Countdown, and Timmy's Antics

Glenwood tested negative for ringworm. I could weep. Still, we need to retest to be 100% sure. The great people at Hope Vet let us squeeze in today to start the culture. Now we wait another week. If this test is negative, she's free. (For any of you holding your breath about a possible pregnancy, you can exhale.) Here she is, back from the vet and in the bathroom with a new box and fresh blanket:I found the first close-up of Glenwood, taken October 2. I was in such a state then that it's more disturbing now to see the shape she was in (and this is after she was cleaned up by Dr. Ryan and Anna):Here's a close-up from today - to celebrate:

Now, Timmy has been showing up in new places. Two days ago I nearly had a meltdown when I couldn't find him - really couldn't find him. I yanked my brother off a business call, and he found Timmy in my laundry hamper, where he has never gone before:

Timmy's also been lounging on the window sill, which is only news because the radiator beneath him is so hot he could combust. Twenty pounds of Timmy exploding into flames would not be pretty.

Hope and Hope (and a Freaky Note)

Good news from Hope Vet! Glenwood retested negative for feline leukemia/HIV. I wasn't much worried because her recovery has been so strong; that's not medically sound, but a bit of homegrown logic that was a comfort. Her occasional raspy breathing (on stress or exertion) seems like scar tissue from her upper respiratory infection, and not something to worry about.

Her ringworm is much better and her fur is growing in (beautifully), though her ears may remain a little scarred. She still glows a little on the tip of her left ear and her right back paw; test results will be back in a week. This is now the last problem keeping her in the bathroom! Having the end of that era in sight is unreal (and comes with having to kitty-proof this apartment, no small task), but oh-so, oh-so welcome. (I let Glenwood and Timmy eye each other as we left for the vet: Glenwood was nonplussed; Timmy ran behind the couch.)

Glenwood's grown-up teeth are in, which makes her about six months old (not five) and her starting weight even more horrific. She's over 5 pounds now. Her head-to-belly ratio is still off, which prompted a lot of teasing from the Hope people, and ...

... prompted Anna to wonder aloud (bad idea) if Glenwood is pregnant. PREGNANT!?!?!

If you're half as shocked as I was, you've just spit out your coffee. Anna sent Dr. Ryan back in, and she's as sure as she can be that Glenwood not only isn't but couldn't be pregnant - while allowing that stranger things have happened. If Glenwood is pregnant, she's due in a week or so. I can't believe I'm writing this, and now look at her with a little worry. I'm not ready - will never be ready - to be a grandmother.

Antics

As if the drain basket in the water dish weren't enough (see How Does She Do It?), she somehow managed to replace the drain with the plug. It boggles the mind.I've learned, with considerable relief, that the splattered material is food. She likes to eat with her paw sometimes. (She's a rightie.) She scoops food into her mouth or onto the floor. When she shakes her paw clean, it ends up at unfathomable heights on the bathroom walls. Here she is, now a medium-large kitten (who is going to the vet in the morning):

Life Is a Blur

There will likely be no more still shots of Glenwood, or they'll just be accidents. For every 273 photos I take, maybe two are less than completely blurry. This kitten is on the move (here, in the tub). She's feeling great, getting closer and closer to managing her escape from the bathroom, and growing fur back everywhere. Her off-and-on wheezy breathing and scratching continue, so Saturday's vet visit is welcome, as usual.

On another note, one of my brothers (who shall remain nameless) once cleaned a toaster oven to death. I share this because of the demise of my dustpan. I swept it to death over the last six weeks.

Echoes

Cleaning out my voicemails this evening, I re-listened to the condolence calls I got after Riley died on July 10, including Dr. Ryan's. I saved hers again. Riley's cardiac specialist, while sympathetic, referred to her as a "he" and didn't acknowledge that the night she died, I'd called him and he'd reassured me that Riley's adjustment to the meds would take a few days. I hung up and thought, "Screw that. I'm going to the emergency room." And she died. I deleted his message.

