Combos

Our neighbors stopped by on Friday with their little girl Pen†. Perhaps an hour, a comfortable chat. Eleanor kept coming in, then skittering off, over and over. Fascinated but easily startled. Eventually, gave Pen a long hand sniff, which both seemed to enjoy. Hard to explain to a one year old that she'd been given a great honor, and to expect no more.

All nice people, we are glad to have them near. Good senses of humor. Dave* noticed Dylan's guitars, and offered to jam with him... with his clarinet, which was a joke.

Guitar and clarinet are perhaps not an ideal duo, but it's easy to imagine worse. Harp and tuba came to mind. Bagpipes and trombone would be terribly interesting, emphasis on terrible. Xylophone and Theremin. Bugle and dulcimer.










I'd love to hear any of them prove me wrong. But then, I want to hear Scotland the Brave on accordion. And Lady of Spain on bagpipes.




I have a soft spot for bagpipes.






†Not her name, but with similarities.
*Not his name, but just as common.

Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.

'Tis such fools as you / That makes the world full of ill-favoured children.

Many a good abortion prevents a horrible murder spree. RE: the guy in Colorado who shot up the Planned Parenthood clinic. Better he'd never been born. And as for those who say they'd've killed a baby Hitler, most of them would probably not have been alright with his mother aborting little Adolf. Fucking conservative nutjobs.

Before I met Dylan, if I'd been given the choice of my mother aborting me, I'd have said "please, sure, definitely."

End a bad pregnancy. Once breathed, then there is no excuse for being unkind to any child. Once all children are wanted and loved and raised well, then and only then can anyone start to reduce abortions.

As for Hitler baby killers, such were the times that if it hadn't been him, someone would have filled that niche, perhaps even more effectively.

Don't kill babies. But let women decide if and when to give birth. And then make sure all children are raised in safety, with care and education and love.

Not that easy, really. Not that hard, either. But our societal norms work against it. Women left alone to raise children under difficult conditions, damaged themselves, the children prey to any depraved adult or even older relation, often the mother herself.

Too little attention paid to children, too little care as a whole.

Better not born.

I got to a good place. My childhood on the bad side, not as bad as many, still. Half my life, I'd have chosen non-existence. Without hesitation. I should have died in utero.

Redeemed myself. With a lot of help. Dylan glad I did. Empathy bred deep in my soul. Still, it really doesn't need to be this hard, cost this much.

Thanks

This has been a special week for us, right from the start.

Mammals

Mammals, They Might Be Giants.

Glass of milk
Standing in between extinction in the cold
And explosive radiating growth

So the warm blood flows
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have

Mammal, mammal, their names are called
They raise a paw, the bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog, koala bear and hog

One of us might lose his hair
But you're reminded that it once was there
From the embryonic whale to the monkey with no tail

So the warm blood flows with the red blood cells lacking nuclei
Through the large four-chambered heart
Maintaining the very high metabolism rate they have

Mammal, mammal their names are called
They raise a paw, the bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog, koala bear and hog

Placental sister of her brother Marsupial
Their cousin called Monotreme
Dead uncle Allotheria

Mammal, mammal, their names are called
They raise a paw the bat, the cat
Dolphin and dog, koala bear and hog
The fox, the ox, giraffe and shrew, echidna, caribou.

It's a class thing. We all snuggle and snore.

Latex

It didn't start out as a problem, but my hands started rashing when I used the powdered, latex prep gloves. Nitrile unsterile gloves worked fine. Sterile latex gloves with a coating and no power are ok even now. I have a definite, but mild, allergy. Can't stand automotive stores - because of the tires. Stick to a waiting area without rubber, and no problem.

Went to UMOCA (Utah Museum of Contemporary Art) today. I sniffed something, but it didn't reach identification threshold. Until I walked around a corner, stopped, noticed all the old balloons, backed off, then knew the odor. We left very quickly, cold fresh air helped a bit. Ran a few more errands, my airways feeling reactive, but not in a panic.

Took a non-sleepy antihistamine when we got home, which is working nicely.

I did write them an email. Anyone with a bad latex allergy - they'd've been calling 911, if that hit me as hard as it did.

It all came out of the AIDS crisis. Latex condoms meeting the mucous membranes of masses of people, every single health care working actually practicing Universal Precautions consistently, and a whole lotta people got sensitized to the protein. I know of three nurses, with latex allergies so severe they can't work in direct patient care. The surgeon with the same problem uses non-latex gloves, as does everyone else in the room with her.

We've gotten away from the use of latex, which used to be the go-to substance. Only gloves are still an issue, because the replacements are still not as stretchy, thicker, stickier, not quite adequate. Better, certainly. I remember the first ones made of vinyl, no stretch at all, thick and nearly impossible to get on.

And, of course, people bringing in latex balloons to patients.

No one thinks, entering a museum, to ask, "Got any balloons?"


Snowing again.

