't given up the fight yet. If she had, she wouldn't even attempt to eat. But she tries, she just can't stomach very much. I was told to try to give her a half of a Pepcid to calm the nausea, but getting a pill into her is traumatic for both of us.

I have ordered a supplemental oil which I've heard works for some cats - it's not too expensive, so I'm willing to give it a try. It can't hurt. But if she doesn't start eating something more substantial soon, I'll have to intervene to prevent her from starving to death. (And to keep Bud, my last kitty, from gorging himself every day - he's obsessed with eating ALL the food.)

As long as there's fight in her, then there's hope - I sure hope the oil gets here soon.

You're on my friends list. I'd like to know 27 things about you. Just copy and hit reply and paste in the comments section with answers.Thanks! You'll be surprised how much you didn't know about your friends after this! Then copy the meme and see if anyone answers you.

1. Do you have a tattoo?

2. How old are you?

3. Are you single or taken?

4. Fish?

5. Do you dream in colour?

6. Ever seen a corpse?

7. Hipsters or Hillbillies?

8. How did we "meet"?

9. What's your philosophy on life and death?

10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?

11. Do you trust the police?

12. Do you like musicals?

13. What is your fondest memory of me?

14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?

15. Would you cheat?

16. What are you wearing?

17. Have you ever peed in a pool?

18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?

19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?

20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?

21. What's your favorite day of the week?

22. What's your favorite color?

23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?

24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?

25. What was your first impression of me?

26. Have you ever done drugs?

27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

AAARGH! I need to vent. Seriously.

Welcome to a little story I like to call, “How Many Times Can Your Optometrist Screw Up the Same Prescription?!”

Our story begins on May 12th, 2007. I entered Lenscrafters for an eye exam. One of my major complaints is that my eyes don’t seem to be able to adjust well anymore when moving from small, close up work and, say, looking at a clock or the TV at a mid-distance - almost as an afterthought he says, let’s try a progressive (bifocal). (Now originally he said I didn’t need them yet, until I told him about my adjustment problems.) Still, I walked out feeling a little unsure of whether the left eye had ever found it’s focus during the main part of the exam. However, since I had also had my eyes dilated, it was a little late to say anything. The following Wednesday, May 16th, I was in a rush, but stopped in to Sears Optical to check out frames. (I already knew the Lenscrafters prices would be high, so I thought I would try someone new. But I trusted the doctor at Lenscrafters, so I stuck with him.) Never quite finding exactly what I wanted, I picked out a pair anyway and went ahead and ordered the lenses.

A week went by and I picked up my new glasses and - WHOA! I feel instantly cross-eyed. Can’t see worth a crap, serious eye strain going on. I assumed that the new progressive/bifocal was part of the problem and we agreed I should give it some time. By the end of that weekend I knew two things: I still couldn’t see worth a crap (well, I could if I closed my left eye), and I absolutely did not like the frames I had chosen, they were more brown than rosy colored. Also, the bifocal really hadn’t helped so much as it hindered, as every time I looked down at the keyboard my vision was distorted by the bifocal, which I now think might have been too powerful. Monday, May 21st, I took them back to Sears, and inquired about removing the bifocal, which luckily they did without me checking with the doctor. The glasses are returned a week later - and guess what? I still can’t see out of the left eye.

June 15th, a full month after my first glasses were ordered, and off we go back to Lenscrafters, and another (free this time, thank God) eye exam. I tell him, the right eye’s fine, but the left eye won’t focus. What’s he do? Change BOTH eye prescriptions. Back to Sears, to have the lenses re-done. Another week goes by, I get them back - now I can see out of the left, but the damn RIGHT eye won’t focus (couldn’t he just leave it alone?)! Yeesh! I tell the optician immediately, but he says, “No, I can’t put the old right lens back in without the drs. ok.” But, he did agree to hold them for me in case the doctor let me put it back.

OK. Once more, I call Lenscrafters; once again I have to set another appointment. June 24th - after the exam, the doctor says, “I made a mistake, I don’t know why I wrote the axis as 095, it should have been 085 (like it was on the original Rx!!).” (The guy has spent so much time in small talk about his real estate woes, it’s a wonder he gets anything right!) No problem, I say. He says it’s ok to put the old right lens back, BUT he’s written a new Rx. for a slightly weaker right lens, and if there’s any difficulty (since basically the right eye corrected is clearer than the left) to use this Rx. Ok. I trudge again down to Sears (where I’m sure they’re tired of seeing me and replacing my lenses for free - Thank God for the 90 day warranty!). The manager who helped me before is off, and they can’t find the freaking lenses. ::facepalm:: I’m starting to get a bit pissed, but I tell myself it’s not their fault, don’t unleash the fury on them.

