Oh, It's a Guilt Trip, Is It?

There's been a lot of manipulation around our house lately.  And I don't mean between the humans.  Oh, no.  It's the four-legged critters who have been putting on their best guilt faces.  And you know what?  It works every time. 

Indiana is, well, Indy.  When you've battled cancer...twice...and won, you get pretty much whatever you want.

Isis has a new obsession with running.  Jim started running with her several months ago in an effort to get her into shape.  She's always been a horrible walker (she loves to stop and sniff every two feet, plus she has weird rules about where she will and won't walk--if you try to force the issue, she lays all 60 of her pounds down in the middle of the road.)  But surprisingly, she's a good runner.  And she loves it.  Fairly frequently, she sees Jim getting on his workout gear and is convinced they're going running, even if Jim only intends to work out in the house.  But when faced with such unbridled enthusiasm, and an, "Oh, Jim..." from me, Isis wins every time.

Mr. Squiggles, like Indiana, has a built in guilt-trip excuse--when you reappear after being missing for over a year, you want for very little.  But still, he has a trick that gets us every time.  Stage One of his trick is an expectant, very quiet meow, complete with an intense, expectant stare.  This trick means he wants you to sit down on the couch so he can snuggle with you.  Stage Two of the trick, from which we have no immunity, involves the quiet meow along with him standing up on his back legs, pawing at your legs as desperately as he can.  I'm pretty sure I'd commit a crime, if that's what he was asking for.

Gus doesn't really pile on guilt, per se, but he's got the whole disability thing that makes him impossible to resist.  Plus, he takes what he wants.  So if he wants to lay on your lap, you sit there until he's done.

Samson's trick is really handy, as it's what got him adopted by us in the first place.  Samson, like every Maine Coon, is very smart and very dexterous with his hands.  So when he wants something, he reaches his huge paw out to get it.  This includes people most of the time.  Who can resist 15 pounds of cat reaching out and lovingly placing a paw on your arm?  I sure can't.

Q*bert is newest to the household and therefore less equipped with guilt trips.  He's not sick/disabled/previously missing, so those tricks are out.  He's also not super smart, but honestly, that's what wins us over most of the time.  He's so...ummm...simple, that we can't resist him when he wants something.  His needs are so simple, basically food and an occasional lap, so who are we to say no?  Bless his heart.

Though he doesn't live in our house, Cimba has tricks of his own too.  I don't ignore him often, but sometimes I will walk away from his stall to pet another horse, and this makes him mad.  I'm his Mom, after all.  Most of the time, if he's craving attention, and some other horse is getting it, I'll hear a stern smack against his stall wall, and I'll turn around to see a very annoyed horse staring me down.  Flared nostrils, perked ears, and the brightest, sweetest eyes you've ever seen on a horse.  I am powerless against him.

Society has the idea that humankind is smarter and superior to the animal race.  Looking at all of this, though, I often wonder. 

Summertime ADD

What everyone in my household is doing right now except for me.

I don't know about you, but summer time makes me feel frivolous.  My singing position at the church is on hiatus, my Mom is on summer vacation from her teaching job, my animals are lazy, it's usually hot.  Vacation is on my mind (though we rarely travel in the summer, preferring "off season" times instead), as is shopping, ice cream, air conditioning, books, cookouts, campfires, marshmallows.  (That's a lot of food...perhaps "exercise" should have been on that list too, huh?  Alas, it's not.) 

Summer time makes me want to wear dresses.  Put flowers in my hair.  Paint my toenails wild colors.  Spend time with my friends.  Ride my horse. 

Everything is more relaxed in the summer, especially on hot days.  My entire house, full of three dogs (we're sitting an extra--no big announcement today, folks), four cats, and a husband, is perfectly silent.  Everyone is happily asleep, lazing away the hot day in his or her own fashion.  Gus and Q are still outside.  Sam and Mr. S prefer the air conditioning.  The dogs are in their usual spots, Jim is fast asleep after a night at work, and our canine guest is curled up asleep next to him.  Me, I'm awake but still in my pajamas, my preferred summer outfit of choice. 

It's on slow, quiet days like this that I am my happiest.  My brood are all safe, tucked away in their beds, and this Mama is happy.

New Heights of Laziness

Gus in a sleep coma

It's been hot around here, and today, so far, is the worst of all.  Heat indices in the 100s make for very unpleasant outdoor time.  Yet, I can't get the cats to come in.

