They're Plotting World Domination

I never gave much thought to owning four cats. In fact, we had five until sweet Grover passed away. Two were "impulse buys," and then Mr. S came back. So we had 5. Now we have 4. It didn't seem like a big deal. We have the time and money to care for four, and they all seem to get along relatively well. But the one thing I didn't factor in: cats en masse plotting world domination. Or at least their world, in other words, my house.

It's kind of creepy when all four are in the same room at the same time, all wanting the same thing, i.e. a meal. Three out of the four are really calm about it (I won't mention names, Q*bert), which some people might think is great. But having three cats calmly standing within a foot of you, silently watching every move you make...well, it's honestly just creepy. I can tell they're watching, and I know they're sitting there, silently judging me. "Boy, are you slow." "Why aren't you feeding me faster?" "What other ways are you going to ruin my life today?"

Q*bert, bless his heart, jumps up on the food counter at every opportunity, requiring us to stop what we are doing, i.e. feeding him, in order to put him back on the floor. This can happen anywhere from once to a record fifteen times (I kid you not) in one feeding. As you can imagine, this slows the process down considerably, further angering the judgmental clan behind me.

Then, when all four have finally been fed and are sated, they have to clean themselves. They usually all stay in the kitchen to do this. So you have four cats, silently licking themselves, cleaning and cleaning. This is creepy too, especially when I can glance at all four of them at once. It's like they're taking over my house. Which they are.

If I'm behind on feeding them (OMG YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FED US FIVE MINUTES AGO), they all start circling around the kitchen, again with judgement in their eyes. It's a lot to live up to.

In the winter, when it's cold out, we lock all of the animals in before bed. Unfortunately, bedtime for us is right after dinner for them, and anyone who has ever owned a cat before knows that immediately following dinner time is playtime/potty time. My cats don't like to potty inside, so even on the coldest of nights, they like to head outside to do their business. Mr. Squiggles is a large and in-charge kind of guy, so if he decides to go outside (and some nights, eh, the living room rug is sooooo much better), he's likely to go out and come right back in. But not Gus and Q. At least Q will come when he's called. Gus never listens to anything we say, so we just have to hope that he decides to come back in before we want to go to bed.

Once we think all six animals are inside, I always do a head count. My biggest fear is locking someone outside to freeze to death. Yikes. The dogs are always easy to find, so that's quick. But the cats are more challenging. Usually Mr. S can be found in the same place, so he's easy to cross of my checklist. But the other three are harder to find. And once I find all of them, I like to go back one more time, just to be sure I've gotten them all, but by this time, they're all changed places and moved somewhere else. So I have to hunt for them all over again. It's real fun.

I do love my boys, and I am grateful every day for the laughter they bring me. I just have to remember that I am here to serve them. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's probably someone I have to feed.

Hillbilly Resurrection

Last week, Indiana made the decision to stop underwater treadmill therapy. Well, actually, Jim and I made the decision, but she was telling us loud and clear that it's what she wants.

We've been doing underwater treadmill with Indy since 2007. She's always loved it and loves the staff even more. (We do too) Suddenly, about a month ago, she stopped cooperating in the treadmill. She freaks out and can barely walk. Though it appears that she's struggling physically (and she probably is, a little), I think a large part of the problem is mental. It's getting harder, and she's frustrated. I think the long commute is hard on her too (and we do it twice a week).

So as hard as it is to do, we're stopping underwater treadmill for the time-being. My initial reaction to all of this was to freak out. Treadmill could be the one thing that's allowing her to even walk at this point. What if, by stopping it, she goes downhill rapidly? This thought was quite fleeting though, as the even more important thought came to my mind: "She is telling us, unequivocally, that she's done with this." I cannot, and will not, force this dog to do something she doesn't want to do.

In the past four years, this dog has been to hell and back. Major surgery, involving 5 nights in the hospital and a 13" incision. Chemotherapy. Test after test for hypothyroidism and Cushing's disease. Two nights in the hospital for acute kidney failure. Sub-q fluids for her kidneys every day for the past year. Monthly acupuncture and chiropractic care. Underwater treadmill. Recurring skin infections and UTIs. Surgical biopsy without anaesthesia or sedation. Vet visit after vet visit. Pills upon pills. And with nary a complaint.