Movement

A bit of snow this morning, not much, but the roads (so I've read) were slick and dangerous. We stayed in, save to sweep and salt a little.

Took a shower. Went to dress, surprized to find Moby on the bed.



"It's cozy. Go away."

So we turned on the bed warmer (cat warmer?) Not too much later,



"um?"




"Leave us alone."

Humidifiers running full, and then empty, only to get us up to about 40%. Enough to keep down sparks, prevent bloody noses.

Getting out of the house shortly. Two days idle are driving me slightly nuts. Tired of resting, much as I needed it. Bitter winds dissuaded me from walking, which isn't good for me. Sore and getting grumpier by the minute. The cure is movement, much as that feels exactly the opposite of what I need.

Abstention

Is it actually boycotting when you wouldn't have done something in the first place? We don't buy gifts, or go to sales on "black friday", but then, we never have. So, is avoiding it really avoiding it? We stay out of malls and large stores all year long, does it matter that we avoid them from now until after New Year?

We did need groceries this morning, since we hadn't shopped since last weekend. There weren't any discounts involved, no waiting in lines, nothing holiday themed purchased.

We haven't played 'commercial christmas' for well over a decade. We can say we're sticking our oar in, but we don't reach the water.

I never minded working on holidays, but I knew that was the deal in my line. Always paid well, sometimes made gatherings difficult, which could be a good thing. These days, so few days are set aside, or none are really, to allow everyone to lay down their work and come together.

Is it just too complex a world now? Or has it ever been thus? Animals needed feeding, watering. Crops needed tending. Women always cooked and cared for children. Festivals and holy days are beloved, but how often are they merely a change, shifting work elsewhere, often onto the least powerful?

Outrage over the commercialization of Thanksgiving may be about something else. Disruption of a nostalgic ideal of family, that perhaps never was. A yearning for a golden age of a more social society, that needed servants working harder than ever to feed the posh guests. Yes, I do think it's better to have at least one day when all the stores are shut, the people who work retail given respite (with pay), and that means we have to prove to the owners they are better off closed that day.

So, I dip my oar and pretend to row, just to show willing.

Outlier

We've watched MST3K for a long, long time now. Started when we first got a dish and basicable. Bad movies, heckled mercilessly by a guy and his 'bots†. Many evenings of friends at our place or Dave's* laughing and mocking along. These days, streaming their Thanksgiving Day feed of old episodes, oh, so many terrible movies. Such apt taunts and references to the obscure and popular fads. (Hey, it's a gig.)

They are getting together a new version, with all new people. Which makes sense, really. No one younger than us would get a lot of the jokes, and the target audience has to be young folks. Working with an 18 year old woman, I've come to realize how much is lost in the translation of generation. Any new MST3K would need the kind of references 20-30 year olds would respond to. (AaaaaaHHHHhhhhjustinbeieber!aaaahhhh!)

I've tried to keep up, at least nominally. I watch The Soup, I read online. I'm not a Luddite, no neophobe I, but so much of it emerges - none aimed at me. I do twitter, but in a very narrow and for me utilitarian usage. Tried FB and hated it. I'm pretty confident with the online/computer world, but missed the assumptive phase by a few years. I've had a blog for a decade! (ok, that isn't better.)

And the youngest adults didn't just watch shows, the way I did. They've lived in an interactive world, which I think is in many ways a better approach. Somewhere in the middle were the tv kids who had cable re-runs, video stores, and the overlap in pop culture. The mass of shows means only those who seek out the older stuff will find a series that resonates with them, depending on what comes to hand.

Which is all to say that most of the MST3K jokes are going to whiz past anyone under 40, or outside middle 'merica. They made a New Zoo Review reference. And Room 222. Among many others.



Dylan works in an IT lab at the library these days, and dreads the words "I don't know much about computers." He sees the generational gap, no doubt exacerbated by socio-economic class and economic situation. Younger than him, not so much a problem. Older... big problem. He also thinks my submersion in an intellectually demanding educational programs helped flip the switch in my adult brain that keeps me teachable. He's very generous with me.

A lifetime of being out of step with the mainstream. Nothing new, there. Off the bell-curve forever.


Moby ate to his heart's content today. Chicken whenever he wanted. I fed him about four times, on top of the usual. He really gets into that aspect of Thanksgiving. Eleanor still only wants crisps/kibbles, we're working on her.



*Dave,
So many friends named Dave!



†"If you're wondering how he eats and breathes and other science facts, repeat to yourself it's just a show, I should really just relax."

Gracious

Up the usual too early. No appreciable snow. Highways were treacherous, so I read, but I drove home in a tepid drizzle, and plan to leave the car untouched until Monday morning. Prepared the chicken about 0700, over the frozen pineapple and strawberries too long forgotten until I cleaned the freezer last week. Smelled wonderful at about the 3 hour mark. Tried to broil it to crisp up skin. Falling apart and tender.



