Kitty Party Cards

It's common knowledge that my recent months have been cat-focused. I wonder if I'll turn into a crazy old Brooklyn cat lady. I doubt it, but I am getting older tomorrow and noticing that cat birthday cards are coming in. My cousin bought the one above in London months ago and carted it back to the States. How great is that? Below you can see that Glenwood looks excellent in front of it. Timmy has been preoccupied with other things.

One White, Broken Whisker

Finally, she went to sleep in the right light when my camera was nearby.

Meet Wilson

My friends Mike and Leah's kitten, Wilson, was spayed the same day as Glenwood. Both kittens have ambiguous names that have people call them "he." None of the parents are very forgiving of that.

Wilson lives in Queens, where the veterinary community takes a whole other approach to post-spay fashion. No Elizabethan cone for Wilson, but instead a smart, well-fitted, sleeveless sweater, with a slight faux turtleneck. You'll note the sharp-edged armhole (leghole?) cutout reveals an adventurous approach, even as the color is decidedly conservative.

Glenwood at the Oscars

I'm a bit delayed in posting this, but Glenwood watched the Oscars wearing her best cone. She has a particular fondness for Alec Baldwin (understandable).

Glenwood and Timmy also spend time in the cat-food cupboard. There was little that the cone stopped Glenwood from doing, and the whole thing was hilarious. Glenwood just typed the following:

v

b

She is cone-free now and seems very happy. (Or is vb very bored? Uh-oh.) I'll post some new pictures soon. She just crawled into my lap.

Escape Artist

When I went out today, I closed Glenwood in my bedroom with her Elizabethan collar intact. When I got home and opened the door, she ran out collar-free. Here's what I found:

She's also enjoying her moments of freedom with Timmy (and the elephant).

Conewood

The deed is done; Glenwood was spayed yesterday. All went beautifully, and now she's home with her Elizabethan collar. Of course she's been hilarious, and her usual stubborn insistent self. Even with her in my bedroom and separated from Timmy most of the time, she's managed to stretch anyone's idea of what the day after surgery should be. Let's see, she:

• got under my dresser, wearing the cone
• chased Timmy, wearing the cone
• knocked down the luaun barrier I put up, wearing the cone (twice)
• edited an e-mail, wearing the cone (see below)
• unearthed new and lost toys, wearing the cone

I've taken it off a couple of times to give her a break and allow her some bathing time, but she of course doesn't note the incision in her shaved belly. So I keep her away from that until I've had enough of fencing and blocking and put the cone back on. Now I see she's bathing as if the cone weren't on, which means she gets into some weird position and licks the inside of the cone. She is also sleeping quite a bit, and purring a ridiculous amount.

And finally, finally, I got a photo of the one white, broken whisker, which she has somehow held onto all this time.

Sound of Silence

As soon as I walked in the door yesterday, I knew Glenwood was out of heat. The entire apartment felt different ... stilled. The howling, hyperhyperactive, crazed fur monster who had taken over her 6.7-pound body was gone and my kitten was back. It's like having a different animal, all sweetness now.

The spay is on for Friday. And if it doesn't quiet her down as I'd hoped before she went into heat, I will be fully satisfied never, ever to hear Glenwood bark again.

Delay of the Spay

For anyone living in the northeast, you know about the couple of feet of snow we got (and are still getting). Today was Glenwood's spay date, and I was damned if a little snow was going to stop that. So at the crack of dawn I chopped my car out of its ice bubble, got us loaded in, and four-wheeled my way to Hope Vet by 8.30 - only to learn the spay couldn't happen because she's in heat.

I looked on line before leaving to see if her condition would interfere, and relearned the lesson I teach my students: don't trust everything you read on the Internet.

So we are back in the warmth of home, and Glenwood is resting between wailing sessions. She's rescheduled for next Friday. This should be quite a week. It has never been a dull moment with this kitten. I just love her.

I'll post some pictures once I replenish following the PC's demise. She is extra fluffy in heat.

Thanks to Sherri for the photos.

Her Life Is About to Change

I've been meaning to write but (1) my PC did the big sigh, and with it my photos of little Glenwood and big (but now less big) Timmy, (2) I'm working too much, and (3) a bizarre incident with a recent issue of Architectural Digest left me with a broken toe. This last may not sound like it would interfere with blogging but believe me, it has.

