Kitteny goodness

It's taking a lot of willpower not to adopt kittens. I miss Smokey so much and I want kitties in the house again. The lack of responsibility, I'll admit, is pleasant, but my cats were always worth it to me to have to buy their supplies, pay for vet visits, change litter and, in the end, give insulin injections.

My favourite thing was lounging in bed or on the couch with the Dude and the cats, and I'd feel like a happy little family. All my nurturing instincts are goin' nowheres. I want something fuzzy to cuddle.

But like I said, willpower. That and common sense. When we get home from Mexico (OMG leaving Sunday morning, w00t!!1) I am going to order my wedding dress, which means not having enough monies offhand to stock up on new kitten thingies. And then when we go to our hometown for Christmas, we'll stay for several days instead of rushing home early. It'll be the first time that's even possible for me since I was 20, when I first got my cats under my care alone. So of the few new advantages to not having a pet, it'd be stupid not to enjoy them.

But that doesn't mean I don't yearn for a furry meowing ball of joy to snuggle. Oh, I do.

I am aware I'm not over my Smokey. I still sometimes cry about him. It's only been a little over two weeks and I'm still adjusting. I keep expecting to see the litter box or the water dish and it still makes me sad when I remember they're not there.

I want to get cats that I'll be ready to appreciate for who they are, and not as replacements. I take pet ownership very seriously. So I'm not ready. And I'll continue to stifle my desires in the interest of being sensible. That doesn't mean I haven't been fawning over kitten adoption photos online, though. I'm sensible, not dead.

I likely won't post again till I get home from my trip. I intent to stay off the internet all week, otherwise I don't think it'll be much of a vacation.

In the days after

You know you have an amazing group of friends in your life when your beloved cat dies and you're sent numerous messages, texts, emails and offers to spend time together. I feel lonely without Smokey, but I'd feel a lot worse if it were not for all the lovely people I've made friends with over the years.

My good friend (And maid of honour) was over the night before Smokey passed. She's allergic to cats, but still got next to my little kitty and gave him some love. He accepted it and went back to sleep. She helped take my mind of him and we talked about wedding stuff, her being from out of town, so this was an opportunity to show her my ideas.

The day after he passed, McPal and his boyfriend came over with wine and homemade pumpkin cheesecake. McPal then served, even as the guest. We raised a glass to Smokey. Buddy B's girlfriend invited us over the next day to swim at her place and afterwards we ate and watched Halloweeny movies. My understanding pet-loving boss gave me a last-minute day off to mourn Smokey.

The Dude, throughout all of this, has been helpful and caring, even though it's his loss too. He cleared away all of Smokey's things so I wouldn't have to walk into a room and see them. He's been handy with all the hugs I want. I can and do talk to him about missing Smokey whenever I feel the need.

I've been so well taken care of by everyone, so well, in fact, that a cold I developed Sunday has not had the chance to resolve itself yet because I've been so social instead of holing up to recuperate. Throw in some stress and there you go. Saturday evening I was rickety and haggard, wondering why the Dude had overcome the worst of his cold, but mine was still raging in hackland. All the same, time with friends was time well spent.

I'm on the mend now. Other than a Halloween photoshoot yesterday, I've been taking it easy, staying warm and drinking fluids. And now I have a new Miss Manners to read. Oh yes. I'm a fan of hers and all her teachings. Her writing fills me with joy. I've held off buying her wedding and child rearing books because this way I have new things to read as I hit milestones, rather than absorbing all her awesomeness in one giant binge. T'was my maid of honour's idea and now I'm super happy I listened. So that's how I'm going to spend my day.

Only thing that would make this better is a fat happy cat snuggled in my arms while I read.

Goodbye, Smokey

He's gone.

He couldn't hold out until Friday. We were sure he wouldn't last the night. He was unable to stand, he was unresponsive and his eyes wouldn't close when he passed into sleep. I held him for a long while on the couch. He melted into my arms and breathed slow breaths and I could feel his little heart beating. He was so skinny.

We knew we had to put him down tonight. He couldn't get to the litter anymore, he could no longer stand up to drink. He was not going to enjoy his last day alive at that rate. So we took him to the emergency vet clinic. We got there around 10:00.