Sam and Mr. Squiggles will come in periodically, especially around meal time.  But Gus and Q*bert spend almost every waking moment outside.  I don't get it.  We keep the house nice and cool.  Our house is a playground for cats.  What's missing?  What more do they want?  What makes the hot, sticky outdoors so much cooler than inside? 

I'm pretty sure Gus and Q find nice, cool spots under bushes, in the dirt, where they curl up and sleep in the peace and quiet.  I go outside and call to them several times a day, just to make sure they haven't baked themselves to death.  Sometimes they come, sometimes they don't.  I usually call during meal times.  Cats get hungry, right?  But it's like I have to remind them to eat.  Oh,  yeah.  I totally forgot.  I guess I baked my brain in this 105 degree weather.  Usually, if they do grace me by responding to my frantic calls, I have to walk over to them, pick them up, bring them in the house, and place them in front of their food.  At that point, they do remember how to eat and chew. 

After which, they promptly go back outside, to laze in their super-secret hiding spots.  Until the next time a meal rolls around.  Then we start all over again.  I can't wait for fall.  

Content

Could he be more comfortable?

So, last night, the rarest of rares occurred--Indiana got up and slept in bed with me and Jim.  She used to sleep with us all the time, but then I think it became more effort than it was worth to get up there.  (Plus, Jim moves around too much, and steals the covers)  She's been sleeping on the bed a lot lately though, which makes my heart go pit-a-pat every time I see it.  So when she slept between us last night, well, I thought my heart wouldn't be able to handle it.  Then, she layed over on her side, and I could feel her up against my leg.  *Swoon*

Plus, Indy's been eating really well.  And taking her pills.  And her UTI is gone.  And the cats have been (sort of) getting along. 

A happy clan of animals = a happy Mama.  My happiness is most definitely linked to how well my babies are doing, especially Indy.  Maybe because I've spent so much time taking care of her and getting her to a point where she is happy and healthy (which is, by the way, the goal).  I feel like I can sit back and enjoy the fruits of my efforts.  Pretend for the time being that I live a normal existence, in a world without missing cats, catastrophic illness, arthritis, and cancer.  For now, I am just a Mom with 6 animals, who are all healthy and happy, bringing me joy day after day.  And I plan to savour every moment. 

A Photo-less Update

So sorry for the lack of a photo today!  I do try to post at least one photo, because my animals are super cute. But I realized I've been really remiss in taking pictures of my clan lately, and I have nothing current to share with you.  I promise to do better this week--more pictures! more cuteness! 

Though we're waiting on new test results re: Indiana's kidneys/UTI, she's actually been feeling really good.  We had very unpleasant weather on Sunday, requiring me to drag all 6 of my less-than-willing animals into the basement.  Q went down to the basement on his own (the lure of seeing what I was up to was too great for him), but I had to herd the other 5.  I had to be really strategic about it, because Q was already down there, and not everyone gets along with Q.  Mr. S was my next logical choice, because he and Q are fine together.  Gus hates Q, and vice versa, so I knew Gus would be last to enter the basement.  Plus, he was sleeping in his happy spot, so upon plucking him up from his happy spot, I knew he would be decidedly unhappy.  Indy can't do stairs anymore, so I had to pick all 70 pounds of her up myself, and carry her down a flight of stairs.  It wasn't so much hard as it was butt-puckeringly-frightening.  I was so scared of dropping her or of tripping.  But I knew I was carrying most precious cargo, and I was determined to get her down safely.  And I did. 

Then we had to spend over an hour down in the basement.  Luckily, I have a music studio down there, complete with a couch, so at least it's (relatively) clean and pretty comfy.  But cold.  And after the first ten minutes, the power went off and didn't come back on again for over 7 hours.  Smart Mom that I am, I completely neglected to bring a flashlight ("Nah.  The power NEVER goes out.  We'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine."), so when the power went out, Isis freaked the heck out, upsetting all of the other animals.  I was left with only my cell phone for light, because I didn't trust my animals alone in the basement long enough to run upstairs and get a flashlight.  Plus, you know, death.  There was that to be afraid of too. 

