Hopkins on Tilt

Hopkins, by Sue Keller

The illustration, by Sue Keller, was a gift from the early 1980s.  Hopkins was a big guy like Timmy but had a bad heart and only lived about five years.  Sue's work hangs above my meditation spot and below a painting by my aunt, Harriet Lefkowitz.  I think it was at this slant for days before I noticed.  Yes, Glenwood's antics continue but work has kept me so busy and preoccupied their effects barely register.  I've also started wearing ear plugs at night.

The semester ends May 5 and I will come up for air.

Post-Heat: Our Routine Returns

Glenwood's normal nighttime antics, I realize, are more challenging than her merely being in heat and wailing and barking all night.  After all, she left me alone and was less interested in food than other things.

Now that she's out of heat, we're back to the routine, and it feels even more disruptive.  She starts trashing my desk and dresser top at about 4.00 am so I'll serve her wet food, then she makes that the start of her day, which includes exercise, snacks, and play. I sleep in ten-minute increments the rest of the night, punctuated by Get down!, curses, and trips to the kitchen to dole out the four bites of food she eats at a time.  Timmy will eat the rest if I give her more, and he's supposed to be on a weight-reduction plan. When I finally drag myself up for good, she jumps onto the bed and goes to sleep.

Thursday night I took a stand and locked her and Timmy out.  All night I could hear things being relocated and endless meowing.  Below is my bathroom sink as I found it in the morning.  Note that some of these items she pulled out of the medicine cabinet, though she was careful to close it when she was done.

My next experiment is no more wet food.  If cats forget everything in three weeks, they'll forget that too.  Just for kicks, I put a little water on the dry food.  It fooled them.  They snorted it.

The Heat Is Off

It was March 3, 2010, that Glenwood last went out of heat, and this time it was April 7.  So this experience lasted a week (I typed "only," then realized that is an insane descriptor of the last seven days); her first heat started about February 24, 2010, so was a few days longer.  But of course, it's been almost a year since she was spayed, so this is all quite mysterious.  Even weirder, I now realize the Oscars came early this year because in 2010 she watched Alec Baldwin host while recovering.  As long as we don't go a third round before she's Conewood again, I'm good.  Timmy too, as the sexual/identity crisis he just went through was stressful.  Watching my neutered male try to impregnate my spayed female was bizarre.  Sorry, no photos; that would be kitty porn.

And the Heat Goes On

The photos below were taken in rapid succession, as Glenwood self-entertained yesterday morning.  She is a wild-woman.  I like my work, but I am especially glad to go there knowing there will be no howling or barking.  I apologize to Timmy in the morning as I leave.

This Just Can't Be So

Before I get to the big news, I'll just say that we continue to wait for Glenwood's ear surgery to be scheduled.  I left a message urging One Love to schedule her sooner than later, as Glenwood is scratchy and I'm worried about the long-term effects of her having this infection ... on her, on Timmy, on me.  We're also waiting for Timmy's bloodwork to come back.  As you can see, there is apparently nothing wrong with him that a little weight reduction won't solve.  Only problem is, cutting back on the kitty tuna is not going over well.

Anyone Can Tell What's Next

Timmy's Overhang

In between paragraphs, Timmy just crossed the keyboard, belly swinging, to jump to the windowsill ... with Glenwood in hot pursuit.  And I mean hot.  The kitten is in heat.  Never mind that she's spayed, never mind that I've spent the last 18 months of my life caring nonstop for this fur thing, never mind that sleeping is already elusive.  The last three days have been howl-filled and I'm wearing ear plugs.  A little Internet research suggests that even a tiny bit of reproductive tissue left behind can result in ... this.  Look at her!  Here's 2 from about 937 shots I took of her yesterday, trying to get just one that isn't blurred.  She is, simply, a blur.  I've put in a call to the vet, and will report back soon.  FLASH:  Dr. Ken just called.  It's confirmed; she's in heat.  He can take a peek at her girl parts while sealing her ear in surgery, but of course that cannot happen until we survive this.  I told him if he gets a howling box from me in the mail, don't open it.  On the upside, Timmy and his thyroid are fine.

Wild-Eyed (Me Too)

Tail Antics

Cat-ch-Up

It's been quite a long time since I posted, not because there hasn't been some news - Timmy has resumed chasing his tail, after all - but because I've been flat-out on every level.

Yesterday Timmy went to One Love for his annual check-up.  Squishing him into the smaller, hard kitty carrier (since Glenwood blew out the larger, soft one) was challenge #1.  Once in, he folded himself into the smallest possible area in the back, with his rear end and his face facing the door.  Sounds impossible, I know, but it's true.  I  neglected to document that position, but did document the one he took on the ride home, which was the opposite.  His face was nudged into the front corner so all I got was ear.

Timmy After the Indignity of a Check-Up

He tested out pretty well for his ten and a half years, though he was appalled at the process.  His weight is 19.1 pounds - less than his highest but more than he weighed when he first started running from Glenwood.  Dr. Ken limited his Trader Joe's kitty tuna intake for some weight reduction.  Timmy's thyroid felt a bit enlarged to Drs. Ken and Ryan, so we're doing some bloodwork for that, plus a full panel just because he's middle-aged.

Since we got home, he's been hissy and growly at Glenwood, and even took a few whacks at her.  If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you know that has absolutely no effect on her.  He's being nice to me.

On another note, I was loathe to photograph the awfulness of Glenwood's first weeks here.  Who needs that?  It was hard enough for me to look at (and touch ... ew).  But yesterday I asked about Bishop, a pit bull who was in a horrific fight and who I'd met about a week after he arrived.  It wasn't clear he'd make it, but he had sweet eyes and his sewn-up drippy stoned-on-meds face haunted me.  Bishop pulled through.  Dr. Ken showed me the before-and-after photos.  Bishop's nose was gone.  (I can't believe I didn't keel over.)  After Dr. Ken's reconstruction, he's not exactly Prince Charming, but he has something like a nose, and he is home.  That is one lucky pooch.  I'm sure few owners would have taken that on.

All that to prepare you for Glenwood's ear goo.  It's time to share.  I dig this out of her once or twice a day.  She is going to be having surgery in the next few weeks, as soon as Dr. Ken can line up his expert consultant.  It's getting worse and even though she remains the happy terrorist, this can't continue.

Status Quo ...

... but still zany.

A Nanosecond of Rest

What Could Possibly Have His Attention?
Not Sure I Want to Know

Glenwood's ear infection is the same.  I'm still awaiting news from the doctors on what's next.  Timmy's melted tail is the same. (You can see the dent above if you look carefully.)  I've improved my nighttime strategies. No one, but no one, is better at falling back asleep.  It's my key survival tool.

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!