If Only ...

... life were as intoxicatingly thrilling, thoroughly consuming, and ultimately satisfying, as this:

My brother Jonathan, who was father to the quite odd Harry until finding him a new California home for very good reasons, noticed that of all the fancy toys he purchased for his cat, it was when he dropped a twistie that all hell broke loose.  I've noted the same.  Only the red laser light produces a more vivid response.

Glenwood has major sticky stuff in her ear now, so of course brushes along every available surface, from my pants to the door edges of my apartment, leaving a trail I am sure will take me decades to sandblast off.

Plan E.5

Glenwood's ear is worse, in the sense that it's a bit smellier and I'm digging out Even More Goo.  She remains ecstatic to be alive, however.  Here she is rabbit-kicking my running gloves after creating her usual mess of the pillows:

And in a peaceful nanosecond with Timmy:

So, tomorrow we are trying an interim med between plan E and surgery.  Look at this baby:

The whole thing goes into her ear and I scrunch-scrunch-scrunch (Dr. Ryan's specific orders) and we wait two weeks.  When I was ear-digging a few minutes ago, I noticed she pulled this off, as her new habit is to bat the toothpaste into the trash to get my attention.  Did she miss, or nail it?  Hmmm.

Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da

And so life continues chez Glenwood, Timmy, and Liz.  No progress on the veterinary front to report.  Whatever hopes I had for Glenwood to mellow with age seem futile.  She remains a lunatic.  As you can see, while I work, she paws my reference books.  After I make the bed, she unmakes it within five minutes.  When I foolishly left a bowl of grape tomatoes on the counter, I've had surprises since and just found another this morning.  Yuck.  And then ... there is the lovely moment where she chills and shows off her tail.

Flipping Through the APA Style Manual

I Make the Bed; She Unmakes It

How Many More Are Out There?

A Rare Moment of Calm

Timmy's Tail

I've been trying to return to a steady meditation practice.  I have a nice place to sit, with candles and cat reminders.  The illustration is of Hopkins, a big orange guy from my Massachusetts years; to the right is Spike, my 21-year-old who moved to NYC with me and made sure to live long enough to see me settle down a bit; to the left is Riley, whose death in 2009 catalyzed Glenwood's life. The violin was my father's.

Timmy often lands here when running from Glenwood; she uses it as a launching pad to the window sill or something to bank off of as she tears through the apartment.  Today, Timmy settled onto the right side while I sat.  His tail was curled up and around above the candles.  It wasn't close enough to the flames for me to chase him off, but then there was this smell and I saw his tail was, I guess, melting.  I leapt up to put him out and fur-ash drifted to the floor and stuck to my hand.  He wasn't on fire but his fur had, yes, melted.  And him?  Oblivious.  He knew nothing of what happened.  He still doesn't.  But look!!!

Now I have two cats with missing or damaged fur.  What are the odds?

Timmy Has a Dent in His Tail

Glenwood Is Still in Poodle Mode

She Looks Like a Poodle

The vet shaved Glenwood's left front leg for the IV, and she still looks like a poodle. This photo doesn't do that image justice (my apologies), but shows her passed out in my lap with her little shaved area last Tuesday, after I brought her home.  (I only just now figured out how to get the images off my new phone.  It was too obvious to figure out a week ago.)

Glenwood had a lengthy hacking attack this morning.  She's not getting any meds for the infection at this point, since they don't help, so it's really about waiting for the radiologist's report in terms of what might be next.  I still do my Q-Tip digs, but it's force of habit and somehow satisfying, as if I'm helping.  She's in no distress, even when she's making her old-man noises, but it's still discomforting.

While this blog doesn't have a sound track, you can take my word for it that she is the loudest bather in cat history.  Timmy is utterly quiet when he's in the grooming zone, but Glenwood snorts up a storm.