I come back to Sears on June 25th, and Gary promptly goes right to the saved lenses and puts them all together for me. Eureka! Still not perfect, but better. I get a warning, they don’t have a written prescription for what’s actually in my frames, and I DON’T CARE! LOL

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve come to realize that yes, the weaker right lens might be a good idea, because although both eyes focus, they don’t work well together, there’s a “dissonance” of sorts. Plus, I’m realizing I still have the close-up - to - distance transition problem. Here’s where the story gets even better. Today I call Lenscrafters, ask if the dr. can put a slightly weaker progressive on my most recent prescription. The girl on the phone apparently didn’t pass this on correctly to the doctor, so once again I have to go back. UGH. (I get there, and find that apparently they had miscommunicated that I already have a progressive, which I don’t.) ANYWAY - he re-writes the prescription as requested, but it’s not until I get to Sears that I realize that - HE ADDED THE PROGRESSIVE TO THE WRONG RX - the one he had gotten the axis wrong on. I’m grateful that I am paying attention to this, and of course the optician won’t make the correction. ::headdesk:: Now I’m really starting to lose my cool, no, I am not walking back to Lenscrafters again, I have to go back to work, I don’t have time for this - I call Lenscrafters back and explain the problem. They too want me to come back, the doctor is about to go to lunch - NO, put him on the phone, lets get this straight. After talking with him I find that the last corrected Rx. wasn’t even in my file (Oh, that’s the one that’s missing!) - Had I not offered to get it out of my purse when I was there, and have him tell me he had it, this wouldn’t aggravate me quite as much as it does. (Never mind the fact that the incompetent help had lost my last Rx!) So, he agrees to re-write it “right now” and fax it to Sears. I get them to copy it for me, because had I not been keeping copies, I would be really screwed right now. Again, I’m grateful - that I waited and watched the optician transfer the numbers to the order, because instead of writing “085" he writes “081!” NO, I say, it’s supposed to be 085, and I show him the older, correct Rx. He holds up the very unclear fax, and the number can indeed be mistaken for a “1.” Can my day get any better? This time Gary calls Lenscrafters himself, and gets the right numbers. We’ll see what we get this time around.

Took my two survivor-kitties to the vet for a checkup yesterday. Although their teeth are not in great shape (they’re 15, I didn’t expect them to be very good, seeing as how they won’t touch dry food anymore), they seem to be hanging in there. There were no major immediate concerns. Fuzzum (being the one who was not related to the other 4) is great except for the fur problem in the back. I’m going to have to break down and shave her rear third. Won’t that be cute! Long-haired kitty with a bald rear end. LOL

Bud I knew was having problems with his rear legs, I assumed (and the vet did too at first) that it was arthritis. Glucosamine does tend to help a bit, so I’m probably not entirely wrong. But there’s also a possibility of diabetes, so I’m going to have to bring him back for some blood work in a couple of weeks. Also needs antibiotics for the gum disease. No, I never brushed their teeth. If you can’t get a pill in a cat’s mouth, what makes anyone think I’m going to be able to get a fingertip brush in there and still come out with my finger?

Man, I have not heard such whining as I heard from Bud on the way home. I’ve also never seen him so distraught! He’s never been to a vet, though I had a vet that came to him before. He turned his head away with this expression that just said, “I know, you’re getting rid of me, go on, I know it. You don’t love me anymore!” And the long, low, “mrooooooowwwwwwww” (must have been 3-4 seconds long) was just so pathetic! It sounded like, “I’m going to get you for this later!!” Yet they were silent at the vet’s office. Fuzzum called me names and cussed me in the car, but was just golden for the vet.

I just couldn’t take any more surprises. I’m happy that I’ll be able to hang on to them a little while longer.

Thanks, Barb and Chris, for your support. It means a lot - other people can say, “I’m sorry about your cat,” but they don’t know how a cat can steal your heart (then sink it's claws in and claim ownership).

