Saturday Night Fever

I know, I know: This is turning into nothing more than a Crazy-Cat-Lady blog. But here ya go, and no buttholes are involved.

Cone-n O'Kitten

The baby's home. Our new .... challenge, I guess, is the positive spin on fucked-up-ed-ness...is that poop seems to just be coming out of his butt and he can't get back there to clean anything.

We stopped at Rite Aid for baby wipes.

That's my payback for not having kids: The Universe is making sure I get my fair share of poopy butts to clean.

Stop Licking That Thing!

Stan's home! He has to wear a cone around his head. He hates this part.

But right now, he's right where he belongs: on the living room recliner, curled up next to mama, on his pillow, cone off.

Enjoy it, Buddy. It's going back on as soon as we go to bed.

For dinner, he ate like Charlie Sheen eats hookers (bada-bing! zow! That one's for you, Rob!).

As George Said, "We had a deal!"

Was it really just January 3rd when I refused a year of sick cats to The Universe? Because really, it didn't even pretend to agree with me.

Stan's at the new vet's clinic. What an experience that was. The doctor is a young dude, and he's not a lot of fluff, but not abrasive, either. He looked at his butt, but didn't even consider sticking a finger up there, and was a little .....shocked?.... that a finger-up-the-butt was the route to a diagnosis. But that's neither here nor there at this point, but he did say that he was going to use his own methodology and not take someone else's finger up the butt as the Word. That made me laugh. A little.

We had two options. Option One was a six thousand dollar option. That involved a visit to a soft-tissue specialist who is more experienced with this type of situation.

We asked about Option Two.

Option Two was that he could put Stanley under right then and there, and sort of turn his butt inside out by magic, and then see what's what up there and if it was a polydactly tumor - some sort of tumor that started with a "p." Tomato, Butt Tumor. Same difference.

We chose this option. The vet sedated the cat while Kenny went to get beverages from the 7-11 across the street (stress and tears make me thirsty), and the vet had that tumor laid out on the table (still attached to the butt lining) for me to see before Kenny was back. It took about 5 minutes - I was duly impressed with the speed of it all.

The vet really wanted me to go back with him and see what we were dealing with. He must know that just describing these types of situations doesn't get the point across, and people expect him to be magic, just because he can turn a butthole inside out. Earlier, I had tried to pressure him into a confidence level prior to the exam and he wouldn't commit to a number at all. He's not falling for the Provide False Hope trick, apparently.

At first I said, "No way, Pal, I'm good not seeing any of that," but then I knew that the analyst part of me would want to what was going on back there to make a decision with all the facts. I just wished Kenny was back to see it, too. And that I had the foresight to bring a fucking camera in with me, because seriously, when was I going to get a chance for this shot again? And then, Reader, I could have been providing you with a visual education instead of just trying to verbally describe an inside-out asshole with a cauliflower-shaped tumor.

Stan was sedated, but his eyes were wide open and glassy and it was freaky as shit. He had a little blood pressure clip on his ear.

And, yes, there was a giant cauliflower-shaped tumor flopped out on the table, attached to the lining of his inner-asshole.

Wow. Talk about a missed photo op. I'm sad again. I know you are, too.

The good news? There IS good news. It's right at the edge, and doesn't seem to have a long base at all. They can lop most of it off with a laser. It will grow back. But it may not grow back for a year, or two years...there's no telling. It could be a couple of months, but even then at least I will know we tried.

The only other options are Option One Six Thousand Dollars, which we are not doing. Even that is not a guarantee and could just as likely grow back, even if they were able to get all of it (which is the benefit of Option One vs. Option Two - with Two, they know they are not going to be able to get all of it, just the majority of it). Option Three is Do Nothing, and let the cat die. So that's the cheapest, but not the most cat-friendliest.

So Stan's in the hospital and will have the surgery in the morning, if it hasn't been done already tonight. Those were the two time lines, and I'm guessing (could be wrong) that if he had it done tonight they would have called.

Option Two? A thousand large. But we had agreed we'd spend a vacation on the cat's butt, and really a thousand is not even a really good vacation.

I'm optimistic. And when this is all said and done, I am kicking the Universe right in the snatch for even THINKING of fucking with me this hard so early into our deal. A one-sided deal, but a deal nonetheless.