Glenwood went to the vet last Saturday to have blood drawn prior to her spay this Friday. (Getting her into the carrycase is becoming quite the challenge.) Because of her early ailments, Dr. Ryan wants to make sure we do this right. I haven't heard the results yet but should within 24 hours or so.

Dr. Ryan had asked if Glenwood's been in heat, and I couldn't answer. She's insane every waking minute; how would I know? Turns out I may now know, because this 6.7 pound kitten is doing some major-league meowing. I assume that has to do with her, ahem, maturity.

Glenwood's 15 Minutes

I couldn't resist adding Glenwood's story to the Animal Rescue site after learning of Bitsy. Here's a photo of Glenwood's back half in all its fluffiness, taken today. It must require a lot of upkeep because she's a constant, perhaps obsessive, bather.

Maybe a Distant Cousin

I did hear back from the nice people at Bideawee! Bitsy was found in Greenpoint, making both kittens Brooklynites if not relatives. Bideawee reports that Bitsy's tail is not as fluffy as Glenwood's, which seems to keep growing even as the rest of her has slowed down.

Glenwood is breathing raspily more often, I think. I'm nervous her scarred bronchioles can't keep up with her bigger, more active self. She sleeps against me at night, and has made my bedtime her bath time. She goes into full lick mode. The deeper she goes into the bath-zone, the louder she snorts. I have to wait until she's clean, sighs, and goes still before I can doze off.

Her spay is not far off. I've spoken with Dr. Ryan, and will be making an appointment within the next couple of weeks. She needs a bit of extra care because of her "rough start," as Anna put it, so I want to make sure my time is clear so I can take care of her.

Glenwood's Twin?

My home page is The Animal Rescue Site, where I click daily to provide free food to animals in need (and to give free mammograms, and to save the rainforest, and to support literacy, and to feed hungry children). This morning there was an ad to Help Save Bitsy. Bitsy looks remarkably like Glenwood and so I clicked and read. Their stories are so similar I wrote to Bideawee (who saved Bitsy) to see if they came from the same spot (and could be related!). I don't expect to hear back (mine is a small and minor request in their scheme of things), but I did it anyway.

It was upsetting, but the description of Bitsy's state when she was found finally made me understand what was going on with Glenwood when I found her. Both kittens' faces were sealed by hardened mucus from their infections, and so eating became impossible and death was not far away.

The Animal Rescue Site reports not getting enough daily clicks to do its work, so if you can, please help.

Beta Boy?

The endless chasing/running and paw-to-paw combat continue, as does the occasional bath/cuddle. Timmy's tenure as Alpha Boy may well be over. The same spirit that Glenwood tapped to stay alive (and to meow at a stranger in the dark then purr as she got lifted up and carried away) is in full force in our household. I retain hopes that she will mellow with age (and perhaps, spaying), and am confident Timmy does too. Here he is in precautionary hiding mode, a newly developed skill. He has definitely dropped a pound or two with all the running.

Unfortunately, Glenwood always seems to find him.

The only hope he has if she gets preoccupied with a different toy. Her tennis ball remains bigger than her head, though her head-to-body ratio has evened out. She is very long, very lean, with a squirrel tail in skunk colors.

This Is Our Lives

Good Blood

Glenwood's blood work came back just fine. Next will be her shots and spaying; I'm not sure when. Dr. Ryan is at a conference now.

Glenwood remains a bundle of hilarious energy and soft fur. I went away this weekend and am convinced she is bigger on my return.

And I've always felt her channeling Riley a bit, and a=-[23s I write, she is laying on my desk to my left, just as Riley used to, snoring. It's sweet, and of course also makes me a little sad.

Glenwood is mesmerized by the computer screen and how it changes as I type; she was pawing at it earlier and just walked across the keyboard. Her contribution is in blue above. Riley was much too mature and self-possessed for such childishness.

Pictures soon.

I don't know what was up with my equipment or self yesterday, but here are photos. The one above is from January 7, when Glenwood was showing a ball of paper who's boss. The one below is from yesterday, right after the vet, as the tension was mounting.

Timmy is still growling at Glenwood with her vet-smell. It's actually kept the house quieter, as Glenwood is largely avoiding him. When she foolishly doesn't, it's been a bit ugly. I'm not personalizing it and just trying to let them find their own way, and only occasionally making use of weaponry:

New Year's Check-Up

Either I or my camera forgot how to download, so photos have to wait, but I want to report that Glenwood had a follow-up today. Dr. Ryan, who is just under my (middle) age and comparably despondent, was generous in saying that it is kittens and stories like Glenwood that make it worthwhile, and she will remember this story always. (I will too.) I admit that saving her has made me a little bigger. The irony, which I share for full disclosure, is that her energy is so boundless and her inability to distinguish between toy and not-toy so undeveloped that there are times when I want to strangle her.