During that hour, my cats were constantly at each other's throats.  Gus was bored, so he would playfully attack Sam or Mr. S, which Q would misread as an actual attack, which caused him to lunge after Gus in a very aggressive way, which caused Gus to react in kind, which caused me to be very annoyed and angry.  That hour couldn't go by fast enough.

In the end, I was able to release the critters back into the house.  I thought about carrying Indy back up the stairs, but sometimes she gets offended if we do things for her that she can do herself, so I decided to let her try (slightly assisted) to go up the stairs by herself.  And let me say that she accomplished that like a rock star.  Then, on three separate occasions later that day,  I saw her up on the bed--where she had climbed all by herself.  She was on a roll, and I was a very happy Mama.  Plus, she's been eating really well and taking all of her pills without a fuss, so essentially, my world is a very happy place right now.

Hopefully the Sun Will Make All the Difference

Indiana looks possessed, but you can totally see my sparkly shoes

It's been raining for 300 days straight here in Illinois.  Okay, maybe not that many, but it sure feels like it.  The sun is out today, sort of.  It's not raining.  Right now.  And tomorrow and Saturday are supposed to be beautiful, so yay for that!

I do love me some rainy days, because they make me want to hunker down on the couch, and snuggle up with a cat and read a book or watch TV and generally be really lazy.  That's been kind of disastrous this week, because we have Indiana's big birthday party on Saturday, and I am so behind.  Seriously, I need like an extra 24 hours to get everything done.  I woke up in a panic in the middle of the night last night and couldn't get back to sleep for hours (and that's not an exaggeration), because I was convinced that there was no way humanly possible to get everything done that I want to get done. 

Do you do that?  Wake up in the middle of the night, worrying about this or that?  I do that every few weeks or so, and when I wake up again in the morning, I think, "What the heck is wrong with you?  Why were you freaking out?  It's not that big of a deal."  For some reason, nighttime makes everything worse.  For example, in the middle of the night, I might think, "Oh My God I Have To Make Cupcakes For Tomorrow Night, And I Will Never Get Them Done, And When Am I Supposed To Make Cupcakes, Oh My God, It's The End Of The World."  But then when I wake up in the morning, I'm considerably more lucid, and capable of thinking things like, "Well, I have two hours between my appointments, so I can make cupcakes then, and then after my second appointment, I can frost the cupcakes.  Easy peasy."  But these things do not occur to you in the middle of the night. 

Anyway, I totally got off on a tangent, because my whole point about my night worries is that I think in this case they are totally founded.  I woke up this morning feeling slightly better than at 1am, but still...there's a lot to be done.  And I have standards to live up to.  Eh, sleep is totally overrated.

Another thing that has made my week weird, is that the rain has kept my four cats inside, for the most part.  They'll run outside while it's raining to potty under the deck, and during brief periods when it isn't raining, they'll explore for a little while, but overall, they've been in the house a lot more than usual.  Which means a lot more energy, and a lot more fights. 

Yesterday morning, Jim woke up and found a bag of dog food on the floor, filled with holes, probably attacked by Samson.  Who brought in a snake two days ago.  And Gus has been trying to make Mr. Squiggles play, which Mr. S hates.  And Gus and Samson have been stalking Q*bert all around the house, and Q*bert has been annoying the heck out of me during meal time, running around my legs and then biting me when I dare make contact with him.  All I can say is that I am sooooo glad that it's supposed to finally be getting nice outside, so I can get these darn cats outside, where they can work off their energy and take their aggression out on, I don't know, butterflies or something.  Sorry butterflies, but better you than me.

The Last Word, But Truthfully, Probably Not

Q*bert's not in this picture because, well, that would be disastrous

I'm feeling a bit melancholy today.  Maybe it's the weather.  It's pouring rain.  I love rainy days, but they don't really help your mood, do they?  They're the kind of days where you just want to stay in your pajamas all day, snuggling with an animal and a book.  All of my animals have other plans though, apparently, so I'm sitting on the couch, sans cats, and with a computer instead of a book. But I am in my pajamas, so there's that. 

Anyway, if you've been reading my blog lately (or, well, ever), you probably can understand why I might be feeling sad and overwhelmed.  And I feel both.  Indiana's doing ok, but she's been even more work than usual, given that she's changed her eating habits yet again.  Plus, we're into itchy allergy season, and she's already an itchy mess.  Then there's the cats.