A Type-Oh!

Sunday night and I'm too tired to recap the week, but oh what a week it was!

1/ In & Out of Chicago. Pizza, hotdogs, John Hancock (I enjoyed emphasising the "cock" part), Garretts popcorn. Or some famous brand of popcorn, I'm pretty sure that's close. All: good, great, fun, delish. Learned that the deep dish pizza at Antonio's in Parma is as fantastic as Chicago's. And it's only five minutes away. Learned that hot dogs taste good with sweet relish and cucumbers. Learned that popcorn can never have too many almonds. Learned that your ears will pop on a forty second ride straight up 96 flights. Oh, and there was work stuff, too. I'm not thinking about any of that until Monday morning. It's in the work vault.

2/ Stan gets a 2nd opinion on his butt Monday afternoon. The regular vet is out of options. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

3/ Riding in a 12-car passenger vehicle with bad shocks, in the waaaay back seat will result in an excruciating lower-back. I've been enjoying that since a return from Columbus on Wednesday. It was great going to Chicago with a back so stiff I walked like a hunch-backed old woman who just got done plowing the field in the Old Country. Sexy stuff, that's me.

4/ I've found that if I did happen to be a lesbian, I have a type. She is round and thick-legged, with two-tone hair, gigantic (fake, I later learned) boobies, and a smiley friendly face. Kenny doesn't understand my attraction to her, but did agree that she's cute. Not that I am a lesbian - not that there's anything wrong with it - I'm just sayin', if I WERE, I've found my type. I think everyone should know their type. That's a good resolution for you out there. Identify your gay lover type.

Won't You Come On In

Today's Tuesday. Have some travel for work this week, and I can't say that I'm sad about it. Kenny and I just tag-teamed Stanley's catbutt. He held it, I cleaned it. It was a little soupy, which indicates the Ducolax is/has worked, so I think we'll lay off that until I get back from my trips and see what's what. It will be a relief to not have to be consumed by Stan's butt for an evening or two. I think the ostrich has the right idea - bury that head in the sand!! The view is sometimes better.

In other news.

Lessee. Do I have other news??

Oh! New Year's Resolves. So far I'm doing terribly.

I haven't signed up for the online writing course I am interested in taking, because it starts this week and I'm traveling. It starts tomorrow, maybe I'll be able to get that underway instead of *already* making excuses to postpone.

I resolved to lose 1.5 lbs per week, and so far I'm only at about 1.5 lbs, not 3. I lost, gained - it's all just water weight, and I can't seem to shake that off. Of course, maybe if I'd actually SHAKE some stuff around it might go somewhere else, but instead I polished off a red velvet cake roll that was stuffed with cream cheese. I should be grateful for that 1.5 lb. loss!

I also am supposed to try a Zumba tape, but it's still sitting on the table. I tried to get acquainted with it last night but couldn't figure out what was a DVD player on the stand of electronics (the Mister wasn't home). I know, right? At one time I knew what it was, but somewhere along the line it's been replaced and there are so many shiny black things there, I just have no idea. There are six things on the stand. Six. And they're all in cahoots with each other. So I turned on some things that I thought might work, but then ended up with sound only, and no picture on the t.v. So Zumba will wait for another day.

I resolved to take my vitamins regularly. So far, Fail. I've taken some here & there, but not daily. Is it really that tough? The problems is (there's always a problem, right?), that I can't take the number of vitamins that I have lined up all at once. It's too many, they sit in my throat and make me sick. So I have to concoct a smoothie and drop 'em in the smoothie in the morning (they open up, I just dump all the powders in). And I haven't had enough time in the morning (another resolution I've failed at, getting up earlier so I have more time in the morning) to make a smoothie. Ergo, Fail.

Fail. Fail. Fail.

What have I done well? I've instituted Manicure Sunday at my home, to polish and file up for the week, instead of looking like a bitten & chewed up Lindsay Lohan crack-addict on my fingertips. It's only been one Sunday and so far, Success! Someone asked me yesterday if I had gotten a manicure, but it was just me, all me.