I tell ya - I'm sad about losing Nefi, of course - but there’s more to it this time. This is getting to be something bigger, it's beyond the individual loss. Coming home to just two kitties is lonely. I don’t know why the one makes a difference, but it does. Well, it was beginning to be that way after Gabby, now it’s just worse. I used to have to feed an army, the sharks swam in circles at my feet, now. . . And I feel old. I got them when I was 26, and now I'm 41 and they're old, and so am I. I'm losing them all. Like I said yesterday, it's part of my identity - I told Tim I've been the "crazy cat lady" for so long I don't know how to act. And it feels like that part of me is dying with them. Partly because I'm not getting any more cats when they're gone, not now. Tim has wanted a dog for a long time, and he deserves to have something he wants for a change. He sacrifices so much for us. And I think a dog might be good for Bekah. But even though dogs are loveable, I'm a *cat person.* But a new kitten could never take their place. I know dogs and cats can mix, but knowing my luck, they won’t in my house. Unless maybe it’s a puppy and a kitten at the same time. But my intention is to adopt from a shelter, not buy any more animals.

Ugh. I've gotta stop going on about this. I've no choice but to, as Barb says, "cowgirl up." I'm such a mess when I'm away from Tim and Bekah.

My brother has a friend in PA who is an incredible artist who does a sort of concept/fantasy art. We were planning on having Bekah's portrait done as a little fairy. After we have that done - and once the inevitable happens and the other two are gone - (it's breaking me apart just to think about this, geez, I'm mourning Bud and Fuzz already, because the clock is ticking on them) - I think I’m going to have her paint a portrait of me surrounded by the spirits of my first five children. Bud in my arms, Oakley and Gabby on high perches, and Nefi and Fuzzum at my sides. I'll always have them with me, that way, a reminder of our bond. I won’t feel like I’ve totally lost this connection we have/had. HOPEFULLY, I will have a few more years before this happens.

In the time frame of two months, I've gone from saying "I have four cats" (and waiting for the looks that follow - 'are you crazy, woman?') to "I have two cats."

My Nefertari died today at about 4:00 p.m. She had no masses that we could see or feel, like Gabby, he couldn't compress her chest cavity, indicating that there was most likely a mass there. I knew all along, but over the weekend I began to think of other more "fixable" things that "could" be wrong. Wishful thinking, but enough to get me to the vet and take that step that is so hard for me.

Nefi wasn't as lovey as most - she liked attention, but only at certain times of the day. Most of the time, she equated food with love, and late at night she would just beg until I put a snack in the bowl. She missed mornings with me - before I had Bekah, I would get up every morning and sit on the couch with a bowl of cereal and watch the news, and she would come and cuddle behind my knees or prop herself up on my lap. That all changed - I swore that my kitties wouldn't take a back seat when I had a child, but darned if those first years didn't change everything about my routine (breakfast is now something I usually end up eating at my desk, the only home necessity is coffee). When my time with them became a bit restricted, they all adapted differently. Fuzz tries to monopolize my bathroom time in the morning. Bud waits until Bekah goes to bed, and stays in her room while I read her a story and then follows me out for attention. Nefi just begged for food and then found a place to sleep.

I'm sort of a zombie - I knew this was probably what would happen today, but I don't think I was really prepared to have another shoe drop. I'm still trying to deal with Gabby being gone - I went out to the fence in the backyard about a week ago and just talked to her (am I nuts or what?), and told her I didn't realize how much I was going to miss her. Do you know what my favorite Gabby memory is? It just came to me a few weeks ago. Back in the fall, Tim painted the upper half of our dining room sort of a golden/tan/camel color. Apparently he didn't feel like finishing the clean up, and he left the disposable paint tray on the kitchen counter with some other stuff. Gabby, being the curious one that she was (and the only one still able to jump to the counter tops) got one paw in the paint - shook it (evidenced by splatters on candles, canisters, etc.) and then left little tan paw prints all over my green countertops. I bet she still had latex paint between her toes when she died. It was hilarious only because it was latex paint and washed off very easily. I was still finding paw prints at Christmas, though! Now I wish I'd left one or two in an out of the way place.

My remaining two have an appointment for a thorough going-over on Monday. Hopefully they'll only find Bud's arthritis. Now I have to get the rest of Fuzz's tangles out of her fur before then...