She Is Asymmetrical

Glenwood spent the day with Dr. Humphreys yesterday.  Big Timmy couldn't believe his good fortune: an entire day with no black flying fur thing landing on his back while he slept.  Glenwood, on the other hand, was not so happy.  Dr. H sedated her, took x-rays (which I'll post once I have them), drained several gallons of pus from her ear, and poked around to see what the deal is with this chronic ear infection.  No polyp.  But, unfortunately, even I could see on the x-rays that one ear-area is different from the other.  A radiologist is going to have a look and I'll know more in a week or so, but it looks like my miracle kitty needs surgery.  I wish my miracle kitty would win the lottery.

It's discouraging, but manageable.  I'm just sad that this little puff has only had a couple of months of health in her whole life.  The upside is I'm the only one who is sad.  She is deliriously happy (at home, with me), thriving, and in no distress.  Can you imagine how awesome this stretch must feel?

It's Plan E for My Studio Assistant

On the way to One Love this afternoon, we stopped at a red light right in front of Glenwood's old house.  I pointed it out to her, but she was preoccupied.

Glenwood's ear infection has worsened.  It's been delivering more goo and smell the last week.  I really should have bought stock in J&J before I started with all these Q-Tips.  Hundreds.  So it's on to plan E.  On Tuesday I'll leave her at One Love for the day.  Dr. Humphreys is going to sedate her, take x-rays, and explore whether there's a polyp deep in her ear or something under her palate that's holding in this infection.  Dr. Ryan will check in.  If there a polyp it'll have to come out, though probably on another visit.  If there isn't, the doctors might recommend surgery on her ear canal.  Dr. Humphreys' only other idea is that she has a food allergy.  Oy.

She is one lucky kitty, with so many people caring about her so much.  And I am one lucky kitty-caretaker, with One Love caring about both of us so much.

On another front, my home studio is newly upgraded, making it a much, much better place to work.  Glenwood is my self-appointed studio assistant.  I gave her Spike's blue seat of honor, but once I put a rug down she prefers to be closer to me.

When I get up, she keeps my seat warm.

She also empties the miniature trash can that my Boston studiomate, Marty Epp-Carter, gave me.

Timmy, meanwhile, continues to do what he does best at his middle age:  sleep.  But how does he hold this position?  My brother thinks he looks like weatherman Al Roker now that he's lost five pounds running from Glenwood.  He has more skin than body.  He is such a love.  And alternately tortured and embraced by Glenwood.

Stairway to ...?

My camera is too often out of reach when a photo opp comes along.  I've missed more than one shot of Glenwood climbing a ladder.  I have a four-foot ladder and a six-foot ladder; she has experience with both.  Here she is on the six-footer, which is hanging inside a closet door ...

She is such a flirt.

Strange Rituals

I know I left you hanging in my last post about some evidence of maturity in Glenwood's behavior.  It's true, but not as dramatic as I thought/wished.  I don't put all my belongings in a closet every night any more, and she sleeps later, but she still wakes up far earlier than I and has insistent means of getting my attention.

One proven strategy is to jump on the desk in my bedroom, then move to the printer, which creaks under her "weight."  Sometimes she clears the desk of papers.  This starts at about 6 am.  Get down, I say, sitting up.  One get down rarely does it, but two or three do.  At least she understands English.

Back on the floor, she walks over and stares up at me.  My role is to stare back.  We do this for a few beats, then she jumps on the bed and snuggles up, purring.  I pet her, having been manipulated into rewarding her for bad behavior to prevent it from getting worse.  If I fail to stare back, she proceeds directly to more antics without the snuggly interlude.  Snuggle-time ranges from three seconds to another hour of sleep, but sometimes we have to repeat the get down-stare ritual four or five or a thousand times a night, with no guarantee that I'll get more sleep.  I've been napping daily.  Go figure.

Once she has the household up and has snubbed her breakfast, she settles on the living room radiator with the creeping fig.  It's the perfect spot to watch bird activity on the fire escape.

