Friday Catblogging: Annie is behind in her reading

Annie is behind in her reading, originally uploaded by mnemosyne_la.

Annie has figured out that if she gets a running start, she can jump from the back of the couch to the top of our six-foot-tall bookcases and have a nap spot where Keaton can't bother her. He's just too massive to make it up that high.

Keaton and Annie: The New Blend

IMG_2171.JPG, originally uploaded by mnemosyne_la.

It's so bizarre to think that two years ago, we had Boris and Natasha. Then it was just Boris. Then it was Boris and Keaton.

Then, for a brief time, it was just Keaton. And he was miserable. He spent a lot of time biting our knees, desperate for someone to wrestle with.

So we went back to Happy Strays. G. and I each looked at the website, and we were both intrigued by a little tiger-striped girl named Annie. The description said that she was a little shy with people, but that she loved other cats.

Which means that we didn't get a kitten. Keaton got a kitten. He lets us share sometimes, but she really is his kitten.

I still get a pang of missing Boris and Natasha, though.

Jesus, more than a pang, I guess. I originally titled this post "Boris and Annie" and didn't realize it until I saw the completed post.

New Year, New Cats, New Blog

Well, 2007 sucked ass. Here's hoping 2008 will be better.

Boris: 1993-2007

Boris.JPG, originally uploaded by mnemosyne_la.

Boris died almost three weeks ago, and I can't put off this post any longer. I've been in denial for most of that time, but posting it makes it real, which is why I can barely see my computer screen through the tears.

At first, we thought he just had another cold that he caught from my brother's cat, who we were catsitting for. And he probably did. The problem was, because of his kidney problems, he had no immunity left and his body just shut down.

A few days before he died, I had a very bad feeling about the way he was acting. He was by himself a lot more (which at first we thought was because a strange cat kept hissing at him in his own house) and he wasn't grooming himself or letting Keaton groom him. When I called the vet on Wednesday, they said I couldn't have an appointment until Monday, until I started crying. Then they agreed to put me on a waiting list for a faster appointment. They called the next day with a Saturday slot, and I took it.

When we got there, the vet was shocked at how bad he was. Not only had he dropped a large amount of weight (at least 4 pounds, a big deal for a 10-pound cat), he had developed what we most feared: the mouth sores that indicated that his kidneys had completely shut down. He was a fill-in vet, so he didn't know how long we'd been keeping him going -- I think he though we'd been neglecting him, at least until he read the chart and talked to some of the employees who'd been helping us through this.

I knew -- I knew -- that we were going to have to put him to sleep. I knew it on Friday. I knew it that morning. I didn't want to face it, but it was cruel to try and keep him alive when he could barely walk and couldn't eat. G. didn't realize -- he was in denial, too. But he knew when we put him on the exam table and Boris just lay there, too exhausted to keep going.

They did all of the paperwork beforehand, including the cremation request. I wish they hadn't had to shave his leg -- he always hated loud noises like that. After the shot, it took less than a minute for his heart to stop.

I had Boris for 14 years. I adopted him from the LA County animal shelter when he was a four-month-oid kitten. He was my pal and my companion through a lot of tough times, including some of the worst days of my depression.

I loved him, and he loved me. I wish he could have been saved.

Friday Catblogging: Keaton and Baskets

IMG_1831.JPG, originally uploaded by Mnemosyne_LA.

Keaton loves laundry baskets. Loves loves loves loves them. He loves to be in, on, and under them. If you're carrying one near your waist, he'll try to jump into it whether it's empty or full.

We worry about him sometimes.

Public Service Announcement

It turns out that if you're giving your cat subcutaneous fluid, and said cat decides to make a break for it while the flow is still going, the fluid will shoot out at you like a tiny fire hose until your partner turns the flow off.

I'm Back

I got myself into a corner by insisting on doing photoblogging for every post, and then being too lazy to upload pictures. So I think I'll try some just-words blogging until I have a really good picture.

Boris is still inexplicably improving. He's anemic but his behavior continues to return to normal. We had a couple of tense weeks while he and Keaton figured out who gets to be the new alpha, but it seems to be resolved now and Boris is once again king of the castle, with Keaton as his devoted minion.

And have I mentioned lately that I have the best husband in the world? Because he reads my blog AND buys me the books I beg for on it. Now I'm paging through my brand spankin' new copy of "Fitted Knits" and trying to decide if I can declare myself "intermediate" yet so I can make the puff-sleeved cardigan. (Probably not.)

I'm not an addict.

DSCN0599, originally uploaded by Mnemosyne_LA.

It's just, like, a coincidence that both of my online orders arrived on the very same day that I tried a new yarn store close to work and found the exact yarn I need for my mom's Christmas gift.

I can stop any time I want to.

Friday Catblogging: Boris' Lifelong Ambition

IMG_1895.JPG, originally uploaded by Mnemosyne_LA.

I've always let Boris drink out of the bathroom sink's faucet -- it makes him happy, and it's funny to hear him sneezing as he sticks his face under too far and gets water up his nose. But though he loved to hang out in the bathtub, we would never let him drink out of the bathtub faucet.

Until we were told he was dying, so we decided to grant his last wish. Which seems to have given him the will to continue living, so he can continue drinking out of that faucet. So now we're stuck letting him drink out of the tub's faucet despite Keaton's not-so-charming habit of peeing in the empty tub.

Cats.