I'm drained right now - as always, knowing you're doing the right thing doesn't make it an easy thing. I feel like something that has been a part of my life almost since I moved away from home is now being slowly sucked from me - they were a part of my identity. Now that I think about it, that was especially true for Nefi. She was always a "problem child" of sorts - first it was the flea allergies that made her scratch herself to bleeding. Then it was the tormenting Gabby thing for a few years. In the midst of all that, people were always saying she looked like a possum (she was a grey tortoise shell), then the unexplained weight gain. And the fact that for some reason, there for a while she couldn't get her poop in the litter box. (I think she was trying to tell me something, there - but I switched her food and all was well.) And she was so fat I had to give her a bath periodically because she couldn't wash herself. And I was always the one to stick up for her, to tell her she was my special, beautiful little girl, to speak kindly to her when giving her the degrading baths . . . She could be such a sweetheart.

I let Fuzz and Bud sniff her this time (I didn't do that with Gabby). Since Gabby died, they've all been a bit skittish - I think they're wondering what I'm doing with their siblings, so I wanted to show them that I DID bring Nefi home. They stepped in the lid of the box, and didn't really seem to notice. I mean, they sniffed her, and went on. They're more freaked out when I cry than by that.

Now I have to go pick up Bekah and tell her Nefi did have to go to Kitty Heaven after all....

I think Nefi might have the same cancer now. It's weird, how she just all of a sudden has started sliding down hill. She was my "Jabba-cat," she ate all day long. Last week she started throwing up - lots of times just having violent dry heaves - this week she doesn't eat much and her purring is louder (Gabby's was like that when she died). I can't feel any masses, but Nefi has after all been fat for a long time. I don't have the heart or the energy to take her to the vet for the same outcome - spend a small fortune for them to tell me there's nothing they can do. She is Gabby's sister, after all, meaning she's 15 years old.

I'm beginning to think that she and Gabby had such a "love/hate" relationship that maybe she doesn't know what to do in a world without her arch-nemesis. She's always been the sort of outcast of the felines in the family. Plus, since we moved a litter box downstairs, Nefi has decided she never needs to haul her heavy self up the stairs anymore -and Bud and Fuzz spend their days upstairs on our bed. So she's totally alone, all day, except for the hours when Bekah is enamoured with her wanting to pet and hug and love on this cat who can't handle it. (Nefi is the unfortunate one who is too slow to get away lots of times. I have to intervene.)

I feel absolutely horribly guilty about not wanting to get her to the vet. I've got to figure out what to do soon.

Thanks, Barb! That was awfully nice of you - I didn't even know you could do that on LJ, or you would have had some at your last birthday too.

Seems like lately bad things tend to happen on my birthday. A couple years back, it was the Columbia diaster in the skies over Texas, and now your sweet girl is gone. I think she decided it was time to let the "younger generation" take over.

Bud and Fuzz are now trying to compete for "top cat" position with me. Bud already knows he's first with Tim, but they fight over me. Bud would have won, but Fuzz has such a thick coat that all he can do is pull some fur out. He can't really get a good shot in.

Seriously, I need to sit for a couple hours and comb/cut the mats out of Fuzz's fur. Tim keeps saying I need to send her to a groomer, but I think they'd probably not like each other very well. Fuzz has the sweetest disposition until you try to brush her. (She used to love it until about 5-6 years ago.) I sit down to comb anything but her face and neck, and she becomes a minion of Satan. I'm not kidding. She tolerates it for maybe 10 minutes, then starts hissing and spitting like a cobra. If the stinky cat breath doesn't cause me to keel over, the rapier claws will slice me. THEN the static-charged fur that I comb out will adhere itself to me like Toad's green phlegm (from X-men). Eventually I have to let go of her before I'm even halfway done. I got tired of chasing her and now I brush her in our tiny bathroom. Then she avoids me for weeks, and by the time I get her in there again, I'm back at square one. But I think if I took her to a groomer I'd be facing either (a) a huge bill, including medicals, (b) a lawsuit, or (c) a dead cat. Don't like either option.

Gabby came into my life as part of a litter of four. My new husband at the time kept pushing me to get a cat, because he knew I loved them. (Nevermind that he had a dog and a cat from a previous marriage that he had dumped on his grandmother - nevermind that our complex would charge us much money if they found out. But that's another story.) We went to the pet store and found this litter of four "plain old alley cats." I couldn't just pick one or two - heck, they were only $5 each! But since I couldn't split them up we brought home all four. (Turns out had I just picked two, I would've ended up with the two idiots of the bunch. LOL) Gabby, at the time, was the biggest of the four. Grey tabby markings with pure white tummy, neck, nose and socks. She tried to be the boss - until the one male, Bud, started to show his size potential. (Until just a couple of weeks ago, Bud and Gabby's favorite pastime was to chase each other around and pound each other on the head. Typical siblings.)