I wrote yesterday about the cats all being anemic, most likely from the mycoplasma infection that Mr. S came back with.  I got a call from the vet's office late yesterday afternoon, saying that they aren't going to run the mycoplasma test as planned but instead would treat three of the cats for it.  With oral doxycycline.  Every day.  For a month.  I asked about Gus, who wasn't tested this week, but is likely anemic as well.  Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, noooooooooo.  Let's not make Jen's life easy, and just put Gus on antibiotics as well, considering three of her four cats have anemia from an infectious disease.  That would make too much freaking sense.  No, Gus has to be brought in to the vet's office for bloodwork to confirm anemia.  Because it's so easy to shove a cat into a cage, drive him, crying (him, not me, but, well, probably me too this week), and then drag him into the back of the office, take his blood (during which time he will probably bite and or scratch the techs, knowing Gus), reverse the whole process, wait for test results, only to find out what we already know by the process of deduction.  I really want to cry about this, because I am overwhelmed with responsibility this week, and I don't have the time or energy to take Gus in, when I don't see the point.  Ugh.  I'm ranting, but I'm beyond frustrated about this.

Not to mention, the idea of giving antibiotics to four cats for an entire month is really overwhelming too.  Q is actually a dream about it--he's on antibiotics now--because he eats just like a dog.  He stands in front of his bowl and eats every single morsel of it, no questions asked.  I'm not even sure he tastes it, so it's easy to put his antibiotics in his food.  But the other cats...oh, it causes my heart palpitations!  Q eats by himself, but the other three cats eat together.  And they are not easy to feed.  The three of them get a total of five bowls of food every meal--three bowls of raw and two bowls of canned.  The bowl you put in front of one cat is guaranteed not to be the bowl that cat actually eats out of.  It's a crapshoot.  And during any given meal, each cat will walk away from and come back to the food over the course of an hour or so.  So there is no guarantee that one bowl will be finished before the next meal, and there is no telling which bowls will be finished and by whom.  So how, pray tell, am I to dose three cats this way?

The doctor's office says to separate them in different rooms during meals.  I get that, but I know my cats, and that's not going to go over well.  Anyone who owns cats knows they are creatures of habit, and they don't change habit easily, or happily.  And I don't blame my vet's office for this--it's not their fault my cats need meds--but I'm having a pity party, so I'm going to complain and get it all out.

I don't want anyone to think that I honestly have a problem with this.  I love my cats (and dogs) beyond measure, and would do anything for them, including jumping through hoops to give them medicine for a month so they'll be healthy again.  I am frustrated at what I consider irrational expectations from my vet's office.  I'd be happier right now if I could just have meds for all four.  And it'll all work out.  The cats will (somehow) get their meds, Indiana will start eating again, and all will be well.  Until the next time there is some medical crisis.  But I accept that as a part of animal-parenthood, something I took on when I adopted these amazing creatures.  They are my family, and even though I might want to put them in the naughty corner for five minutes or sixty from time to time, I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Cats and Such

I can't get enough of Mr. Squiggles.  Can you?

Last week, I wrote about my marathon day at the vet's office.  Three cats, three sets of bloodwork.  I wasn't expecting to hear anything back until probably tomorrow, but I got a voice message (I had my cell turned off--ugh, what was I thinking?) on Friday night, telling me that all three of my boys are anemic. 

We found out, through a fluke accidental test run by the lab, that Mr. Squiggles was infected with mycoplasma, a bacterium that causes anemia in pets.  He probably got it while out on his grand adventure.  The vet treated him with some supplements, and we fully expected it to clear up, as we was otherwise asymptomatic. 

But then with last week's blood results, we learned that it's probably not gone, and has, in fact, probably spread to the other cats.  The lab is running another set of tests on all three cats right now, to see if mycoplasma is indeed the cause, or something else.  Though the descriptions of Feline Hemotropic Mycoplasmosis are frightening, I know it doesn't necessarily mean that my cats are in any danger.  We will, after all, treat them once we know what's going on.  Even so, the hyper Mom in me still freaks out about it.  This infection can be deadly.  And I really don't know anything about it, not yet. I am so anxious to talk to my vet about this, because she always makes me feel better.  Test results, hurry up and get here! 

I just can't believe I have to deal with this.  Jim says it's to be expected, when you have six pets, most of whom you adopted either because they were sick or in need.  I just wish sometimes I could get a break, in the health department.  I'm thankful that we can afford to treat our clan (today's tests are going to run about $360) without worrying too much about costs.  Still, when I'm feeling sorry for myself, I wish for just one day where all six babies are healthy!