Crying in a strange reception area, giving your information so strangers can end your cat's life is a terrible experience. Watching people watch you, sobbing while you say your phone number, confirming this is your final decision.

I walked into the room where the Dude and Smokey were waiting for me. Smokey was being examined and when it was over, he laid down and in an awkward position managed to rest his head on the Dude's arm. Then he relaxed and stayed that way till the end.

The Dude and I held Smokey and pet him, telling him he was a good boy. He was barely conscious, not really struggling to live, not really fighting death. He seemed peaceful as we waited. When the time came, I could barely notice as his life slipped away, he was so far gone already.

He kind of looked like he was smiling when we left. That's my Smokey.

I know I'll cope and move on. But something in me already knows I'll never fully stop missing him. He was my friend.

Smokey's Last Dance

If I believed in jinxing myself, I would not have written this last post about Smokey. He's dying. My old Smokey is on his way out. He's 17 and a half and he's showing all the signs. He's stopped eating, he's restless, losing mobility fast and he's less interested in attention and increasingly reclusive.

It started a couple days ago. I made the decision to not treat his symptoms or take him to the vet. He's old, too old for advanced medical attention. He's 86 in cat years and I wanted him to relax at home instead of being dragged out in the noisy street in a cat carrier to be needled and handled somewhere he doesn't like. He hasn't been in pain, from the looks of it. I'm the one who seems to be hurting.

But the Dude and I made an appointment for Friday for euthanasia. Smokey's ability to walk is failing him at a rate I can't let continue. It's heartbreaking to watch. I've been picking him up and putting him where he seems to want to go: near his water, close to the litter box, somewhere cozy. He's been crawling around this afternoon.

He's been quiet, eerily so, and yet still finds the strength to mew for ice cubes for his water dish. I love him so much.

He seemed interested in being on the couch with us, so the Dude picked him up and put him on the blanket beside me. He stretched out and rested his head on my leg. This cat has been everything I'd want in a pet. I don't want to do without him. I knew this day would come, but I never wanted to really think about it.

If you're reading this, next time you have a drink, raise a quiet glass for Smokey. I don't pray, and I wouldn't ask to keep him in one's prayers. But if it would be alright with you, toast him for me.

So Old

My cat is so old. He's so old that he has a specific way he likes his water. He's so old that after he uses the litter box, he cries and howls for me to bury it for him. He's so old his meow has turned into a rolling grumble, and he's missing five teeth, giving him a slightly gummy appearance.

He's cuddling me now. He'd be in bed cuddling the Dude, but he only does that if I'm in bed too. He's 17.5 years old. He's a creature of habit and he likes things the way he likes them.

He's actually a pretty big inconvenience. I have to make plans around being home for him, I can't go overnight with the Dude anywhere without accommodating his needs, and more frequently as the years go by his stream is not true when he uses the box.

And the thought of doing without him breaks my heart. Most cats don't live this long. Many do, but most don't. And most people nearing their 28th year don't have their childhood pets still living, never mind in their exclusive care. Smokey is my buddy, and a sort of lifeline to a life long past and gone. He just sighed in my arms while I wrote that. What a guy.

I'm still paying off his $1,400+ dentistry bill from the summer, from when I had to choose between putting him down or removing his ruined teeth to end his misery. Now I have more reason than ever to get it paid off, so I can incur other life choice debt. I wonder if he'll be around next fall. His hips are getting stiff, he's so feeble that if I cuddle him in a certain position he no longer can squirm out with ease, and of course there is his diabetes.

When I first got Smokey and Jerry when I was 10, I used to have nightmares about them getting old. Now it's here. It's not as sad as I thought it would be, but it is still a bummer.

Old cat, old tricks

The mouse in the apartment is still at large. Have I mentioned this before? I think I have. Yeah. Mouse in the house. Little bugger made its first appearance while Smokey was recovering from his oral surgery. Ever since I've seen it here or there. I chased it down the hall once. It took a hard left, fell over on its side, legs flailing in the air, and still managed to right itself and scurry off behind the stove.