If she's telling me so clearly now to stop, how can I not listen? It terrifies me, but I love her too much not to. I get a sick feeling in my stomach when I think about it all, but I know in my heart that I'm doing what's right for her. I owe her that much.

That said, Jim and I got the crazy idea to build a therapy pool for her in our basement back in 2008. We used it for a while and then stopped, because of her skin infections. Now that she's done with treadmill, we're resurrecting what I like to call "the hillbilly pool." It's made of 2x4s, about 40 billion screws, carpet padding, and a pond liner. But it also has fancy things like a real pool pump, a heater, and an ozonator. Still, it ain't pretty. But it works. We're currently working to get it cleaned out, refilled, and ready to run. It'll probably take a few weeks to get it ready, but we're hoping Indiana will use it and that it will be at least a modest substitution for the treadmill. There are still some kinks to work out. For instance, how to get her down the flight of stairs and into the basement, along with how to get her into the pool itself (which wasn't easy back in 2008, when she had more mobility and confidence).

But if Jim and I can figure out how to build a pool in our basement, then surely we can figure out how to get a dog into it. There may be some complications, but love sure is a strong motivator.

Feeding The Princess

(Indy as a baby--isn't she cute???)

I've written about this before, but it begs repeating: My dog is a picky eater. She hasn't always been, but since she was diagnosed with kidney disease in 2009, the list of acceptable foods has grown smaller and smaller, until now, where it is shockingly limited. After she was diagnosed with cancer in 2006, we switched Indiana to a completely raw diet. That went GREAT, until the kidney debacle. So now raw is out (and we've done both commercially prepared and homemade). I've always heard that next best is either cooked fresh food or canned. She won't eat homemade food with vegetables, but she will (usually) eat plain, cooked turkey. She'll also eat a limited number of canned foods, and they have to meet specific requirements. (Chunky or shredded is one of them) Oh, and the bowl must be porcelain, not stainless. (We don't use plastic)

On some really tough days, I've given her grain-free kibble. GASP! I know! But food is food, and she has to eat. We also know that some foods must be eaten off of a spoon, while others are acceptable if the bowl is held at the proper angle. She also has to be sitting in the right place (and only she knows where that is), and she has to be comfortable. If she isn't comfortable, she won't eat. She also won't eat if Isis is too close or is staring at her too hard. Of if she hears a strange noise that distracts her.

Some days I do want to pull my hair out. I try to play by her rules, I really do, but she isn't playing fair. She changes the rules mid-game. I suppose she wants to keep us on our toes and make us really work for it. She's worth it though, and I know she's not doing it on purpose. She has a method to her madness, and it is my honor to, each and every day, three times a day, figure out what that method is.

Guilt

Do you ever have days where you feel really guilty as a parent? I know I do. For instance, lately I've been procrastinating on doing Indiana's home physical therapy. Partly it's because it's a daunting task, one I'm sure she's not going to enjoy. Also, sometimes I'm lazy. There. I said it. And partly, it's kind of the last trick in our bag. We've tried everything for her arthritis: acupuncture, electro-acupuncture, chiropractic and applied kinesiology, reiki and massage, underwater treadmill therapy, bottles and bottles of supplements and painkillers. Technically, stem cell therapy is an option, but it's really more of a last-ditch desperate effort. So physical therapy is kind of our last option of things we're not already doing. Aside from the fact that I know she'll hate it, what if it doesn't work? If I don't try it, then it's still in our back pocket as that potential lifesaver. If I do try it, and it doesn't work, then what are we left with? It's almost like it's better not to know.

I realize I need to start the therapy. My fears and weaknesses have no place in this decision. Indy is doing well, but if the therapy can make it better, then I owe her that.

I wake up every morning feeling bad about all of the ways I have left Indiana (and my other pets) down in the past, and how I continue to do so. I don't brush her teeth very often, and I should do it every day. Some days I forget to put the essential oils on her tumor, to help prevent it from growing. And don't even get me started with the guilt over walks.

The thing is, I focus so much on the the things that I'm not doing, that I forget to take stock of the things that I do. Like the faithful twice-weekly underwater treadmill, a 2 1/2 hour round trip. The thrice-daily meals and the daily kidney fluids. The constant ordering of pills and supplements, trips to the vet and the health food store, remembering to buy food every week, keeping track (usually pretty well) of when tests need to be done. Considering Indiana was supposed to die four and a half years ago, I guess I haven't done everything wrong.