Glenwood's breathing is raspy more often, and it's scary. She's a normal, crazy kitten in every way, and exceptionally loving, but now this. Dr. Ryan said a radiography might be in order and that we'd see Saturday when we go to the vet (well, Glenwood goes; I'm the chauffeur, anxiety-bearer, and bill-payer). It's horrible, but not only do I get frightened about the possibilities, but about the money. Hope Vet is holistic and conservative in advice to do this or that, so if Dr. Ryan recommends it, it will be impossible to do otherwise.

With a friend today, I wondered whether I would do different with Riley had I known that, three or four thousand (who's counting?) dollars later, she lived just a month after the diagnosis. It's easy: I'd do as I did because until the end it wasn't clear. When it was clear, the ER vet wept as I said good-bye; I was sobbing but trying not to so Riley wouldn't remember me that way. I said, "You shouldn't be crying. You're the doctor." She said, "I gave you hope." I said, "You can't do that to yourself." And so Riley went. I was given a room to be with her afterward, and I stayed for a long time, much longer than it felt. Hours. I miss her every day, still cry most days, and now my fear for Glenwood is stirring.

The Gift of Kitty Massage

A man I work with (the same man who calls Glenwood One-Point-Two) kindly gave me a kitty-warming gift: Alice M. Brock's How To Massage Your Cat. This is the same gifted Alice of Alice's Restaurant in the Berkshires where, coincidentally enough, I'm headed for Thanksgiving (if I can survive the anxiety of a friend caring for Glenwood). This book is hilarious. Here's two pages.

A Subway Moment

On the subway this morning, an old (though probably younger than he looked) man with a walker was by a pole in the middle of the car. He looked very, very fragile and disengaged, and the plastic bags tied to his walker seemed to hold his belongings. As we traveled, he slowly, slowly settled himself until he was leaning against a bar of the walker, almost sitting, with the walker against the pole. He looked so precarious I held my breath, but he was OK (in the context of not being OK). I went back to my gazing or reading.

At a stop, someone said something attention-getting; I looked up. Twice a man blocked the subway doors so they wouldn't close. This is an irritant to NYC subway riders, but then I saw he was keeping the doors from closing on the man with the walker, who was inching his way out of the next set of doors down, unaware of the stranger protecting him. It took my breath away and I sort of fell in love with the man who was paying attention and did the right thing. It was exquisite, and so sad.

Timmy Is a Brave New Man

Two things that terrify Timmy (beside the dustpan) are the vacuum and the kitty carrier. So imagine my surprise to find him in the closet comfortably reclining with both. Apparently, the lure of using the contents of my glove-and-hat basket for a bed was more powerful than his terror of objects. He continues to be The Man of the Hour in his patience with me and with Glenwood.

Kitty Telepathy

My brother (a different brother than the brother who lost Muffy last week) has a white cat, Harry. They live in Oakland, California. Harry cannot be left alone with toilet paper. One of the features of my brother's apartment is its aesthetically pleasing hiding spot for toilet paper.

Harry must have sent a kitty message to Glenwood yesterday, who up to then had no interest in toilet paper. All in the Family? When Harry Met Glenwood? I think all the bleach is getting to me.
Glenwood meows a lot at this point, and it's now an adolescent meow, which is more forceful than a kitty meow. She also has a yell-meow that she hurls when I don't jump fast enough. She wants out, and it's harder and harder to foil her. She also wants my lap when I'm in. When I have the audacity to be in the bathroom doing other things than holding her, she stalks me ... jumping on me, pawing at my hair, using my legs as a scratching post. It is very sweet how she loves being held, especially given her origins (see Glenwood's First Home post), and a joy to hold her, hear her boisterous purr, and see her gazing up at me (with one little fang outside her mouth and one in).

Splash

The toilet seat is a good spot, especially as Glenwood's realized it's an excellent launching pad onto my back if I'm bent over. It doesn't matter to her what I'm wearing (or not), so I have to confess to some hilarious scenes and scratch marks.

Of course I'm careful to keep the lid closed, but ... Sunday I turned away for half a second and heard a splash. She'd leapt onto the seat but it wasn't there. (I wish I'd seen that.) I fished her out and washed her off in the sink; she was only wet from the waist down (if cats have waists). I towel-dried her and she went on her way, totally undisturbed by the drama.

She's doing great. The new med for her lesions seems to be helping already; they're getting hard to find!

