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.

October 2, 2009

With Glenwood assimilating (the kitty-box merger is complete!), I've been thinking back...

I rescued her October 1 and took her to the vet the next day. To travel, I put her in a shoebox and put the shoebox in a paper grocery bag. I used a makeshift carrier because I feared I'd leave the vet without the kitten. Leaving with Riley's empty carrier July 10 was so hard, and is vivid.

As I walked from the car to the vet, Glenwood panicked. This tiny, dying, smelly kitten started pushing her way out. I put the bag down and pushed her back in; she fought. By the time we got to the vet I must've looked like a lunatic. My arms were wrapped around this violent package and I practically shouted "Can someone help me?" as soon as I got in the door. I could barely hold my own with what turned out to be 1.2 pounds of kitten. I'm astounded at the strength of body and spirit she found that day, when she was just bones and fur and sickness. Her instinct for self-preservation is mind-boggling.

To get her home, she went back into the shoebox and bag. I held the bag tight, got to the car, and put it on the floor in front. Once underway, she started pushing out again. I tried to stop her but couldn't while driving, and was so strained by it all that I let her, figuring I'd deal with her at the other end. So what did she do? Burst through the bag and climbed into my lap. I managed to get a towel under her, tucked her in to keep her warm, and drove home with her fast asleep. She wanted to be with me, and I was just overcome.

So few Glenwoods get a chance, which makes this Glenwood's story more joyful and more poignant. Yet she doesn't give it a thought, isn't astounded that she is alive and warm and fed and scritched. She just goes about her business: hurling herself at Timmy, making anything into a toy (especially Timmy), dashing around, exploring everywhere, occasionally napping. Now in full adolescent bloom and free from the bathroom, my lap is less compelling. I feel like a parent with a teenager, standing by and hoping she'll come back in time.

Milestones

Tuesday: After seeing Glenwood eat from Timmy's dish, I moved her dishes into the kitchen.

Thursday: I wanted to see Grey's Anatomy (sadly, a rerun), so opened the living room for the first time since Glenwood's release. My brother (father of Harry) and I had spent a solid 30 minutes devising a way to block the room off until the time was right. Aesthetic, no; functional, yes. I figured letting her in there with me was safe, then I'd put the barrier back. My studio is in there, along with a lot of small, delicate, cherished objects.

Friday 1:00 am: The three-foot barrier proved useless once she knew the room existed (who knew she could jump it?), so it went away.

Saturday: Timmy and Glenwood had explored each other's cat boxes, so I moved her box out of the bathroom and put it near his (the last step before the merger). At last, my bathroom was free free free of Glenwood's stuff! No more litter scattered on the floor. No more food splattered on the walls. No more pharmaceutical stockpile under the sink. Unbelievable. I scrubbed it for me, and am slowly returning its contents. It is utterly luxurious to have a bathmat again.

In terms of the day-to-day, Timmy is barraged by Glenwood pretty much every moment they're both awake. Poor guy is exhausted. He did manage to find something like a hiding place under my Van Gogh chair ...... but it's not a sure thing.During the few moments that Glenwood is at rest, cuddling happens. See how much she's grown? She's a station-wagon model, apparently: long and lean. Timmy is a Humvee.

23 Years, 27 Degrees

My mother died 23 years ago today, and for the first time the date might have slipped by had I not spoken with my brother (father of the late Muffy; see Glenwood's Ancestors). My mom was 55, so her life ended early.

And the cold hit hard and suddenly in New York City today, 27 degrees and who knows how low with the brutal wind.

I thought, "Glenwood would not have survived long in this weather." No, she wouldn't have, but the reality is she would have died long ago had (1) Ellen not cancelled dinner on October 1, (2) I kept my promise not to return because it was so eerie without the cats (see Glenwood's First House), and (3) she not meowed so I would see her in the dark. She had maybe a few days left in her. She was starving, unable to eat, emaciated, dehydrated and so, so sick.

And here she is now, nine-plus weeks later, relentlessly pouncing on Timmy, who must be exhausted from the assaults. Yet he continues to be so kind to her, so tolerant of her kitten energy unleashed. Too bad he's too damn big to hide.

Oh Happy Days

I feel like the luckiest cat person in the world. Emily, from whom I adopted Timmy and Riley in 2005, wrote me that she hoped Timmy would take Glenwood under his wing as Riley took him under hers.


And so it is: Timmy and Glenwood are total buddies. They rub against each other; Timmy grooms her; they wrestle. Glenwood has enormous energy and a huge personality. When she takes an apartment-long run at him and leaps, he either lets her land and deals with the consequences or raises a closed paw and thwarts her. There's the occasional yelp or mini-hiss, but it's only from the game getting a little rough. He's four times her size, after all - a giant ten-year-old dealing with a rambunctious toddler who spent nine weeks in a bathroom. I keep rubbing him and telling him he's a champ. I think he knows.


So here's a short story in five photos. It starts with Timmy and a Whole Foods bag.

But the Next Day Was

On Monday, the vet told me I could free Glenwood from the bathroom after all. I crowed. C-r-o-w-e-d. The surprise of it was even better than when I was expecting it. So home she and I went for a final bleaching of the bathroom and a release party. Sherri, who's been instrumental in her care (and mine) since she came home with me October 1, documented the festivities. Believe it or not, after weeks of trying to escape, she emerged slowly when I opened the door ...
... as Timmy watched from behind the screen I put between them just in case.

I needn't have worried (and didn't, really). Their first encounter was nonchalant: "So that's who was in [out] there."

The screen went.

She was cautious the first night (though not even a little since) as I found her sleeping in the bathroom sink.

But It Isn't

She tested postive. This is very disappointing; everything seemed pointed to her release. I made a vet appointment for tomorrow evening to start another culture. And it's not a matter of a day or two or three, but a week or two ... or.

It feels sad living with her in there alone the vast majority of the time. I know Glenwood is fine; it's me who doesn't feel so fine right now. I even took a photo of what I thought was to be her last medicated pad this morning. Now we have to start up again.

Tomorrow Should Be the Day

Anna called yesterday to say the ringworm test is still negative and that Dr. Ryan wants to wait until tomorrow to be sure. So I'll be calling Hope Vet when it opens, and the freeing of Glenwood should follow immediately. Wow.

It seems like she senses the upcoming shift, or is that much healthier. Her energy is endless, as are her meows. Last night I gave her catnip, which may be why her bed was across the bathroom this morning.

I have a plan, as she's only getting access to part of the apartment to start. Even that requires storing a lot of artwork and other items she could turn into hockey pucks or chew toys. I've had to keep the whisk broom out of her little paws or it would have been dismantled weeks ago.