In happier news, I have now joined Twitter!  I have a lot to learn, but I look forward to sharing information and interesting links to my followers and expanding my own knowledge base as well.  Please follow JenSchneiderDog.  I learn new things all the time, and you'll learn right along with me!  If you're on Twitter, please mention it in the comments section of my blog, and if you have any favorite animal wellness resources, please share them as well.

Sorry for the less-than-stellar blog post today.  My mind is in a million places at once right now.

Explain To Me Why...

...cats like to sleep upside down.

...when I am giving pills after meals, wrapped in delicious liver sausage, only one of the three dogs in my house will come into the kitchen, thus requiring me to walk into two other rooms to deliver said pills.

...when we have over 1/2 an acre of land fenced in for the cats, they still insist on being in the same ten square feet, eyeing each other suspiciously and growling when someone gets too close.

...I am content to curl up into a tiny ball at the far, top edge of my king-sized bed to make room for the two seventy-pound dogs and one small cat.

...it takes the dogs a good five minutes sometimes to realize that I am home, yet all the UPS man has to do is drive into the neighborhood, and suddenly everyone is creating a fuss.

...the cat food tastes so much better when it's out of someone else's bowl.

...it tastes so much better out of someone else's bowl, even when it's the exact same food.

...an empty paper bag on the floor can be the coolest thing ever.

...some dogs will put absolutely anything in their mouths, edible or not.

...someone is whining right now, for no apparent reason.

...I love these creatures so very much.  Oh, wait.  I do know the answer to that one.

A Fairy Tail

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Jen. Princess Jen owned lots of cats, and this was good, for Princess Jen loved her cats with all her heart.

Princess Jen and her handsome husband Prince Jim lived in their castle full of cats. Sometimes the cats would fight, but over time, the cats grudgingly accepted each other, and peace reigned in the Schneider castle.

Then one day, evil Old Man Winter descended upon the Schneiders. He took away the sunshine and made the world cold. The tenuous hold on peace that the Princess had gained was suddenly ripped away. Cats fought with cats; floors, and even boots, were peed upon. With their precious outdoors a winter wasteland, the Princess' cats started to grow mad from the seclusion.

One night, as the Princess attempted to slumber in her bed (and the Prince was off fighting Nuclear Power in the far off lands of Braidwood), the cats began a war in her home. No sooner would the Princess drift off to sleep than she would be ripped out out of it by the battle cry of the cat. The Princess sprung from her bed, armed with her trusty squirting water bottle, prepared to do battle amongst the cats. After multiple attempts, a shaky peace was achieved in the Princess' castle, and she was able to crawl back into bed, finally, after several hours.

Just when the Princess thought all was well in her home, the light of dawn brought another round of fighting. The cats had agreed, reluctantly, to a treaty of peace the night before, but the Princess could tell that these promises could easily be broken. The threat of the trusty squirting water bottle was enough to coerce the cats back into their corners. Secure in the belief that peace had once again been restored in her home, the Princess returned to bed.

Minutes later, she was awoken by an intruder in her bed. What did the intruder intend? Which of the cats was it? Alas, the Princess could not be sure, for the intruder ran off at the sound of the Prince returning from his quest. Awakening from her sleep, the Princess realized that the intruder had invaded her territory not only to drive her mad, but also to pee in her bed. Twice. The Princess suspected that her home had been invaded then by not one, but two cats during the night. She would never be safe again.

The Princess, having been dominated by the cats, arose from bed to feed them, lest they get very angry and pee on more things. The cats continued to fight, until the Princess declared that she could stand no more. Desperate with fear and frustration, the Princess took to the couch, seeking refuge in her beloved Facebook.

Seconds went by before she was approached by one of the cats. But this was no ordinary cat. This was the brave Mr. Squiggles, a calm, peaceful warrior, who though fond of peeing on carpeting and shoes, never, ever peed in her bed. Mr. Squiggles crawled upon her lap and fell asleep, content to simply be in the presence of the Princess. And while the Princess could still hear the far off sounds of cats fighting, she ignored them. The sun was shining, Old Man Winter would some day be leaving her lands, and all would be well once again in the castle. They would live Happily Ever After.

The End.