Apparently, she's decided to take a nap on our guest bed!
When we first got the kittens, the only way we could tell them apart was that white patch of fur on Izzie's belly. It only took us a day to get the brilliant idea to buy them collars (non-matching), so that we knew who we were talking to without having to pick them up and look at a belly!
I know that I had promised pics of the kittens, but I only have this one of Bob (yes, Bob... our vet discovered - after some inspection - that Cassie may prefer a non-Pink collar).
It's taken some time, but Bob has clearly taken to his big sis, Kaylah.
Will post more pics as soon as my lazy self gets them off the camera and on to the computer.
Grumps and I have discovered a new type of therapy, and we may just try to market it...
Kitten Therapy!
Because really, it's damn near impossible to be depressed when you can watch 2 teeny tiny little furballs attacking their own tails.
Pics to come as soon as we get some on something other than a cell phone, but our 2 new girls are Cassie and Izzie, and we're both head over heels in love with them!
Saturday was hard - harder than I thought it would be. We cried, a lot. And not dainty-single-tear-rolling-down-the-cheek crying. Ugly-sobbing-choking-on-snot kind of crying. But, if you can't choke on your snot with the one you love.....
Friday was a nice night. Paisano snuggled and purred with both of us, and spent some time looking out one of his favorite windows to watch the birds in the yard. It was a good way to spend our last night as that family of four.
My punkin-pie went peacefully. It was obvious that he knew, as he didn't put up any fight at all when we laid him down on the table for the injection. Grumps and I both took that to mean that he was ready, even relieved.
I miss him, terribly. I've been sad (for him) for a month now. I'll be sad for as long as I need to be. But it is a relief to know that he's not sick anymore, and not in pain.
But I still miss his sweet smooshy little face, his big ol' clod-hopping paws, the way he'd carry a conversation with us, or come running (and often bitching) when we'd whistle for him, and the way he'd greet us at the door when we came home.
Life will be good again. We'll find another furry little thing to add to our family. But Paisano will always and forever be missed.
Paisano snuggling with his sister, Kaylah.
My sweet and sassy lil man is down to his last days.
He's been through too much over the last few weeks. He had been responding to his chemo, but this week he backslid, a lot.
We've made THE appointment for Saturday.
It's time.
And I hate it.
My poor lil puddin' pie just didn't want to give up his Christmas tree.
The Kaylah Girl and The Stoney Boy (my Mom's dog). That's 150lbs of dog smooshed into the extended cab of an F-150. Aren't they cute!?!
We got home from a VERY long Christmas Day (hell, a VERY LONG holiday weekend, if I'm going to be honest about it) at around 10:30 Tuesday night. As usual, we were greeted by the 2 furkids, drowsy from sleeping all day, yet very happy to see us.
We loved on them both for a bit, and then Grumpy took Kaylah out to do her business. When he brought her inside, he noticed that her left eye was "weird". I don't know how to explain it... it was kind of bug-eyed and slightly bulging, while at the same time a bit "lazy" (it was out-of-line with the other eye). She was definitely favoring it (tilting her head down to the left), and was no longer her crazy, perky, golden retriever self.
We called our veterinary gurus, and Grumpy did his best to describe what had happened, or rather, what her symptoms were (since we didn't then, and still don't, have any idea what happened). After talking to the receptionist, and a vet tech, and a veterinarian, we decided to make the 90 mile (one-way) drive to have her seen.
Thank goodness we didn't have any weather going on, as the trip only took us about an hour & 20 minutes. We pulled into the clinic between 1 & 1:30 am. As I was getting Kaylah out of the back seat, I took a look at her eye, only to discover that it looked PERFECTLY NORMAL.
But, we had made the drive, so we took her in to be seen. A vet student looked at her, and said she looked ok, but would have the vet come see us. The vet came out, took a look, and said that all seemed well. The vet also said that she'd be happy to do a thorough exam, including some vision tests, but it would be a few hours, as they had some other emergencies coming in.
We thought about it, and talked about it, and decided to take her home and keep an eye on her. She's been fine ever since, and we still have no idea what the hell happened. We're a little worse for the wear, and the truck has a few more miles on it, but our Baby Girl is fine.
But, that's the second time this holiday season that I've felt like I'm living in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. The first was when Grumpy's company announced that there would be no Christmas bonuses this year. Now I feel like we should change our puppy's name from Kaylah to Ruby Sue.... "Falls in a well, her eyes go crossed. Gets kicked by a mule, they go straight again...."
I'm sorry the picture quality is so poor, but I had to try to share this one. See that white stripe coming down from the bright pink light? That's the cat's nose. If you look over to the left of his nose, you can make out his white paws.
He's under the Christmas tree, behind the nativity, where we'll be able to find him any time we want to until somewhere around the first of the year. In the same spot that he claimed the first time we put the tree up. The same spot he claims every year, as soon as we have the tree stand, trunk, tree skirt, and 2-3 branches in the bottom row put up.
He really is my Christmas Kitty.
(The above picture is of our Golden Retriever, who couldn't look that mean on her own unless somebody was trying to harm Grumpy or I. You can actually see a blur of flesh on either side of her nose... those are my fingers, holding up her lips for her "Grrrrrrrrrrrr" Face. Cute, huh?)
I had to go to my general practitioner today for a thyroid follow up. See, my thyroid levels are "a little off", so we've been "keeping an eye on it" for 4 years. "A little off" meaning off enough that it *could* cause problems (like, say, contribute to infertility?), but not *off enough* to be able to treat, yet. "Keeping an eye on it" means that me, and 4 docs, have been regularly watching the levels for THREE FUCKING YEARS, waiting for them to be *off enough* that we can DO SOMETHING about them. So, today was another blood draw, and I should have results early next week.
I walked into the doc's waiting room, and darn near tripped over an infant, in her carseat, sitting on the floor. Adorable little girl (from what I could tell, only allowing myself to peak at her for a few painful seconds). My ten minute wait consisted of me playing chuzzle on my cell phone, trying desperately to not notice the nurse, receptionist, and technicians that kept pouring out of the back office to fawn all over the sweet little child. Fortunately (so I thought), the little bundle of joy and her parents were called in to an exam room a few minutes before me. Whew, public crying jag successfully avoided.
A lovely nurse calls me back to the exam area, by way of the MEAN AND EVIL scale, and then tells me I've gained 4lbs since I was in last. "Didn't want to see that number," I say. "BULLSHIT! It's winter in MI, I blame the clothes difference!" I think to myself. And, I've convinced myself that this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. After all, my last visit was in May; I was probably wearing a lightweight, short-sleeved top, capris, and sandals. Today, I was in jeans, Come Fuck Me Boots (minus the fishnet stockings), and 3 layers of shirts including an over sized fleece jacket type shirt of Grumpy's. TOTALLY 4lbs worth of extra fabric there, right?
So, I'm ushered into the exam room to wait for the doc. I rejoin my chuzzle game, already in progress, and prepare to wait patiently. And then I hear it. In the next room, the distinct wail of a little person in pain. That's right folks, she was in for her first round of shots. She cried, Mom cried, Dad cried... but I didn't. I bit my lip, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, I slammed my phone closed, I tried to distract myself with a crappy dr office magazine (which, by the way, were ALL baby/family/pregnancy geared), but I DID NOT CRY.
And for that, I am very proud of myself.
Also known as the Shitty Kitty, or the Psycho Kitty. Can't you just see the attitude radiating off of him? Its ok tho, cuz we love him to pieces!