Tasted of nearly nothing at all. Not that Moby minded his bit of dark meat, wolfed down. Lioned down? But we had jalapeño cranberry sauce which solved that nicely. Salad. Other rather experimental elements, and while not a failure - moist poultry on Thanksgiving is so rare as to be non-traditional - it was not a system we plan on repeating. Not without a dramatic re-thinking of the method. Made potatoes too. Usual method, in water in the microwave, but for some reason it all broke down too much, becoming soup instead of mashables. Will have to fry it up, drive off some of the water.


Eleanor hanging out by space heater, still wanting crunchies, not moist, fresh food. She is not losing any appreciable amount of weight, so we have to assume she is getting sufficient nutrition, as long as we aren't looking. I woke to anxious, angry dreams, until she walked on my chest and settled in for a snuggle.




Moby not sure about Moose Zachary, but they both seem to be bird watching. Put out a Thanksgiving feast for them, as well. Birds mobbing all morning.



So beautifully quiet outside. Watching MST3K streaming today. Reading a Nero Wolf. Dealing with reactive airways, which sucks rather. Drugs, humidifier, food all help. Taking life slowly. No need to rush, the ocean awaits all rivers.

Fur

Moby stretched across
Two laps, spanning both humans
live warmth, furful love.

Not too long after, Moby curls up between us, nestled and purring. Then Eleanor walks over Dylan, sits on his leg, and begins kneading a few inches from Moby's head. He sees her, but tucks back down still purring. She noses his ear, and licks a couple of times, which he accepts. She kneads a little nearer to him, and we marvel at her gentleness, and his seeming pleasure in her company. He can clearly feel her beside him, her whiskers brushing his ear, the movement of her paws.

Only took three years.


Worth it.


All four of us, snuggled on the couch. A moment of perfect bliss.

Nada

Why did I agree to work tomorrow? Oh, yeah, hours. Today was fine, really, just ran a bit long. Brain empty.

But this link to happy dogs in snow had me laughing this morning, and I shared it throughout the day.

Leaning

Cat on a chair. I got him the flux facilitator (laxative,) which annoyed him enough to leave. I sat in the chair to read. He came back a few minutes later, looking speculatively at me, and at the back of the chair. I sat forward, he hopped up, I leaned back.






Eleanor still bothered by the food change situation, but she's not losing any weight over it. So, I suspect she's sighing and eating it anyway, as long as we're not watching her.

People, eh?

Chats

Never have we been so happy to scoop turds. Well shat, chats. Eleanor getting a little used to the food change, as well as playing more. I think this is because - usually, they'd gotten into the habit of chasing around each other. Eleanor still being sweet to Moby, and he's been accepting. He spent a good bit of time outside in the sunshine, watching birds, today. Brushing not going as well, but I'm doing what I can.
Already, with the all wet/all meat diet, he's starting to lose that frightening thinness so obvious right after the many enema day. Nothing as awful as a Many Enema Day.



Eleanor eats, Moby watches. "G'head, 'sgood stuff." He assures her.

This crisis seems to have solidified their relationship in some human indefinable way. They, presumably, understand it.

Still feeling worn from the past week. Reading more Rex Stout, which pleases me. Working three solid* days yet, before the holiday. My favorite holiday. Thanksgiving has few lasting resonances from bad times. It's all new to Us, and this year especially. Dylan's folks are out to CA to spend it with second-newest grandson, and son and DIL incidentally. I told Dylan this† would work out well for us. Not that he didn't believe me, but it's always nice to have proof.

Helped a dog today, walking past taking groceries home, black lab dragging a leash, spotted Owner/Guy behind him. So, I let Dog come to me to be petted, incidentally trod on his leash. Guy thanks me profusely, not letting Dog run out onto a busy street. Guy smart enough not to run and chase Dog (who would gladly have Run and played Chase!) Friendly moment for all concerned, instead.

And I now know this is the Way. Compromise, friendliness, calm, acceptance, all the trite words that describe Grande Compassion That Heals All Wounds. So simple, so difficult(for most of us. Me especially.)

Not that it saves us from grief, death, suffering, only that we know none of that really matters. We live our own lives, and we are all one life.

Christmas Lights up in the Trader Joe's (and ACE Harware, Staples, Paradise Bakery) parking lot. I looked at that, half heartedly complained about the pushing of the Shopping Season, and Dylan says, "I just don't have the energy to hate it anymore." I agreed, and decided it was Japanese Christmas! Nothing to do with the christian/European holiday/Yuletide thingy. This made both of us feel so much better. The Red Green Season. Nothing to be concerned about. Irrelevant, festive, commercial, abstract.


*Ten hour shifts. At least.
†Having two new babies from his brothers in the past two years. Ok, well, our SILs, technically.


ps:
Science tackles what is Stupid.

Watching Gold Diggers of 1933. First shown it on laserdisc by an acquaintance in high school. Can't remember who. But I fell in love with pre-code movies, and Dick Powell, Ruby Keeler, and Joan Blondell right then.