And where was Smokey? Laying on a pile of the Dude's clothes on the bed. Relaxing.

So yesterday I'm on the couch and out of the corner of my eye I keep seeing movement. And then finally I see it, the mouse. It's under the coffee table and I lunge at it, and predictably it dove back under the couch.

I had given up on Smokey mouse hunting. He's 17 and half-toothless and I'm pretty sure his hearing is going. The Dude brought him into the living room anyway, just to see if the presence of a cat would mean anything to this mouse. Smokey sauntered onto my lap and curled up and got cozy. I remarked that my cat had become only a pet and not a mouse solution.

But then he lept very deftly from my lap and pounced in front of the couch. He then skulked around, maneuvering skillfully and with purpose. He attempted several tactics to try and get the mouse to come out. Years fell away from his face and body. Smokey meant business. It was awesome. I felt so proud of him. Funny isn't it? Proud of a cat for being a cat?

Well, I was. Just when I'd figured he was old and retired from life, he surprised me. How I love that cat.

Revamp

So Smokey is okay. Still a diabetic, but he needs less insulin, or so the vet is thinking. So that's all well and good. However, like predicted, he's going to need special care in about two weeks. I'm going to do at at-home glucose curve. Oh yes. See, I have to test his blood sugar once an hour for a day. Yeah, so drawing blood from my cat hourly should be a good time. Good way to spend a Sunday. But it's Smokey and I loves him, so I'm obviously going to do it. I never knew being diabetic was so expensive. Those test strips are about a buck each. I'm glad I don't have it. Jebus.

In more superficial and girly news, I finally get my hair done today. I haven't had it cut and coloured since... Late October. It's February. I just kept putting it off and now it looks like ass: roots, split ends, no shape, blah-blah-blah.

So here be the before picture:

Note the grease, as the roots are less obvious in this light.

I'm still trying to grow it out. I'm several inches away from a goal length that is vague and mysterious. I'll just know when I have enough hair. I started growing it out around the same time I quit wearing pants a couple years ago. Yeah, I avoid pants at all costs, unless a dress or skirt is just far too impractical.

My late 20s seem to be calling to me to be more feminine. I was actually never really that girly in my teens. I had short punky hair. I never wore the kilt for my uniform after grade 10, opting for pants, and I wore skater sneakers instead of dress shoes. I had a bob in college, dressed like a hobo, and wore makeup about twice a year.

After college I settled into moderation and looked more like a normal woman. I acquired a couple girly things to wear, grew my hair to my shoulders and started wearing makeup half the time I went out.

But this, this is something else entirely. I feel sad when I have to wear pants. I really enjoy putting together a nice look and making my face look more attractive. I love the process of making myself pretty.

I remember before my mom died, I went to see her in the hospital. I was 16 and she saw me in an outfit she liked (rare) and she said that it looked like I finally found "my style." And of course it was just wishful thinking on her part because she would never see how I'd turn out and she knew it. But I was wearing a skirt that day. And so that little memory makes me smile.

Smokey's Day Out

So weird there being no cats in the house. I really don't like it. It doesn't feel like home without Smokey here. Little guy's at the vet till 6:00 tonight. He's getting a glucose curve done. There's a chance he may not even be diabetic anymore. Wouldn't that be awesome!

With my luck, though, probably he needs some sort of pricey treatment and extra care. He is 16 and a half. I can't hope too hard for miracles.

The cat feeder went off at lunch time for Smokey's afternoon snack. I heard no pitter patter of his little paws running to eat. It was a lonely feeling. I miss him, and it's only been a few hours.

The vet technician observed I must be very attached to him, being a childhood pet. I am. I really don't think it's possible for me to feel more love than this for a cat. He's been my friend almost all my life. He's peed on me, ruined things, caused me inconvenience and worry. He's often needy and keeps me up at night. He meows all the time. And I wouldn't change him.

It's surprising to me all the same that one day without him at home feels so bad. I'm happiest at home when the Dude and Smokey are here and we're hanging out together. Where they are, my home is.

Rescue Smokey

I had a rough night last night. Shortly after writing my last post, things started going a little nuts.