At the time we lived in a one-BR apartment. They had no problems with this. Bud learned to answer the phone (not kidding) and turn off the one light switch that controlled the outlet that the TV/VCR was plugged in to. Oakley learned that if she jumped on my floor speakers and then jumped off hard enough, she could knock them over and chew on the wires. Gabby watched all this with disinterest, but did join in on other fun. That's when the trouble started. We left one morning, and when we returned, cats were acting weird. (By now we had added Fuzzum, a dumpster refugee.) I found Gabby perched up on the top shelf of the laundry room (the one that's about 7 feet off the floor) and a small trail of blood led there. Apparently (and I've never been sure about this) during one of their chase games, Gabby tried to climb the back of the ironing board (metal mesh) and got a claw stuck in the mesh. As she squealed, at least one of the others took advantage of this and advanced on her, and in her panic she pulled away, losing the claw in the process. We don't know what happened next - we came home and found the evidence, and when we got Gabby down she was so intimidated by Nefi that I had to keep her locked in the bedroom to keep Nefi away from her. This continued into the next apartment, where she had more space - she got most of the upstairs, everybody else had downstairs. I lived in that apartment from around 1996 - 2000, and she stayed upstairs the whole time because she was scared of Nefi. Bud would come up and stay with her whenever he could. The funny/interesting part of all this is that when we bought our first house in 2000, we moved Gabby in first, so she could stake out her territory. When we brought the others over and the saw her there already, I could read the looks on their faces. It said "DAMN. Party's over." From then on, I don't know how or why, but they've all gotten along fine. This is one of the things I've always felt I had to make up for - keeping her captive for so long.

Gabby was quirky, to say the least. I'm not even sure I can describe some of the - strange - things she used to do. We've all had discussions about what weird things our cats like (bleach, tape, etc.). Gabby liked her water a certain way. Even up until yesterday she was doing this maneuver, and I wish I had a photo of it. She approached the bowl and crouched to drink, like any cat. But prior to actually drinking, she would take her left front paw and reach across her body to the right side of the bowl, as if holding weeds back from the water or something. (Who knows what that was all about? My house call vet never figured it out either.) Tim called it "the Reach." The other little thing I'll miss is the way she used to beg at the table. Most people are annoyed by this, but Gabby's way was unique and we treasured it. She would either raise a stretched paw high over the table's edge - kind of "Oo, oo, pick me!" fashion, until food fell her way (Another version of "the reach" I guess), or she would lay a paw on your arm with one or more claws slightly extended, and tap you, as if to say, "hey, remember me? I'm hungry down here."

I almost forgot to mention the thing she used to do in the townhouse/apartment where she lived upstairs. We found out she liked the smell/taste of V0-5 hair dressing. Tim used it in his short curly hair. She hopped up on the headboard one night and just started licking his hair like crazy - I mean, she was getting into it, with gusto! She stopped doing it when we moved into our house and got rid of that bed - and Tim actually missed it. (He secretly liked being groomed by a cat. LOL)

She never was much for cuddling, but did have her way to snuggle on us without getting too close. I got several of those over the Christmas holidays, and I'm so grateful. Couldn't tell she was 70 human years old.

I'm so going to miss this special little princess that came into my life. As soon as I can get pics together I will email them to any who want to see them, as LJ is telling me I can't upload any with my account status. That's her in the icon, tho.

Thanks for listening.

We finally had to say goodbye tonight. I've been saying goodbye for a week or so, now, so I feel really - oddly imbalanced. I'm so relieved, yet - I so didn't want to let go of her. She was so incredibly special, and she deserved so much better.

Not only had she again stopped eating, she also stopped drinking. The cancer had spread so much in her chest that it apparently made it uncomfortable to swallow. When I put her in the cage to take her this afternoon, she could barely get sound out. (But she did, let me tell you - she did NOT like car rides!) I'm glad our vet is less than 10 minutes from my house.

When I checked her this afternoon, I could tell her breathing was more labored. Tim and I agreed, a slow death by suffocation was not what we wanted for her, so I chose to do it tonight. She passed around 4:50 p.m. She was so weak, all they had to give her was the sedative - and she passed within a few short minutes. My poor girl - she fought so hard. This thing took her so fast - I only saw the lump sometime before Christmas. It was sort of hidden in her "arm pit," and since you don't just pick up Gabby without getting scarred, I didn't notice until one of those rare "tummy rub" occasions. (She had the softest tummy fur I've ever felt.)