I've also initiated a Soft Hands Challenge for myself. My coworker, The Hoff, has inspired me, her hands are as smooth as a baby's bottom. Soft! Supple! Of course she's only 32, soft hands are for the young. But I got my weaponry in place over the weekend and have been rubbing and slathering and greasing and exfoliating and I have to say that they are getting a little softer. The Hoff uses Jojoba oil every night, and occasionally will rub pure olive oil into her hands. I said of course I've tried that before (the olive oil), but it was just so greasy and disgusting. The key to the oil success, apparently, is rubbing it in for a really long time, and it will absorb. It works, I've been rubbing in jojoba oils and eventually it does, but geez - am I really going to devote this much of my life to rubbing?? Time will tell.

So that's it. I leave you, Reader, with a really uninteresting bunch of words. That's my life. Welcome to my world.

More Catbutt

I'm sure you're tired of all the asshole posts. But that's what's consuming my life at the moment. I'm worried about what's coming out of it, what's not coming out of it, if Stanley's able to poop, what I'm going to do if he's not able to poop.

The weekend has consisted of:

1. Cleaning up (trying to clean up, that is) small dots of bloody butt around the floor
2. Enticing Stanley to eat a number for concoctions mixed with Ducolax, a stool softener, to help ease his pooping experience
3. Spraying Lanacane on Stanley's butthole throughout the day to hopefully numb the area and make it easier to poop

I've had what is at this particular time considered to be good news: I've had to pick up some small poops on the floor. That's good news because I know that some poops are passing through his butt, so it's not complete blockage. The poops that come out are hard little nuggets, and look like they've been out in the open for weeks. But they haven't, that's just how packed up he must be in here. Poor, poor Stanley's Butt.

So I'm hoping the Ducolax is going to help. He takes it pretty well, actually, and I make sure I get some milk down him with a syringe, which will also bring about diarrhea so hopefully things will begin to get a little easier to pass.

The only issue I can see is that the other cats are finishing up Stan's uneaten, Ducolax-laden food. I am awaiting loose stool drops all around the house.

If that happens, I'm just picking up and moving rather than trying to clean up this place. I will throw down the white flag of surrender.

The Opposite of Hakuna Matata

Stan's Ass is not good news.

Kenny took him to the vet Friday morning. First, let me just say that it fucking sucks that people with kids can take off work for all sorts of doctor appointments and sniffles and the like, but I have to be cautious about calling in late for too many pet appointments. Now, don't mistake me here - no one has told me that I've been to too many pet appointments, but I have to feel cautious about it. I have five cats. One's diabetic. Things happen. I happen to like them, and believe in medical care for them, and I like to be present for the diagnoses.

However, I let Kenny handle Stanley's Asshole situation by himself. I've had a bajillion questions since, and am not happy with his recount of the prognosis.

Here's what bothers me in the story: The cat has something wrong up in his asshole. Apparently, based on the stuff that's oozing out of it, right? And my vet - whom I truly like and have been seeing for years and years and I feel they care about all creatures, great and small - has me bothered by how he handled the exam. He put his finger right up poor Stanley's Ass, without any sort of numbing or pain medication and according to Kenny, Stanley was quite unhappy about it. He'd be unhappy about it on a Good Asshole Day, but add to the mix an Apparently Unhappy Asshole? That, plus a Finger Up It, is not the best approach, in my opinion. I'm mad that the cat had to have that much unnecessary discomfort.

And then Kenny recounted the blood & other stuff that came out of the Poor Stanley's Asshole, and I was really glad that I wasn't there to witness that.

So he's got some sort of a "mass" up in his ass. It's either a tumor, or a polyp. There's apparently enough of a passageway for a finger, which means that there's enough of a passageway for poop to come out of it, too, which is good news or we'd be in a whole lot of other trouble.

However, the tumor/polyp/mass makes it painful to poop, so he's not eating very much probably because he's not pooping as much so he's probably packed up. It's a shitty circle. Is this the meaning of The Circle of Life??

The vet game him two shots, the purpose of which Kenny wasn't able to adequately describe for me. Ergo, the reason I feel the need to be present during medical situations. He *thinks* one was an antibiotic shot, and the other was something (a steroid, maybe? I suggested) that may shrink whatever's up in the old butthole.

We're supposed to wait for a week and take him back next Friday to check out the size situation.