She weighs 6.12 pounds. She had a little goo in her ears, but nothing a born-to-the-throne kitten wouldn't produce. Her raspy breathing will persist, as I've mentioned, as will its nothing-to-worry-about-ness. The techs (as much as I enjoy them all, Anna was out and we missed seeing her) took blood to run a CBC so Dr. Ryan can make sure she's up to par for shots and spaying. I'll have results mid-week. Have I mentioned that the only thing I use my GE CareCard for is vet bills?

After the techs left, Glenwood (who I've been calling Riley lately, which is sad) would not go in her carrier. Cats bolt into their carriers to go home from the vet. But oh no, not my Glenwood. It was embarassing how long it took me to contort her back in there and come out of the exam room. They were kind not to mention it. I thought I was going to have to get help. How embarassing.

Now there's an interesting development at home: Timmy doesn't like how Glenwood smells from the vet and has been really nasty, nasty enough to make her run away. While it's awful (and horrible when it was Riley and she was sick), the upside is that she does run, which tells me that when she chases him (and chases him and chases him), she doesn't want to fight. His snarliness is more than she bargained for. My wish is that this will balance out their relationship. She's learning what he's capable of when faced with new smells.

Extreme Kitten

Glenwood is an early-morning hell-raiser, knocking over plants, scattering things off tabletops, biting my feet through the blankets, chasing her tennis ball, duking it out with tissue paper, and stalking Timmy (prompting a string of commands from me: Get down! No! Stop that! Glenwood, cut it out!).

By evening, she's a cuddly, purry, soft-soft-soft fur thing. Last night I was reading Franz Wright's God's Silence (his poems ring for me) while she lay on the pillows behind me, breathing warmth.

She also enjoys Mad Men.

And still gets her toys into her water dish. This was her first toy ever, a gift from Dr. Ryan on October 2, and she loves it.

And what is it about cats that they love to help make the bed? Spike always knew where to be so I could put fresh sheets on without having to move her; it was like a dance. Timmy and Riley were the wrinkle police. Glenwood and Timmy take a different approach:

Timmy's not trying to provoke her; he's just being himself. It's just that he can't escape her ...

... except maybe when he climbs into the hamper, which is his quietest place to sleep.

Most of this year - since Riley's diagnosis on June 8 - has been cat-focused. I've lost one, saved another, and tried to preserve still another's alpha position and sanity. I'd like to see my focus shift in 2010, while keeping Timmy and Glenwood happy and healthy. Happy new year.

Testing Limits

Glenwood's assaults on Timmy are a little worrisome. I think it's just play, and testing the limits of play, and that her kitten energy will mellow. After all, Timmy and Riley would occasionally get into it and they were best buddies. Also, Glenwood is as aggressive with her toys (and my belongings) as she is with Timmy, so her approach is at least democratic. Maybe he's just a big toy to her.

Or, maybe she's trying to dethrone Timmy as alpha cat. There's been some yelping and hissing and one growl. Does the play just get too rough for one or the other? Is Glenwood just so relentless that Timmy gets to the end of his rope? Because they also sleep curled up together, rub against each other in passing, swap food bowls in the middle of each meal, coexist in silence, and give each other baths.

This New Life

Last weekend was spent reclaiming my bathroom. (I have yet to take its ready availability and conveniences for granted.) Since then it's been about integration. What I'm seeing is the difference between the free Glenwood and the bathroom-bound Glenwood. She's more independent of me as she forges her new life, which largely consists of torturing Timmy with relentless full-body attacks or cuddling up to him ...

... or sleeping in one of the spots she's claiming as her own.

Sometimes when I approach her in a big way (like with my winter coat on or in loud shoes) she crouches down in fear. She must be reacting to a memory, so I get on the floor to be small and she comes right over. And she really comes over: just keeps walking right into my face.

When she's quiet, I watch her and wonder at it all. She has a huge personality, and the softest fur. Her breathing still gets raspy when she's having a good workout, but otherwise it's like none of the awfulness ever happened. I appreciate the life she's brought into the house after Riley's death. And still I miss Riley every day, awakening as I do to Timmy's big face staring at me as a reminder.