Congestion

Took me a while to find him, up on the second shelf of the tree.

Sore from the last two days running at work. Fell last week on hands and knees, onto the sidewalk. After the initial swearing, I thought about how children fall and skin their knees, and it REALLY HURTS. No wonder they wail. I wanted to wail, but confined myself to swearing, with a wry shrug to the woman walking toward me.

I remembered falling like that, when running was the only way to move and sidewalks tripped one up with malice aforethought, and skin tore off like tissue. My old knee showed the bruise a few days ago, very swollen and spreading. Low back took some of the shock, and aches increasingly. At least I have access to ace wraps at work, which (along with cheetos) kept me going yesterday. Today, I'm bumbling and forgetful. Took me at least a half dozen intentions to finally get the dishes going. Broke a mug, moving the knife holder I bumped it, mug wobbled, I thought it would stabilize, then it kept going, "NO!" yes. Crash. All I could do was laugh.

Nice cobalt blue, large mug, but not with a lot of sentimental value, so bugger. Swept it up. Went (after several aborted attempts) to get the frozen pumpkin (squares in ice-tray) out to thaw, and the broken door handle to the freezer that we fixed long ago, rebroke. I got out superglue and duck tape and fixed it.

Spilled the cat-lax on a mat. In the washer now.

Electric co. utility tree guys out trimming in back, which is good, although they didn't do the huge branch my neighbors were most concerned about. We'd gotten the previous owners to call about it, and they were rebuffed. We called both times we had trees trimmed, and they weren't interested. Neighbors called, same effect, although they also were told it was on the schedule for 2016. When we got the door hanger that they would be coming, I called back the "if you have any questions" number. "Oh, you're on a three year schedule for this." I must count differently than they do, since we moved in just under four years ago.



They didn't do as much as we hoped, but some is better than none.


Moby has a fair amount of congestion. Still giving laxatives, since there is really not much poop from either cat. Eleanor still not convinced turkey and duck gizzards are food, even with a sprinkling of usual kibble, with a lack of subsequent excretion. Put out some cream for her, which she enjoyed. Got out the humidifier, turned on the space heater in the music room, he's in there now. Probably picked up a cold at the vet. Just like people in hospitals get nosocomial infections. Put sick people together, and they will share.

Going to the Hong Kong Tea House for roast duck this evening. We may get squishy, even slightly reminiscent, but not nostalgic.* Now is the best, there was no better.


Dylan working today, so I was sure it was Wednesday all day long. Confused that Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me was on during the week... oh, wait.

Cheered that a school in Mexico City has a gender-bending day.

Everything feeling somewhat stuck. Not badly, nothing critical, just... sticky.




*“Nostalgia is deception wrapped in sentiment. Nostalgia is a ghostly lover dressed in a lovely, old-fashioned gown, who beckons you to dance with her, to make love to her… and then she turns into a hideous mummified ghoul who rips your throat out with her teeth and blood gushes and the screaming, my God, the screaming… That is nostalgia.”—Dave Campbell

Quarter

Twenty five years ago is the date on my activation papers. I keep hearing The Forever War going through my head, although I've never read the book. It all started there, or maybe simply continued on. As WWII turned into every other conflict after, skirmishes and bloodbaths, police actions and colossal failures of diplomacy, with side slides into extremism and punching down on the most vulnerable.


Having escaped a very personal violence, this was my chance to find peace. I held on with both hands, without hope, finding joy only on the other side, in safe arms. Took me a very long time to trust. And let go of old hurts.


That is the only way forward. The only way to peace. Let the hurts heal, leave them alone, stop feeding the monsters. And take care of children. There is no excuse for being unkind to a child.

Today was as expected. Got in all my walking 10K steps, about 5 miles, at work. Hard, hard day. Ate at 1030, bought cheetos at about 4, just to make it through. Then, when I clocked out at 1738, took me until 1808 to get five minutes drive away - sporting event of some sort. The rest of the trip home, about 10 minutes, took the normal time.

Cats are both eating, drinking, and shitting, properly. Dylan and I have spent every day of the last 25 years together, or at least in contact on the rare occasions apart.

Photos tomorrow, I promise. It's been a week.

Schedule

One of those days that looked good on paper, the schedule was straightforward. The day? Anything but. Ah, well, this is my worklife. FUBAR, Catastrofuck, although by the definition of anyone who's worked in a trauma OR, not a bad day. (A good day is when everyone goes home alive. I've had bad days. Not in years, though.) A famous athlete (local), hesitated to have surgery, and threw everyone's day off. The other side of it was a foot surgeon with two rooms, and not a fellow, PA nor resident in sight, to make that work. Two rooms means a surgeon can cut out suture closing, splint application, as well as our turnover (cleaning, setting up). Without a resident to close the incision, a PA to prep and drape, there is little point in doing more than one room. Still, surgeon all on his own, had two rooms, and got very behind schedule.