Gabby, I'm so sorry I didn't pay attention sooner. I know you were an old girl, but if I'd been more alert to what you were trying to tell me, I know we would have beaten this and been together a few more years. After all, Bekah still needs teaching about the ways of kitty-cats, and you were only one patient enough to teach her. (Nefi's just too fat to get away.)

Dr. Rayne will be getting a letter from me in gratitude for the last two days he gave us. Having her show a brief spark of comfort made all the difference, and it gave me the strength to do what I had to do tonight.

I'll post more about Gabby's life and what she brought to mine separately, seeing as I'm getting a bit long-winded. Just one more way to hold on to her, I guess.

I was prepared yesterday to have Gabby euthanized. She hadn’t eaten since Saturday and only drank water when the others weren’t looking. On Monday night, Tim says “we need to do something.” He didn’t want to see her get to the same point Oakley was in the end - walking the floor and meowing - and neither do I. We knew she (Oakley) was in pain and it was time, but it started on a weekend and we couldn’t help her until Monday, and it was torture for all. So I set the appointment for last night and arranged for someone to keep Bekah so I didn’t have to try to explain things to her. But as we get ready to leave, Tim starts asking me if I think we’re doing it too soon, am I going to resent him for suggesting it, etc. While I was in complete agreement with him (about going ahead with it), I would have much preferred to have Gabby’s pain relieved and let her pass naturally. So I mentioned that to the vet.

I love this vet much more than the one we saw a couple of weeks ago. She had lost a pound and a half since 12/28! While he said her cancer has probably spread within her chest, he did seem positive about other options to buy time. (Not much time, I know that.) He suggested trying some fluids and steroids to see if we could stimulate her appetite, so we did it. Even if it doesn’t work, I feel better knowing I tried to make her feel better. This isn't about delyaing the inevitable for me - this is about Gabby. I hate the thought of dragging a pet to a place they hate so they're fearful at the end, and if she can pass peacefully at home, then it's a much better way to go. But I won't let her suffer.

So we bring her home, put down some wet food - and she ate a little (YAY). Then - what really amazed me - she walked over to a corner of the living room and started WASHING HER FACE. Seeing as how she’s had antibiotics dried on her paw for a week and hasn’t had any interest in washing it off, yeah, it was a big deal. She looked up at me like, “what?” LOL. The change in her demeanor, just briefly, it was as if the “old” (pre-illness) Gabby was back. Then she drank water for probably three minutes straight, and I left to pick up Bekah. The final kicker - when we came home and sat down to dinner, we thought she had gone back up to her hiding place upstairs. Nah - she came crawling out of her “kitty condo,” (one of those carpet-covered thingies) where she’s been wanting to curl up for days but couldn't. She either didn't have the energy/strength or was in too much pain to get in before, but she got to nap there one more time. YAY.

Unfortunately this morning, aside from drinking a lot more (b/c of the steroids), she’s back where she was. She did manage to lay “out in the open” for a while between drinking episodes, rather than hiding somewhere, but she still doesn’t want much touching and no food. So I’ll probably still have to end it for her in a day or so, but I feel as though I gave her a few more hours of comfort and peace - and I’m grateful for that. I will still shed lots of tears when she’s gone, but I gave her back the grace and dignity that she had before all this, even if it was just for a little while.

I feel so helpless.

Gabby showed no signs of anything wrong - other than the two tumors on her belly - until I took her to the blasted vet. They prescribed 2 weeks worth of antibiotics for the urinary infection. You know how much cats like to take medicine. And it didn’t seem to sit well on her tummy despite giving it at feeding time, so my husband said “just skip it.” (Yes, I know you aren’t supposed to - but knowing the cancer will ultimately take her, I just didn’t want her to be unhappy during this time, you know?) So I was very irregular during the first week of that. At first she seemed happy when I didn’t give it to her. Then, she started hiding out, not being part of the family. Not eating much. And now I can’t say whether it’s the cancer progressing or my failure to take care of her infection, and I feel horribly guilty either way. I’ve started giving her the meds regularly again (I should have been finishing up week 2 this Thursday, but it will be a few days past that), but it’s not helping a whole lot. And the others - especially Bud and Fuzz - just act weird around her, which is exactly what they did as Oakley’s life came to an end.