It all started when I caught Smokey taking a dump in the kitchen. It didn't seem like it was a conscious choice on his part, though. Something about it seemed kind of involuntary. What came out was hard (Actually when I picked him up to take him to the litter, a hard chunk flew out. Just when you think you've seen all your cat will do to you), and so I thought perhaps his old age was giving him some minor constipation. No big deal.

Then later after my post, Smokey started caterwauling like a pitiful beast. He's been meowing for Jerry all month, but this was different. Then I heard more tiny thuds of what I thought must be more poop, which made me nervous. One time is negligible. But twice?

So, I cleaned it up again and while doing so gave Smokey a little push to the side to get off the boots. He fell over and could not for the life of him seem to get himself upright. He warbled and howled like a drunk and in startling fashion appeared to drag himself down the stairs to cry.

So I got his glucometer, worrying this had something to do with his diabetes. Also I was hoping it did, because knowing the problem means there's a chance I can fix it. I drew some blood from his ear. Normal readings should show a number between 4 and 8. Smokey's? 0.8. Yeah. Holy. Shit.

So I had to act fast. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed some honey and rubbed it into his gums and tongue. Then I got some of Jerry's leftover recovery food, thinking that it must be super calorie rich and fatty and all those other good things which might boost his blood sugar. Then after he ate it, he ate a huge serving of his dry stuff, then treats, then more recovery food.

I watched him till 4:00 a.m. His blood was reading 1.1, which was still too low, but we were past the peak of his insulin effects and his blood sugar going up was a good sign. I fell asleep exhausted, but not without worrying myself stupid.

Sometimes owning a pet gives you an idea of what having a child would be like: late sleepless nights, worry, fast thinking, making appointments and shelling out money for their wellbeing without a second thought. I'm waiting on a call from the vet to get some advice about where to go from here, and to make an appointment to make sure everything is okay.

I love my Smokey, I really do. He's curled up with me now. I wonder if he realizes how close he came to death last night.

To lighten things up a bit before I go, check this out. Best signs ever. Also, I got my dress in the mail. Hey-oh!

Smokey's Perspective

Life as a house cat continues, if house cats could play Nintendo Wii. I've been wasting away my life in front of Harvest Moon and vegetating. I look like hell, the weather is too damn cold to be out in anyway, and I'm sleeping in guilt-free. I love vacation. I probably would hate myself and my life if this were my daily routine, but it being a temporary reprieve from work, it's totally rocking my socks.

The Dude is being remarkably cool with my monopolization of the TV. Which is good, because I'm pretty deeply entrenched in HM addiction right now and there's no stopping me.

I've been observing Smokey lately and he's been taking over a number of Jerry's little quirks and behaviours. One is sleeping under the covers. The Dude always let him sleep beside him under the sheets at night, and now Smokey seems to think that with Jerry gone, this is a privilege he must partake in. It kind of bums me out because this means less Smokey time at night. But I'm getting a little better sleep. Such a tough call between sleep and Smokey cuddles.

At our New Years party (more of a light gathering) he didn't pull out the stops like Jerry, though. He did grace us with his disdainful indifference periodically through the night, but was nothing the host Jerry used to be, who would travel lap to lap to accept whatever love he felt he had coming to him. It made me miss my little guy. He was a real warm kitty.

Smokey's also been burying his litter leavings less and less. Jerry used to be like that, he buried nothing, and sweet merciful hell on a stick, his shite stank. This may sound obvious, but no. You have no idea. It was uber rank, like a rotten egg took a dump in a sulfur mine. I don't know how such an adorable little kitty made something so foul. And of course this was his way of informing all of us that it was his house and we just lived there. Smokey now seems to believe this is true of him. At least his leavings aren't so objectionable. Not in comparison anyway.

So all in all I think he's adjusted to Jerry's absence. He has a new position in the house of top cat and while I think he still gets lonely, I've noticed he seems to enjoy his heightened status. He certainly likes not having to wait to eat until Jerry is done. Must be nice to be a cat in times like these. A person would have conflicted feelings about enjoying aspects of a companion's death. Not house cats, though. They miss you when they miss you, but damn if they don't enjoy your absence when it benefits them.