The News from Hope Vet

When Anna came into the exam room Saturday and looked at Glenwood, she said "Look at that little head!" Then, two seconds later, "And look at this belly!" It seems Glenwood is a little out of whack in head-to-belly development. Her head should catch up. She has such a beautiful, beautiful, tiny face. However, she's sporting a minor mohawk and leather ears from the ringworm and meds.

She weighs 4.3 pounds, her ear is cleared up completely, her eye is virtually normal, and fur is coming back over the ringworm lesions. Dr. Ryan is happy. Glenwood has only one med now (plus her supplements). If we can resolve the ringworm and she retests negative for feline leukemia/HIV, the end of the bathroom era is in sight. Not a moment too soon. As I write, the noises coming out of there are extraordinary.

Glenwood's First Home

I largely avoid Glenwood's first home because (1) there might be cats there and (2) there might not be cats there. Still, I've wanted to document it - to capture where this story began and the miracle she's alive. So yesterday I went to where she was born and spent her first three months and I took some photos. Here's the house from Glenwood Avenue:The cats congregated at the end of the driveway. Some came down to eat from the garage roof via the dead tree, navigating razorwire that runs between this property and the apartment building next door. Sometimes cats slept on the pile of garbage bags against the house, and once I saw a cat get up from a pile of broken glass there.

The wood covering this entrance to the basement was propped open for the cats to get in and out. I saw a racoon go in.

I'd see the kittens' tiny faces watching me through these holes in the wood as I put out food. As I walked down the driveway, they'd run to eat from out of the basement, the yard, the tree. The most I ever saw at a time was eleven, all with happy tail (straight up, curled over at the top, if you don't speak cat).

Here is their dining area. Whomever else fed the cats (I met one woman) would leave evidence that they'd been there, so other feeders would know. I would clean up to show I was there. Now there's one empty can of Friskies.

An instructor I work with (who calls Glenwood One-Point-Two, her weight when I rescued her) suggested that if the cats were poisoned, Glenwood may have lived because she was no longer able to eat. Of all the ironies, she may have lived because she was dying. We're going to the vet now.

Glenwood's Ancestors

My brother's cat Muffy died two days ago, and it's struck me that I've put no photo of Riley on this blog (other than my profile image), when arguably she sent Glenwood to keep Timmy and me company after her death in July. Here is the beautiful, hilarious, much-missed Riley, in her typical response to the vacuum.

And before Riley there was Spike, who was with me for 17 years and died just before Thanksgiving 2004 at age 21. That the anniversary is approaching is probably not unrelated to this small eulogy. Here's Spike, all 6-plus pounds of her, in 2004:

Still Life with Meds

I've been curious to put all of Glenwood's meds and related items together to see what they accumulate to. Some are in her past, some her present, and a couple probably in her future. Let's hope they're all in her past before long - except her comb, which I pulled out of the drain yesterday (see How Does She Do It?) and she adores.

We're off to the vet Saturday. I'm worried about the backs of her ears. They look raw, like the fur isn't all returning from the ringworm. I never could keep the lampshade on her. After the tutu incident (see Angel to Devil Kitty post) I tried once more, and she went into such a state of terror and thrashing I couldn't inflict the thing on her again. Did it evoke memories? Her response really was brutal to watch.

How Does She Do It?

This is my sink. Note the wire basket in the drain. When I go into the bathroom lately, the basket is always in Glenwood's bed or somewhere. This morning it was in her waterdish, and her metal comb was down the basket-less drain. This is one funny, dextrous kitten.

One Month In

Well, four and a half weeks, but who's counting? It's easier to remember the first of the month.

Glenwood is doing great. Her left eye is apparently healed. The ringworm is healing. (You can see the white fur coming in on her back and tail.) She is done with her oral and ear antibiotics. Her energy output (not to mention litter-box output) is astounding. It's unlikely I'll be posting still shots unless I catch her sleeping (rare). She is planning her escape from the bathroom, and it's harder and harder to foil her. I use a dustpan as a shield when I go in, but I'll soon need something larger and scarier.

This is a photo from October 23, but I love it. It shows how much smalller she was just ten days ago.