Copyright 2009-2013 Liz Sweibel

Saturday, January 29, 2011

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

Saturday, January 22, 2011

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


Monday, January 17, 2011

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.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

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?

Saturday, January 8, 2011

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.