Planning to go have my roast duck dinner on Saturday, while poor Dylan will have to make do with pepper beef or kung pao chicken. Somehow, he doesn't seem to mind.

Moby has been a hungry cat all day, Dylan tells me he's been eating all through. He has already lost some of that terrible thinness, even had a real, if short, chase and wrestle, with Eleanor. We consider this as good a day as we can imagine.

Another day of probably much the same tomorrow.

Unimaginable

Long, long ago, I was a page at a local history and genealogical library. I got books, microfilm/fiche, newspapers/maps for anyone filling out a slip. A basement, and two sub-basements of material, a vault, and the main reading room with balcony. I understand it was pretty useful. I just ran for the paper, and put it back after. Dust everywhere. I often thought, never said "THEY ARE ALL DEAD!" Which made up for in accuracy all it omitted in politeness.

I was never much interested in my dead relatives, since I knew damn well I didn't much like the ones still alive, with a few exceptions. What I would like to know is where my genes traveled from, if I really am French/Belgian and Irish and Iroquois. Not the individuals - who I most likely would have disliked, but the paths that led on.

Thinking about how bright and funny my mother's family was. How brilliant Uncle Walt, how witty my many cousins, aunts, uncles on that side. Fucked up people who had no clue how to raise children, alcoholics and generally unstable, suicidal and manipulative martyrs en masse. But, oh, they were wits. Educated or not, they joked and told stories. Loud and raucous and warm, with prickles.

Dylan's father asked for my information to look up my ancestry. It's a Mormon thing, which I am cool with. If he figures his god can cope with their catholicism, I say have at. But FIL hasn't said a word since, which vaguely worries me. Not for myself, really. But that he realizes how far down his son has married.

This Friday is the 25th anniversary of our activation, which we count as our own. Of course, we are both working, me on Friday, him on Saturday. We will shift and settle on whatever day we find. May do my roast duck on Saturday afternoon/evening. At the Hong Kong Tea House, not home cooked, mind. I tried that, and it almost worked, but not well. Rather have it done properly. That our relationship begins the onset of the current cold war is a bugger. We are doing our best to be on the balancing side. Calm, cooperative, amenable. We are not fighters against each other, we discuss and find a place we can both agree.

I could never have imagined such a peaceful existence when I was growing up amid such conflict. I am blessed beyond comprehension, nevermind mere words.

Galumphing

Cleaned the fridge this morning, followed by the freezer. Thankfully, didn't need to get rid of very much, just consolidated, organized. And scrubbed, of course. Needed, but not disgusting, not too bad - considering. My bruised knee objected, but I kept on.

Scurried over to the state liquor store when it opened at 1100. Found a bit of nice-ish sake. Sipped, as I sorted through the freezer, and licked (hazelnut chocolate chip) gelato*. The sort of thing I would feel self conscious about if not totally alone, feeling too self indulgent, more than a bit silly. I don't mind sharing - after, but in the midst? Well, at that point, it isn't a story yet.

Finished After Alice, very impressed. Planning to go back and read more of Gregory Maguire's books, as well as Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass.

Talked with the vet, she called to follow up. I'm in tears, because we are not going to stuff him in a bag to take him back, nor are we giving him more sub-q fluids. He's a remarkably tolerant cat, but those two things he has clearly indicated his refusal of. So, we will listen to him, and let him be. Vet very understanding, I thanked her profusely for getting him past this. Assured her we'd only give him wet (meaning homemade) food, laxatives, brush him weekly, provide easy to reach water, and let him set the pace. We know this means he may not live too much longer, but with cats - you never know. They have their own time, and we can't interfere. At least not to any effect.

We are trying to treat him as we would want to be treated, inasmuch as we can interpret him. After so many years of listening to him, we fervently hope we understand. As well as galumphing humans can.


He's a bit better this morning, eating well. At least he likes my cooking. Still working on Eleanor. ("But... I LIKE kibble!")







*Those gelato containers we'd already cleaned proved a key tool in the organization.

Matters

"It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing.
What is most beautiful is least acknowledged.
What is worth dying for is barely noticed."

- Laura McBride via Whiskey River.




Got home, and Moby has a watery eye, and a hangdog look. He may be over the crisis, but he's certainly not feeling well. Eleanor is ravenous for kibble, but not eating the wet food much, waiting it out. Feeling quite helpless.



Taking our cues from him, now.



Watching Due South, didn't see much of it when it was broadcast. Strong start. And he is Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson, which to me means Carrot is Canadian. Both descended from Dudledy Do Right.

Shat

So, of course, Eleanor stopped shitting as well, so I dosed her with laxatives for a couple of days until she shat. Change of food and stress in the house, no doubt, but I just wasn't having it.


Spider love.

Compost your dead.


Moby got a bit out himself, despite missing the box. We aren't complaining. Just glad it's all working again.

