Went across the Royal Gorge bridge. Beautiful view, even though I was hyperventilating half the time (dumb fear of heights).

Got to talk with my cousin Jenny again! She is awesome, and I got her hooked on the Dresden Files. Yays.

Kaylee got to play with her cousin Brandon, who is so completely adorable I wanted to take him home.

Went up the cog railway to the top of Pike's Peak.

One of the favorite parts of the trip: going to the Aquarium.

One of the least favorite parts: having our car motor decide it hated us and was going to die. On the Interstate. We had to rent a U-Haul truck and car dolly to get the dumb thing home. There was $500 I wasn't expecting to spend. . .

Got home and found out the cats had acquired fleas in our absence. Cue me washing everything in the house.

Saw the Friday the 13th remake last night. Wasn't half bad. (of course, my love for Jared Padalecki could be influencing my opinion)

Off to write some story notes.

We just got the call. He's dead.



ETA:

Thanks, guys. *hugs back* The vet said that this problem tends to strike younger, neutered males, and that by the time recognizable symptoms show up it's often too late. He was sedated as soon as Chris got him there, and he never woke up. So at least he wasn't hurting.

We're going to alter their diet, and hope that helps prevent the same thing from happening to Marvin's brother.

Chris just left the house . . . he's running Marvin out to the vet. Kaylee and I got home at about 10:00 and he was pretty listless. He'd raise his head and look at us and all, but wouldn't stand on his own. We wrote down the emergency vet number just in case; mom said he was acting like Midnight did when the vet diagnosed him with diabetes. So I put him closer to the litterbox, and when I put Kaylee to bed he'd come up the few steps to lie down there. I brought him in to Kaylee's room to lie down with us, and fell asleep for a couple of hours. When Chris came home at 2:00, he brought Marv out with him. He tried to give him some water, then some milk, no go. When Chris first got home he'd raise his head and look around, but by 4:30 he stopped doing that and his breathing's labored, so. . .

I don't know. When I came home he was acting like he might if he had diabetes, but right now he's acting like our cat Fozzy did a few years back. Chris and I got home from Vermont and found him lying on the floor, completely limp. Our friend who'd been coming by to feed them saw he was lagging around a bit earlier but thought he was just moping because we were gone. We didn't even have time to get home from the vet's office before she called to let us know that she had to put him down-- basically, kidney stones, and it was too far along for her to help. If it's the same thing, I hope we got Marvin out there in time.

Hell. He's a good cat. And the only one who really tolerates Kaylee well . . . Zot will get growly pretty fast, and Daisy's too skittish to stay around someone who makes a lot of sudden movements. Marvin just lies around and stretches and lets her bat at him.

I should try to go back to bed.

ETA: Chris got back. It's not diabetes. It's the same thing Fozzy had. The vet said he still might die but that if we'd waited until her office opened he would've been gone. She'll call when they know more.

The post that inspired the following is here. I'm putting it up for reference's sake, though I strongly recommend against reading it. Suffice to say, an outdoor cat was killed in a particularly nasty way.

Now, everyone who thinks auryn24 posted because she wanted to get lectured on what should've been done instead, raise your hands.

To the smug, self-righteous idiots whose first impulse in a terrible situation is to victim-blame . . .

1) Not all outdoor cats can be brought inside. We're caring for a feral one right now, but she won't let any of us get within ten feet of her. Sure, we'll just pick her up and bring her in the house to protect her; that'll work great!
2) People don't always have the money or the room to bring outdoor cats in. It's wonderful that you apparently have endless resources to care for every stray animal that needs help; some aren't so lucky.

But honestly, 1 and 2 don't even really matter. When you see someone grieving, your first instinct should be to help or at least offer sympathy, not cross your arms and sneer about how you would have done something different.

Adorableness awaits.

If I lived nearby I would so see about getting a Kaylee for my Kaylee. ;-)

-- Chris is outside working in the yard. Specifically, putting out a birdbath and plotting out what kind of bench and flowers to put in Harley's Garden. :-)

-- The news is depressing me even more than usual, what with the whole "it doesn't matter if you actually pull the trigger, you hussy, we'll send you to jail for killing someone anyway!" thing, so I'm going to write and pretend the world doesn't exist for a while. My sanity will thank me.

-- Kaylee hasn't quite mastered the art of crawling yet. What she does is lie on her stomach, press her face to the blanket, stick her butt up in the air and then push off with her feet, scooting forward. Hee.

-- If I don't get over this stupid cold soon, I'm going to hurt somebody. And/or buy stock in Kleenex.