The vet didn't take an x-ray, I'm not sure why (again, I wasn't there to ask my bajillion questions to weigh all the rationale behind the decisions). So the only way to check for improvement next week is another finger-poke up his cat ass. I informed Kenneth that I will be present for that appointment, and he will get a shot of something to calm him/numb him before he gets re-finger-fucked.

The vet also said, "I've never seen anything like this before."

Words no one wants to hear. Now, again, don't mistake me - I like these vets (there's 2 guys), but think that when it comes to the bigger issues, the pets need vet hospitals, with all the latest technologies.

My friend sent me a link a local pet clinic she's been too, and they seem to know about cat asshole tumors and polyps. They tout laser removal on their website, which makes me feel a little confident that they're on the up & up with treatments. I want to take Stan there for a 2nd opinion, but Kenny wants to wait the week and see what happens with the shot.

So I'm sitting and waiting, but I'm not too calm about it. I hate inactivity when there's a medical crisis. I'm all about, "Figure it out - DO SOMETHING" and not so much the wait-and-see-er. I've got anxiety, which is giving me pooping issues. Is this what they mean by the Circle of Life?

Now I'm really tense and snippy with Kenny. Crises do not bring us together as a unified front.

I've spent the morning googling "natural stool softeners for cats" as a way to try and ease any pooping pain he may be experiencing. That's what my life has evolved to.

And the best part is, I've got little half-moon shaped specs of blood all around the house, wherever Stan has parked his Poor Troubled Ass.

I think The Universe just gave me a finger up the ass....

Another Cat Story

Stanley went back underneath the guestroom bed. What the fuck. I knew something was amuck, he ate some dinner but didn't stick around to finish it up.

I had Kenny go and poke him out from under the bed with something long and pokie.

He brought him into the living room where we were watching Million Dollar Drop, and that's where the, "Oh, no, nowwhatthefucks" began.

"Somethings.....on...my arm.... and it's wet." ~ Kenny.

"And smelly." ~ Kenny.

He brought Stanley over to me where I proceeded to do the Mom Stuff, checking out his butt.

I knew no good was going to come of any of that.

His bunghole was wet all around it, with a clearish, pinkish liquid. Like watery, gelatinous blood (sorry, I'm sure that's a picture you'd rather I not painted).

I began my panicked, "WE'VE GOT TO RUSH HIM TO THE PET HOSPITAL!!" rant, but took a moment since I'm trying to be all adult and composed-like.

So we sat for a moment, and continued watching Million Dollar Drop. Stan sat on my lap with paper towels under his butt and we watched all the dumb dumb contestants lose all their monies.

Then we took Stanley into the bathroom where we proceeded to look closely at his butthole.

It wasn't good.

Kenny held him and I cleaned it up.

So now? We're just going to see if it comes back, or if it was an isolated one-really-tough-shit incident.

Pictures, anyone? Anyone? 'Cause I will post some for you. I will. Really.

.....~sad voice~ .... Reader, you never take me up on my generous offers for medical-mystery pictures. How are you going to learn??

Candid Camera.

One of the things that my lovah gets a real charge out of is taking "natural" pictures of me during picture-taking events. The more natural, the better, as far as he's concerned. Candids. Usually about the time I'm just getting posed up, often in mid-sentence, checking my teeth, etc. I end up with a portfolio of flattering photos that could make a supermodel cry with envy.

Here's the Almost-Elvis-Snarl:

The Mid-Conversationer:

The Sneaker-Upper:

And the ever-sexy Teeth-Checker:

A vacationing history of unflattering....er....Natural Moments.

2011. So Far.

We just got home from a Vegas New Year Extravaganza. It was an extravaganza, rest assured. But now we're home and it's 11:33 p.m. and I have to work in the morning. But before all that, I have to unpack, and instead I sit here and have nothing of importance to say other than, "Twinkle has a cold."

Yup. We just got him over his toothache, and came home to a wheezing, snotty, sneezy, you-can-hear-his-nose-rattle-when-he-breathes small little Twinkle Toes.

Luckily, he was going into the vet tomorrow night for a checkup on his tooth and insulin levels. I am going to put a little Vicks Vaporub on his nose, even though I know he's going to hate it. He'll thank me when his snorkeltube opens up. Or maybe not.

Welcome, 2011!! I'm refusing sick cats to the Universe right now. You hear me, Universe?? I'm RE-FUSE-ING a year of sick cat(s).