(no subject)
Jan. 31st, 2019 09:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeToday I stuck a foot out of the bedcovers and determined that not only was it still cold, we had three cats on the bed. Plus another one each on the radiators (there are two of them in the bedroom).
I then proceeded to spend the entire morning coughing my lungs up until I took my morning inhaler dose, so I guess my asthmatic lungs don't like the cold when it's this cold. Which isn't a relevatory surprise so much as it is an unwelcome confirming surprise. I resent it, I'm glad I'm medicated but I resent it, and next time I'm taking my morning inhaler dose the moment I get out of bed. Ugh. (Normally it's in the bathroom, and because one of the minor side effects of the medication is mouth thrush, it's in the bathroom so I can take it and brush my teeth after.)
And in other not relevatory but welcoming developments, Mikey is throwing up more frequently again, and not because he's scarfing down everyone's food within reach. His bloodwork was normal, so that's fine, but I'm really wondering if he's developed another mast tumor this time in a place that can't be removed, and, well. The last operation was predicted to give cats another 12-18 months with good quality of life, and we're coming up on 12 months if not past it. So it's not a surprise per se, but it is very much unwelcome. We have an appointment with a kitty oncologist to see, and until then we continue to prednisone the shit outta him. We are, it turns out, giving him half the dose that the other vet expected, so we can increase the prednisone if we want to/the docs think it'll do any good. But ultimately there's no fixing this, and the time he has left will be shorter than the average well-pampered housecat. Which sucks. Mortality was a terrible idea. Cancer worse still.
I'm sure I had good news around here somewhere. Did I leave it in my other pants pocket?
I think I'm coming down with a cold again. Or still. I'm not sure if it's a relapsing-remitting cold or just a new cold. That is not good news.
The good news is I have stories I'm enjoying telling. The good news is I played guitar five out of the last six nights, am eager to keep playing and keep learning and not just because I promised myself shiny face glitter if I practice 21/24 days over the next while. My fingers are getting calluses! The good news is I'm excited to start drafting the first Skiffle novel, to finish drafting Grumpy Old Mercs or whatever that's eventually going to be titled, I'm excited to learn all the things I'm going to learn for all of these novels, I still enjoy my bullet journal even though I need to get better about writing in it at the end of every day, and I'm getting better about practicing my languages and folding that into my day. That's all good news. And overall, my life isn't bad. I'm just underslept and tired and worried about my old kitty who was there when we first moved into our tiny apartment. Literally. We moved into the apartment, checked out cat adoptions at the local pet store, went out shopping for stuff we needed, came back to much knowing laughter and the news they'd been placing bets over whether or not we came back the same day or in a couple weeks when we got settled into the apartment like we'd said. Yeah. We're suckers.
Mikey was so small then. I wish I'd taken pictures. He and his sister could fit in what I think was a 10" cube shelf, and now he's huge, 16lb on average if he isn't losing weight like I fear he is and very long. Just a big cat. In the mornings he wakes the boy up by walking all over him, sleeping on his chest or side or back or whatever's uppermost. When the boy finally wakes up he perches on his chest, and the boy makes kissy noises and Mikey nuzzles his mouth and chin. And then sometimes bites gently, because feed me Daddy. Mikey is such a chill cat, but only for me and the boy, he goes hiding from anyone else. But he'll let us pick him up, tuck him under our arm like a football with legs dangling, and just be carried. I've carried him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes before. He's the chillest.
I hope we have many more months with him, but I'm bracing myself in case that's not going to happen. The boy will be so sad.
I'll try to have a more cheerful post next time.
I then proceeded to spend the entire morning coughing my lungs up until I took my morning inhaler dose, so I guess my asthmatic lungs don't like the cold when it's this cold. Which isn't a relevatory surprise so much as it is an unwelcome confirming surprise. I resent it, I'm glad I'm medicated but I resent it, and next time I'm taking my morning inhaler dose the moment I get out of bed. Ugh. (Normally it's in the bathroom, and because one of the minor side effects of the medication is mouth thrush, it's in the bathroom so I can take it and brush my teeth after.)
And in other not relevatory but welcoming developments, Mikey is throwing up more frequently again, and not because he's scarfing down everyone's food within reach. His bloodwork was normal, so that's fine, but I'm really wondering if he's developed another mast tumor this time in a place that can't be removed, and, well. The last operation was predicted to give cats another 12-18 months with good quality of life, and we're coming up on 12 months if not past it. So it's not a surprise per se, but it is very much unwelcome. We have an appointment with a kitty oncologist to see, and until then we continue to prednisone the shit outta him. We are, it turns out, giving him half the dose that the other vet expected, so we can increase the prednisone if we want to/the docs think it'll do any good. But ultimately there's no fixing this, and the time he has left will be shorter than the average well-pampered housecat. Which sucks. Mortality was a terrible idea. Cancer worse still.
I'm sure I had good news around here somewhere. Did I leave it in my other pants pocket?
I think I'm coming down with a cold again. Or still. I'm not sure if it's a relapsing-remitting cold or just a new cold. That is not good news.
The good news is I have stories I'm enjoying telling. The good news is I played guitar five out of the last six nights, am eager to keep playing and keep learning and not just because I promised myself shiny face glitter if I practice 21/24 days over the next while. My fingers are getting calluses! The good news is I'm excited to start drafting the first Skiffle novel, to finish drafting Grumpy Old Mercs or whatever that's eventually going to be titled, I'm excited to learn all the things I'm going to learn for all of these novels, I still enjoy my bullet journal even though I need to get better about writing in it at the end of every day, and I'm getting better about practicing my languages and folding that into my day. That's all good news. And overall, my life isn't bad. I'm just underslept and tired and worried about my old kitty who was there when we first moved into our tiny apartment. Literally. We moved into the apartment, checked out cat adoptions at the local pet store, went out shopping for stuff we needed, came back to much knowing laughter and the news they'd been placing bets over whether or not we came back the same day or in a couple weeks when we got settled into the apartment like we'd said. Yeah. We're suckers.
Mikey was so small then. I wish I'd taken pictures. He and his sister could fit in what I think was a 10" cube shelf, and now he's huge, 16lb on average if he isn't losing weight like I fear he is and very long. Just a big cat. In the mornings he wakes the boy up by walking all over him, sleeping on his chest or side or back or whatever's uppermost. When the boy finally wakes up he perches on his chest, and the boy makes kissy noises and Mikey nuzzles his mouth and chin. And then sometimes bites gently, because feed me Daddy. Mikey is such a chill cat, but only for me and the boy, he goes hiding from anyone else. But he'll let us pick him up, tuck him under our arm like a football with legs dangling, and just be carried. I've carried him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes before. He's the chillest.
I hope we have many more months with him, but I'm bracing myself in case that's not going to happen. The boy will be so sad.
I'll try to have a more cheerful post next time.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-02-01 04:14 am (UTC)Mikey sounds like a very good cat. I hope you have the best possible remaining time with him.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-02-01 03:04 pm (UTC)Thank you. He's a wonderful kitty, and if this is all we've had with him we're incredibly lucky. And if we get a few more months, well, we're still incredibly lucky.