Dylan made gorgeous hot soup for when we both got home this evening, with some of the hot Hungarian paprika we found.


That's it. Night.

Roughage

He went outside with D yesterday, which is as happy as we can imagine. Rough week, though.



Trying to brush him intermittently, which he tolerates. Even the tail, so long as I only brush a little.

Eleanor went up to him, sniffed noses sweetly, and he accepted her kisses with patience, maybe even some pleasure.



Expresses his gratitude to his old friend, Heater.



And my wonderful D. (Should I just call him by name, since that letter has taken on unfortunate slang meanings of late?)




I'm just glad the cats seem to like my cooking. Duck giblets from the Asian market, turkey thighs from the smaller grocery store, chicken hearts and livers on order. Honestly, I think it's going to be cheaper to feed them better, if a bit more time consuming. Dark meat and organ meat is no longer considered edible, meaning, it's all cheap. Which baffles me since I've never liked white meat chicken nor turkey. Getting the turkey heart was a favorite treat when I was small and turkey was being roasted.

If only we could get ground mouse...

Our own diets have become far less processed, less breaded, more vegetative and fruity. And I have treat food stashed away, not because I wouldn't share, but because he can't eat it, and I don't want to tempt. Getting undue pleasure from sneaking chocolate all for me, without having even the option of sharing. It's all mine, in the best way imaginable.

Gleaming

The sun came out just for him. He appreciates.

So thin, poor kitty. Used the slow-cooker* to make food for them, duck gizzards from the Asian market, turkey thighs from Sprouts®, a little turmeric and four hours cooking. This seems to be a good start, although I plan to add a few green peas and pumpkin to fill it out, and mush it up better, either with the blender or if I can find a manual meat grinder for not too much.

Have to give him additional fluids today, subcutaneous injection, which he Does Not Like. Every other day for the next two weeks, to cushion his kidneys from the stresses.


Cleaning begins again. Want to be ready for Thanksgiving. D's parents out of town visiting other grandson for that holiday. We plan to make House available for anyone in town needing a place to be the Friday after, or sick of family and in need of respite care. Really de-furred the cat tree, found a hard little turd on the top. Found two more rocky turds around the edges, and a place where Somebody horked, or had a liquid of some sort exude several days ago. All cleaned now, smelling of orange oil.


Eleanor hid as long as the vacuum kept running. She's assuming I've GOT to be DONE by NOW.



Update: Subcutaneous injection went as well as I expected, D alarmed by how much Moby HATED it, escaped in a huff of catswears at us. "You nastybastardsihateyouall." Moby came up to me 20 minutes later headbutting me in apology, no harm done. I assume the pressure is quite unpleasant. But then, I've had IVs, and they felt wonderful when I was badly dehydrated. Maybe he felt enough better after a few minutes to forgive me.


*A fictional slow cooker. I cannot have a slow cooker. I deny that we bought one a few weeks ago. It's too much of a Utah Wife thing, almost as bad as a Dutch Oven. Utility be damned, there is no slow cooker in our house. Honestly. Why are you looking at me like that? So what that it's already made fantastic chili at D's hand, or soup, or is going to be useful for keeping us in healthy cat food? Nope, I don't see no slow cooker. I reject your reality and substitute my own.

Feces

DEATH has a soft spot for cats, HE stops by for each of the nine, so perhaps he gets to know them. Maybe cats get nine, because DEATH nudges them to ask for a little assistance. We felt HIS presence this week.



This is part of the problem with medical people, they go straight to worst case scenario, and say it out loud. I mentioned when I left yesterday what was going on with Moby to our anesthesiologist*, and he immediately sympathizes AND says, "He could die of that, you know!" Yes, yes I did, thanks. Hell, I've seen people die of bowel obstructions. Yup, all the nightmares in my head are firsthand and indelible.

Feces I have known.

So, yeah, this isn't drama. This is experience and instinct, and we both felt it. Passed by, now, and we felt that too.

Moby sat on D's lap this morning, just for a little while, and purred. For the first time in a week. After years of early morning sitting on D every day. I stroke his back, and his tail flips up, I do it again and again, until he looks at me, as if to say, "my tail's tired, please stop." I stop. Brush the slightly crusty fur on his tail later, which at first seems fine, but then he moangrrs. "Ok, that's enough for now." He has eaten a bit, his gut is working, it's obvious he's wrung out, wanting to resume normal operations, but the heating pad on the low chair is the best place to recover.



*He's the head of anesthesia there, foremost expert anywhere on nerve blocks, incredibly knowledgeable researcher, skilled at everything related to his work. Dreadful sense of humor, always there with the pun or song cue - often NSFW, even though he's at work. Conservative nutjob, switches the channel to FOX news all the time. Still, he hates Trump, but then he hates all politicians. Often hard to like, but I'd trust him with my life. Lover of animals and staunch protector of children.

Squeaky

Eleanor didn't sleep on me much last night. I think she was keeping Moby company. All is well, or on the way to being well.