I know I will continue to focus on what I'm missing, and while this makes me sad sometimes, it ultimately pushes me to be the best parent I can be. And that is just what all of my children deserve.

I Need A Vacation

I need a vacation. My last trip was in August, nearly 5 months ago. I don't do well with long breaks between trips. Jim and I both have this itch to travel and experience the world. We have to have some trip in the works or we get antsy. Well, we do have a trip planned for next month, and apparently it's not holding me, because I have the urge to RUN AWAY NOW!

I love my life and my family and friends, but sometimes I just need to get away from it all. I need to get away from the drama that others create, from the difficulties in my own life. While we're away, I miss my animals, and I worry about them, but I feel so relaxed and happy. I love learning, and experiencing, and I yearn for that again. 5 months is too long.

We are really blessed to have wonderful family and friends in our lives who look after our furry family for us. The dogs go to my Mom and Dad's house, and a good friend stays with our cats. Another good friend stops in and gives Indiana her daily kidney fluids. So I know my babies are well taken care of. Plus, I make my Mom email me every morning with a "baby update," and I call home every evening. I still get anxious about leaving, and I even feel guilty too. With my limited time left with Indiana, I question whether I should be away. Not because something would happen while I'm gone (though Mr. Squiggles went missing while we were in Paris), but because someday when she's gone, I know I'd give anything to have an extra week with her. How can I go away for a week when that time is so precious?

The answer is simple. I have no choice. My heart needs for me to travel. I can leave on my trip and come back a better person, a better Mom. It makes me appreciate more what I have left back home. And selfishly, traveling just makes me happy. I do so little purely for myself. Is a few weeks a year too much to ask? So I go away on these trips, limiting myself to only so many nights away, only so many hours away, knowing that I have made the best preparations as possible for my family. And I come back enriched, relaxed, maybe more tired than when I left, but definitely a better person for it.

He Saves My Life Every Day

This is a picture I took of Gus last night, sleeping on his cat tower, or what we call "Birthday Palace." (He got it for his two-ish birthday) He sleeps on it quite a bit now, and last night I looked over to find him with his face planted directly into it. I assume he can breathe. You can see his adorable little gimpy right leg tucked behind him, one of the ways he's learned to adapt to his disability.

Anyway, Gus does something freaking adorable just about every day. Heck, he's adorable even when he's just sitting around. But nearly every day, he does something photo-worthy. To be honest, he's usually asleep though. But hey, he's a cat.

When life seems dark, and I'm focused on what's going on with Indiana, I like to take a step back and stare at Gus for a while. He simply makes me smile. Though he can be a handful (remember this?), he's typically pretty happy and off in his own little world. He can be really loving when he wants to be, and it makes you feel so special, like you've finally earned his approval. I like to start my day off by finding him and giving him a kiss. I get a rush of love and a can feel a little giggle rising in my throat (honestly, Gus, in every way, makes me laugh). On those worst of days, Gus has the ability to make it all worthwhile.

Ups and Downs

Well, today Indiana seems to be feeling well but is being picky about eating. She didn't want to finish her dinner last night or her breakfast this morning but ate her lunch like a champ (and like a princess--Jim fed her with a spoon). Hopefully dinner will go well tonight. Cooked turkey is one of the few "accepted" foods on her list, and I'm not sure what we'll do if she starts poo-pooing it.

I find that with all that's going on with Indiana, and all the responsibility I feel, I am getting grumpier. I am annoyed at the pettiness and hatred I see (the big downside of Facebook, and why do I listen to the news?). Why can't everyone just get along? I think dealing with all of this stuff with Indiana has really clarified for me that the most important thing in the world is LOVE. This can be as serious as the love we have for our spouses, children (furry or not), and families, and as inconsequential as general love for mankind, and being patient and kind with strangers. (Does everyone in the grocery store have to be grumpy?)

I think we, as a society, forget to be decent to each other, and it's really starting to tick me off. I've always had a tendency to want to become a hermit and hibernate in my home (where it's warm, safe, and the only crabby person there is me). It seems the tougher life gets, the more that tendency comes out in me. But alas, I have things like responsibilities and friends, which keep me on my toes most of the time.

I simply find that the world hurts more when my life is difficult. But I'm glad that I am focused on what's really important in life. I just wish everyone else would figure it out too.