I got all five of my cats in 1992. Four are siblings, Fuzz is a dumpster refugee just a bit younger than the rest. I’m having a hard time facing the fact that they’re all “winding down” like a bunch of toys that were all started at the same time. And I feel incredibly old. I don’t know why that is.

The hardest part is that Gabby has never been the cuddly type, so I can’t even hold her close for my own comfort. (Oakley slept on my chest near the end.) She’s lovey in her own way, she has always prefered to walk back and forth whilst we, her staff, reach down and scratch in the appropriate places. I did get a brief “lap snuggle” (I sit still, Gabby lays on my leg, not too close, for scratching) during the week after Christmas - I was afraid then, and am even more so now, that it was her way of acknowledging that she’s leaving us.

I’m already an emotional wreck, this being my designated week of PMS this month, so I’m not dealing very well when I’m alone. (And I work alone.) I knew when the vet confirmed the cancer diagnosis, knew when we chose to let her live out the remaining time without painful surgery, that it would be a matter of time before we had to say goodbye. I thought we’d have a few months - she was acting like a kitten at Christmas, after all - chewing up boxes, chasing bits of stuff around.

I never thought it would be this soon. I still hope the antibiotics will turn this around, but the realist in me says - no.

Noticed several hard lumps on Gaby's underside not long ago. First noticed one in the "armpit", then one in the groin area. Not good. To the vet we go. Yes, folks, once again we're pretty sure it's breast cancer. And it gets better - since the lumps are on opposite sides, they can't just take the whole mammary chain like normal. No, they'd have to just take the lumps, send for biopsy, and go from there - to the tune of $500-$700 just to find out how bad it is. Not to really cure her. I can't put her through that surgery (and our savings through the drainpipe) only to buy her a few months time.

We opted for an abdominal ultrasound to find out if it's spreading. (didn't know until after the fact this would only apply to the groin tumor, not the armpit/chest one.) It's not, so far as they can tell, but now we also know she has early kidney disease and a urinary tract infection. The kidney disease means different anesthesia. She's 14 (15 in March) - that's 72 for us human types. Yet two days ago I caught her throwing and batting one of my pedicure spongies around like a kitten. She hauled it off like it was a mouse.

I can't put her through all of the surgery, can't spend the money it will cost, only to lose her anyway. But how can I face this again?

Tagged by zenfrodo. This is a first!

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for that “cool” or “intellectual” book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag three people. (Only tagging two.)

Oddly enough, though there is a boat load of books in my house, I never have (or take) the time to read any of them, so this is about as random as it can get.

"It was almost noon before Pharaoh had completed his inspection of the mortuary temple and led the way out into the forecourt where the palace chefs had laid out a sumptuous open-air banquet.
'Come and sit here, where I can speak to you further on the matter of the stars!' Once again the king ignored precedent to place my Lady Lostris close to him at the banquet table, even moving one of his senior wives to make a place for her."

-- "River God", Wilbur Smith (A book I've had on my shelf for nearly 10 years and have never read. It just happened to be the first one on the top shelf.)

Interesting.

In his recent interview, Stevie plugged a new band called the Rock n Roll Soldiers. On a lark, I visited their website. Their music (what I can get of it) is not really my "cup of tea," but it is good for being the style that it is. But what really grabbed my attention was this bio:

"Childhood friends from Eugene, Oregon, the ROCK ‘N’ROLL SOLDIERS play high energy rock that combines old influences with youthful energy. The Soldiers have fought bravely to co-exist in the Eugene music scene, fighting against a PLETHORA of local hippie folk rock jam bands who badmouth the Soldiers saying that they are nothing but teenage drunks. Luckily, the Soldiers have an immense group of loyal fans that support and fight for them. Their neighbors hate them, and the police have come three times in the last month to shut them down. But they will not give up…" (emphasis added)

Yep, that's right - a "plethora" of local bands. Hmmmm..... (see my most recent post)

(I'm sorry, Stevie, I have to pick on you.) The man doesn't usually say much, and when gives a few interviews in a month's time, not only does he say the same thing every time(except in this recent interview - awesome), he says it exactly the same way. He's got it scripted. And he likes new words.

Did Steve have to deal with a plethora of groupies every night while on tour? (Or would that be a "gaggle," like geese...) Did the one he picked to hang with wear COBALT????