So, dance in squeaky shoes and laugh.

Place

The world is a better place.


Clean as a whistle. Walking a little funny, but not as much as when we took him in. Inspecting the place, making sure all is well, all the smells in his territory as they should be. Eleanor politely ignoring him. Vet not quite as expensive as we'd feared. New drugs, a plan in place.

Home.

Apologies

Waiting for word. We didn't sleep well. I went in to work, but I was extra, and the charge nurse had me do one task, then leave "low-census." Especially after a large case cancelled.

So, waiting.

Lucy, sorry, I was feeling a bit sensitive, and I got that comment from a number of people. My apologies. It felt like, "He's not old, you must be doing something wrong for him to be so sick." I know you didn't intend that.

This week has sucked, more for the poor cat who has had three, soon to be four, enemas. And a night in a cage away from home. Not to mention every damn human all up in his ass. Yes, Flask, it was fine to laugh.

I crashed early, and hard, although not for the whole night. I thought I dreamt Eleanor putting her paws on my face. D says yes, she really did that. Not unheard of, but usually just my throat or chin. She's doing her best.


Waiting to hear. Our dear friend.

Ham fisted and flat worded all week. Putting my foot in it all over the place, not sure where I stand, wrong footed, needing to find my feet. Working the problem, and multi-tasking does not exist, one or the other job suffers.

Waiting.

Overnight

Moby is staying overnight at the vet clinic. Two further enemas, and x-ray, fluids, laxatives and softeners, still more to come. So, he's been hiding this a while. Lotta fur, vet says, so despite his aversion to brushing, he will be brushed daily from now on. We are researching where to get poultry organs, will find butcher shops, find a manual meat grinder, and will learn to cook for our cats. Healthier for older kidneys. Better for both of them.

I asked the vet if they could keep him warm, and she promises to get him a heated blanket. What she thought was hip arthritis was probably just rocky stool, since the x-rays look pretty good.

Whole bunch of poop to come, though. Not that I object to cleaning up here, if he'd made a real mess last night and been fine, I would have just been happy for Moby. But given that he's better there, with another enema in the morning, pain meds, fluids, then it's much more straightforward for them to clean. Clinics are better set up to mop shit. I've done my share, and I'd rather do it in a hospital than in a home.

I know shit. It helps if the surfaces are non-porous. Shaving cream works a treat to clean it off. I have shit stories I will not share, lest I give you nightmares. Although the smell of sick shit is unmistakable.

Full house at work, and a sick-call, so I ran and ran, wound up giving four lunches

D got Moby to the vet by cab, just like in Boston. We are well trained to be adaptable people. I have no words to explain how glad I am to have D to rely on. We hold each other, try to stay hopeful. Eleanor comes and sits on us when we are on the sofa, sticks like a burr while we are in bed. She loves us in her own way. And she misses Moby, who she also loves in her own way.

There is love at home, and the cats are full participants, in their own way, they know this. They feel it. How could they not?

Shitstorm

The advantage with living closely is that problems are noticed fairly early. Vet assured me that we'd brought Moby in well in time. Bloodwork done, enema given - I could hear his vocalizations distinctly, fluids - teaching me how to do this at home, done. The last was... problematic. But Moby is up against Nurse, Nurse will prevail. But poop came out, fluid went in under his skin, and now he's back on the heating pad, with a waterproof pad between him and it. Put a little bag balm on his butt, he was past caring.

"Whatever, everyone's been in my butt today."

Vet tech his new buddy, though.

He's getting older, kidneys and liver not at 100%, a bit anemic. And he's a fussy eater, we've tried every wet food over the years, to little use. He turns up his nose at it. Only the canned chicken has any enduring appeal. Trying to put him on any kind of diet is doomed to failure.

We figure the onset of winter and D's new schedule upset his tummy, he vomited, didn't want to drink water, got dehydrated and constipated, and a positive feedback loop developed.

Only a small shitstorm so far, but then I have very large versions of it to compare, so this wasn't nearly as bad.

Trees are down, sky is open, neighbor is very happy about this.

Poop

Moby is not feeling well. I knew this, more or less, before work yesterday, but D had the day off and was taking care. Scrubbed in, I got his message at lunch that Moby was not better, and he was going to get a vet appointment. When I finished my room, and had to relieve another scrub, I checked, and he'd made an appointment for today. I took over the other room, told Pris Moby was ill, but D was taking care of it.

Suddenly I was mobbed with my fellow nurses telling me to go home, someone else would scrub the case. This got me tearful, but I tried to convince them to let me do my assignment and I'd be fine if they just stopped talking about it. Not knowing exactly what was going on, but that he's 13, all the worst possibilities washed over me. Susan hugged me, contaminating me, and insisted I go home. Oh. Well.