Plan D

We were at One Love today, and Glenwood's ear is pretty much as it was, even after almost a month of twice-daily irrigating and digging.  But before I go into plan D, how much fun can one kitten have on a napkin?

She's such a flirt.  Anyway.  Dr. Humphreys has a vet-friend in Greenpoint who raves about this anti-everything ear med.  When today's exam showed no improvement (though she still thrives, obviously), she got an earful of it.  It's caramel-like and forms a plug; now she gets left alone for two weeks.

I'll post about this tomorrow or so, but I also think Glenwood has turned a corner in becoming, say, mature.

Then and Now

The release anniversary must have me nostalgic, as I've been doing some Glenwood-then and Glenwood-now comparisons.  She spent her first night as a free kitten in, um, the bathroom.  This is how I found her that first morning.

December 8, 2009

A little over four months later, she filled up more of the sink.  Big Timmy would probably overflow.

April 26, 2010

Today she had a superior case of the cutes when she awoke from nap #37, with her little furry paws curled and crossed.  I'm not a bad napper myself, which is quite thrilling to her.  Company!

One Year Ago Today ...

December 7, 2009

... Glenwood was freed from the bathroom after nine weeks of isolation, sleep, meds, and food.  Look how tiny she was!  And how kitten-shaped!

December 7, 2009

I thought she'd never go into the bathroom again, but she stays close to me so often keeps me company.  She's enthralled by the mirrored medicine cabinet and by the tub, which makes a mighty fine hiding spot, especially when approached at 90 mph (much faster than Timmy can follow).

Look how gorgeous she is now.

December 6, 2010

She is the sweetest, craziest, softest, most willful eight pounds of kitty ever.  I watch her and remain struck that events had me find her (and her me).  She was so close to death, and it was only Ellen's need to cancel dinner that brought us under one roof.  Sadly, so many Glenwood's don't get saved.  I think about them too.

A Penny for Timmy's Thoughts

She's been healthy since her release except for the stubborn ear infection.  Tomorrow I check in with One Love, and will be bringing her in for a look-see.  I'm still swishing her ear and cleaning out goo with Q-Tips twice a day.

A Shy Attack

I had friends over for brunch yesterday, in part to introduce Glenwood, and who do you think spent the entire time under the dresser?  I thought she'd take a little while to come out of the bedroom, but she never did.  I was able to coax her out a couple of times for a sighting, but the appearances were brief and her exit swift.  As soon as everyone was gone, she reverted to her Other Personality.

I have a quilted duvet cover that I bought on Martha's Vineyard in the late 1980s.  Its age is starting to show, which makes me sad because I love this thing.  When Glenwood was tiny, she started using some of its worn spots as points of entry, so I put it away until she grew up.  Now that she's grown up, the small points of entry are becoming larger.  Whole squares are becoming frayed.  I lay a blanket over it for protection now.

The new pillow continues to be a source of focus, individually and together.  Here are three images from the last day or two:

Spooning

Glenwood Uses Timmy as a Pillow

Timmy Uses Glenwood as a Chin Rest

One Step Forward, the Rest Back

Since the Miracle Night of the Closed Curtains, all has reverted to (ab)normal.  It is 6.28 am, and I've been awake for at least an hour thanks to you-know-who.  Rather than have my stress levels hit the stratosphere before I'm vertical, I got up.

I've been holding back on this photo because it makes her look bad, but when I had the audacity to go away for one night last weekend, this is what I came home to:

What happens is that the light reflecting on a large picture over my desk as the sun rises prompts her to use the lamp as a support to paw the picture.  Since I wasn't there to bark at her, the lamp toppled and brought every desk item in its vicinity down with it.

I lock her out for as much of the sunrise as I can, but she starts meowing and banging the doorknob.  I'm sure you can see why I just love her so much.  Gee, I'm tired.  One remaining option is heavier curtains or shades but (1) who knows if that'll work, (2)  I don't like them, and (3) I can't afford to redecorate or turn over my aesthetic to an eight-pound terrorist-kitten whose vet bills remain a priority.  I'm sure there are other options, like taking all my pictures down or blindfolding her, but they seem extreme.  Maybe they won't in another year or two.