Poor guy. At least he actually let out the "f" word (!) once he finally felt safe enough to be candid. (I like candid Stevie. Muchas Gracias!)

plethora plethora plethora COBALT plethora plethora plethora plethora plethora plethora COBALT plethora plethora COBALT (badger) plethora plethora ......


He just gets so hung up on these things... it's so endearing.

Finally an interview where he spoke his mind and even a little of his heart. And Herbie, sorry, if you think he didn't connect with the audience it was because he was too busy connecting to the MUSIC. That's why we LOVE HIM.

I had a hard time keeping the shine on after the concert the other night, but Hubby can tell my passion for Journey has been renewed to it's maximum, despite what parenting the terrible twos can do to me. LOL

Took some photos of the show, not the greatest, but now I don't have to pinch myself, I KNOW I was there! Photos can be seen at http://www.msnusers.com/jrny83photos. I'm not totally sure that's an accurate url, but I'll double check it and update if necessary.

I bailed from work early Wednesday to go home and prepare. It seemed the whole rest of the world was either moving in slow motion or balanced on the edge of incompetence. Idiots behind the wheel are my biggest pet peeve anyway, and this was insane. Then after we dropped Bekah off, I was supposed to call my brother so we could meet - and suddenly he decides not to answer his cel phone for 20 minutes. Not that it would have been a big deal, but - anyway. Then we head to Arby's for a quick fast food dinner - and they more or less screwed up the order. No time to go back and get irate. I said, I don't know what's up, but I'm easily aggravated tonight..." Hubby gave the perfect translation of what was in my head: "This is Important and if you FUCK this up for me you will DIE." Yep, that was right on the money.

Good thing I wasn't driving!

You know, for some reason I was expecting the Neal Schon show with bits of Journey added - but I can't put into words how incredible this was. I hate Neal not a bit now. (Still miss Perry, but ah, well, that's different than expecting and awaiting his imminent return. I think Christ will return first! LOL) I'm ever so grateful Neal and Jon kept this thing alive. It's bigger than they are. I had lost my passion for the music because it was painful to think that they wouldn't ever be that again. And yes, the "golden years" are gone, but between the fact that Journey continues on and the gift that Steve Perry ("with the full cooperation of the band" LOL) has given us with the new DVD (which I STILL haven't watched yet), I'm not quite so wistful that it's over. I used to lament their demise, because I never got to see the whole band in action. Now the DVD will let me be where I never got to be before. I'm terribly grateful (especially since it didn't cost a fortune!).

Ok, must get to work now....haven't been worth my salary this week!

WOOOO F'ING HOOOOO!!!!!!!

Radio announced today that..... Journey is coming here to Salisbury! (otherwise known as Podunk.)

This is just too good to be true. My luck (and the general atmosphere of this town) will change this good fortune, I'm sure. Styx can't even fill the local Civic Center. I am certain that they will cancel when the numbers suck one week before the concert.

But if they go through with it, I'll be extremely happy! Hubby said he thought I was going to levitate out of the car when he heard. I said no, the only way that would happen would be if the earth reversed on it's axis and Perry came along. LOL

To find out why this is such a big deal, Google Salisbury, Maryland. You'll find everything you didn't want to know about our little Chihuahua of a town. (You know, little dog thinks it can hang with the big boys?) The only musical groups that attract numbers are hip hop/rap, country or gospel. People here are soooo closed minded. This area even not once, but twice, tried to secede from the rest of the state because they were so different. The Moody Blues came here a few years back and filled about 1/3 of our little arena, I'm sure they'll never return. Styx has been to Salisbury and to the Delaware State Fair, both times they couldn't sell it out (not even close). I couldn't find one person when I moved here 20 years ago who would admit to liking Journey (or Rush, or Styx, or Kansas, or anybody else I thought was cool). I felt like I had three eyes.

But finally I have a chance to hear Augie in person. I am sooo looking forward to this (which is why it'll never happen, of course)! Must go try to find out how to get very very very good seats......

I got my Styx tickets! Yeah, I'm stuck with REO, too, but I need a Styx fix! They're coming to the Delaware State Fair this July, and I got the best seats I think I've ever gotten for a concert - 24th row, Tommy side! Woohoo! Yes, daughter, you are now old enough to hang with grandma for a few hours. I haven't been to a concert since July 2002 when I went to see Rush; if I wait too much longer I'll turn into an old fuddy-duddy. LOL