I did some nurse stuff to get him feeling better, massage and heating pad and olive oil for him to lick off. He held his tail pressed against his butt, walking a bit stiffly. This morning went out to get an infant suppository. Got it in, not elegant to say the least, much complaint and a final hiss. He's on the litter right now, I'll check it once I see him again. Don't want to disturb the process.

This is going to be a long day.

Overmorrow

In two hours, the temperatures dropped nearly 20˚F. Winds whipping up something fierce, dark clouds scudding, as they so often do.

09 Nov 3:53 pm MST 62 (17C) 19dew 19humidity SSW 20G30

09 Nov 5:53 pm MST 44(6C) 35 70humidity NW 16G23

Winter is a'comin' in.

New word from Danish I will be adopting. Overmorrow. For the day after tomorrow. Why haven't we stolen this for our acquisitive language earlier? Overmorrow, the tree guys are coming by to remove the elm and tree of heaven from the corner of the house.


Video of post-anesthetic confused kittens in cones of shame from Felines of New York.

Stripe

There is an old driveway, of uncertain purpose, that goes from the street to the sidewalk. Double car wide, it works as parking for us and our next door neighbor. His tenant uses it, since he doesn't drive. We use it occasionally, or our friends & family park there, or our neighbor to the south does - at our invitation, since there is no parking on the street in front of their house nor ours. This is because of the one way street and traffic patterns, and makes good sense, if not convenient sense.

We have had problems with contractors, and visitors, parking in the middle of this area, instead of staying politely to the southern half. D wondered if a paint strip might not help, which I thought a wonderful idea. Mike nextdoor agreed, but worried his tenant might take it wrong. Apparently she did initially, although we talked her down, and she now knows this actually gives her a little more room than she thought she had.




This is not about regulation, but clarity and communication. Not to mention it was fun to spray paint, and my black rain boots have a pleasant spray of yellow now.

Alone

Home. In my own home, all by myself. This is wonderful.

D is doing his Sunday shift, only four hours, but Sunday at the Library is both iffy and whiffy.

He's the Guardian of my Solitude, and I love him dearly and whole heartedly, but. Oh, I do love having the House all to myself for a few hours. Not that I'm doing anything different. Just.

Alone.

Just for a while. On a quiet day. With nothing pressing to do.

Taken out the bins, washed the corner for the boot mat, raked leaves onto the garden, now I'm reading in the window, keeping an eye on the mobbing birds.

Downright blissful.

Flocking

Refilled the feeder this morning. The LBBs are agog.



Eleanor on the treadmill. Air still good, so it's waiting for smogginess. Fire of an old building south of us reminding us the treadmill will find new use.



They really seem to have had a friendship breakthrough lately. Often close by, often chasing, not snuggling yet, if ever, though.




Fetal cat in bed by space heater.



This forgotten on the camera from over a week ago. What is this bugge? Ladybug larvae, so they are appealing creatures with a sense of style even when immature.



So Elegante!

Sudoku

Struggled with the Sudoku today, the usatday one, so not hard. But I got through it eventually. I've been doing them since Boston, and the first big wave of sudoku in the papers. Often did several every day on the bus or the T. Figured it was good for my discalculia, and I still think so. Helps me see numerals better, wakes up my brain in the morning. Very satisfying.

That is also when I really took to crosswords, the US sort, not cryptic, which is quite beyond me. Doing several every day taught me a lot of the tricks. The standard words, the crossword-words. With the pad, I now get the NYT crosswords, and I make it through Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, sometimes Thursday, rarely Friday, and often don't bother Saturday or Sunday.

Games should be fun, I think. I follow rules enough in life, I figure I can bend them as needed to keep play enjoyable. Cheating on a test is low. "Cheating" on a game against one's own time, is learning. Adapting rules to keep players in the game is cooperative play.

D had a friend who ran RPGs who was a stickler for rules. May well be he had good reason, but knowing that meant I never tried to join those sessions. I was new, I knew I would need handicapping, and that I would not get it. And I liked him, so I didn't want to set up a situation where I would resent him doing what he does. He's still a great friend, and I still haven't tried to join one of his games.

Well, that's alright too. We all have fun in different ways. Pleasure comes in all forms.

Window

Out the window at work. It didn't snow long, and it melted quickly, but dammit, it snowed!

Got in nearly my 10K steps today. Which says it all.

Cats chasing about, which we love to watch.

Attitude

"Is this how I do a "selfie?"


"No."



I prefer self portrait.



With a twist.



LBBs come a half dozen at a time, in shifts. There are easily 30-40 in the Hedge, all puffed up for warmth, waves of them back and forth.

Adjusting not just to the time change, but D's new schedule. He's trying for a balance between doing a good job for a difficult set of patrons, and keeping his own sanity. Watching his cow-orkers for techniques.

The cold has blown in, grey and wet but not quite freezing. Attitude is really important, and my own newly learned disregard of uncomfortable temperatures is remarkably useful. Having decent clothing appropriate for the weather is the other essential leg. The cats just figure a human lap or a space heater is all they need.