Do you blame Timmy?  At this moment, I envy him.

Plan C

Well, the Baytril didn't work and the pink stuff and shots improved the infection but Glenwood still has something living deeper inside her ear than can be seen or gotten to.  The One Love team tried a suction process yesterday but whatever is settled in there is staying put.

I hadn't given a lot of thought to the science aspect of vets' characters, but Drs. Ryan and Humphreys were doing some teeth-gnashing; they are frustrated; they want to fix her.  I want to fix her, too, but my frustrations are different.  Plan C is a new wash that I'll squeeze into her ear twice a day and squish down with aggressive ear rubbing.  Then she'll shake.  Then I'll clean it all up.  The goal is to loosen up the ear inhabitants so they can be suctioned out.  The next attempt will be early December.

I tried closing my curtains last night to see if the change in morning light would fool Glenwood out of the 5 am crazies.  That may sound stunningly obvious but my curtains are sheer and I didn't think it would make a difference.  It did!  I just had to adjust them so Glenwood could get onto the windowsill; the look in her eye told me she wouldn't hesistate to pull them down if I didn't.  At least I don't pretend to be the boss.

One Love is a new operation, so spread the word.  The care is great, everyone is super nice, and they usually have cookies for people in addition to treats for the pets out front.  Willie the Rescue Parakeet watches over the scene; he was named after Willie Nelson, who first inspired him to sing in his new home.  And on the science front, Dr. Humphreys described his approach as doing the least possible to get the body aligned so it will fix itself.  Pretty poetic for a science guy.

Pre-Glenwood

My visits there are always long between the care and the socializing, and by the end all three of us were sitting with Glenwood on the floor.  She really does set the tone.

The box above was a gift from my painter friend Diane Ayott years ago.  She and her partner had new window shades installed, and she brought me the left-over shade-ends knowing I'd appreciate them.  I displayed the box out of Glenwood's reach (or so I thought), but ...  Thankfully, the damage was fixable (and also beautiful) so all is back in place and now they are really out of reach.  Really.

Post-Glenwood

There's a New Pillow in Town, But I Can't Find the Garlic

We're at an interesting phase in Glenwood's development.  Her ear infection seems to be resolving (another visit to One Love is on for tomorrow), which may or may not be contributing to shifts in her energy and intellectual capacity.  She has utterly insane periods of the day, which are predictable:  the 5 am crazies, spurred I believe by the shadows and changing light as the sunrise starts, and the post-prandial crazies after breakfast and dinner (not that she eats, or eats in my presence, but symbolically).  She tears around the house, leaps on Timmy, meows endlesslly, runs across my desk, and generally stirs up the household.  Her meow is notably childlike.

In between periods of hysteria, I think she is mellowing.  She is more of a lap kitty, actually echoing her bathroom days, and is the fastest-to-purr cat I know.  One of my strategies to calm the early-morning crazies is to sit up in bed when I hear her on my desk, tell her to get down, and just keep staring at her while she stares at me.  For some inexplicable reason, if I stare long enough, she jumps off the desk and comes up to cuddle.  Instant purr.  That's good for maybe 20 minutes of rest.  And repeat.

So, the new pillow is a new battlefield and love nest.  Life is full of contradictions.  Here you go:

The garlic clove I bought a couple of days ago is just gone.  I've learned not to leave grape tomatoes on the counter, as they reappear in very bizarre locations and not always in great shape, but the garlic I hoped would survive.  What's so crazy is that I really, really looked for it, and the thought of where it might be makes me shudder.

Timmy's and Riley's previous mother, Emily, was in town from London last weekend, but unfortunately we couldn't schedule a good time to visit.  She wants to see Timmy, of course, and meet Glenwood.  I haven't seen Emily since Riley's death and there will be another layer of sadness.