-- We have no idea what in the world Kaylee's favorite stuffed animal is supposed to be. It's pale green with dark green spots and huge blue feet and it looks like some oddly-colored cross between a cow and a giraffe. So I was playing with her the other day and I dangled the toy in front of her and went, "Grrr. Argh." and Chris laughed and said, "Well, the thing is a mutant", so now the toy's name is Emmy, short for Mutant Enemy. Yeah. We are proud of our geekery around here.

-- Zot is sleeping under my desk. This wouldn't be a problem if he'd stop biting my feet periodically to remind me that he's there.

Harley's dead.

Chris called me and any phone call that starts "I didn't want to tell you this over the phone" is never a good one. He said that our neighbors came home and found him in the road. He told me that he'd bury the poor thing when he got home (midnight, working overtime tonight) but I went over there with Kaylee in her car seat, and our neighbor helped me dig the grave while his wife watched Kaylee for a few minutes.

I opened the bag to say goodbye to him. There was blood on his nose and down his jawline and the eye I could see was all clouded over. Rest of him was dirty, but I didn't see blood. I'm hoping that means it was a head shot and it was really quick and he didn't know what happened. But if it wasn't quick then he was lying there trying to breathe and I wasn't anywhere around. He didn't deserve that, even if it was quick, and the asshole who did it didn't even stop and if I knew who it was I swear to god I'd beat the shit out of him.

We buried him in the backyard and then I went to get Kaylee and when we went back home there was another cat waiting on our porch. A couple of them have started hanging around since we began feeding Harley. We've named this one Cheerio because she has an old large, circular burn mark on her side where the fur's grown back shorter. And there's a tiny black one who's just started to approach me, but won't get any closer than ten feet. I think she's feral. They both go at the food like they haven't eaten in weeks.

And I'll probably find one or both of them killed sooner or later, too. But I'll keep feeding them because what else do you do? I tried to help Harley but I didn't help him enough because I couldn't bring him in-- our littlest cat doesn't deal well with attempted new additions, she hides and freaks out and pees all over everything-- and now he's dead. Shit.

Since I haven't posted any in a while--




( More under here... )

It started storming late last night, and the sound of rain usually puts me right to sleep-- apparently it worked for Kaylee, too, since she slept until 6:00. We changed her and gave her a bottle, and a couple of hours later Chris left to drive to school.

Not long after that, I woke to the lovely sound of continued rain, thunder, and the tornado siren.

I thought, "Is it Monday?" Remembered the answer was yes, but thought it was definitely irresponsible of them to run their usual noon test when it was storming out.

Then I realized it wasn't noon, and the light dawned.

Picked up Kaylee and took her to the one room in the house that has no windows, which is her teeny little closet. Patted down the corners to check for spiders, then grabbed a handful of her pants to lay along the wall so she wouldn't bump her head, and set her down. Closed the door and ran upstairs to get the cat carrier. Realized that the second one was out on the porch to provide shelter for Harley.

Tried to get a hissing, growling Zot into the carrier. He finally went, but neither Marvin nor Daisy would also fit in there without tearing either me or each other up. Gave up on that, and headed out to the porch to call for Harley.

He wouldn't show up, and it was at this point that I realized I was wearing a longish shirt, underwear, and no pants. Spared a second to be grateful our neighbors were not home, and then darted back inside.

Grabbed a flashlight so there'd be light in the closet, and my flash drive. Sat down with Kaylee and started to shut the door, heard the cell phone ringing. From the bedroom. Muttered at myself for forgetting it, put Kaylee back down, got the phone. Told mom we were okay, and that was all I had time for before it went dead. Muttered at myself again for letting the battery get that low, put it on the charger, went back to the closet, and the siren went off.

Good times, good times.

Yesterday was an exercise in hurting myself. I leaned over to get some laundry and whacked my head on the edge of a stack of photo frames that were on top of the dryer, hit my funnybone on a doorframe. . .

But best (worst?) of all, I was getting the cats' food when one of them nudged the door open and raced into the pantry. I automatically reached down to grab him, and my hand got too close to the base of the door. The shooting pain in my finger let me know what had happened (I'd done it once before during a play rehearsal) but I really didn't want to look at it. Chris was in the room by this time, having heard my yelp and subsequent swearing, so I just held out my hand. I knew from his "Ohhhh man" that I'd definitely gotten myself good.

I hurried to the sink and ran cold water over it to numb it, and told Chris to get the camera, deciding that if I was going to zap myself this bad I'd at least get a funny story and accompanying photograph for later.

Managed to pull the splinter out and head into the kitchen before I had to very abruptly sit down.

It's doing better today-- I can actually pick Kaylee up, unlike yesterday-- and so far today (knock on wood) I haven't hurt myself. I'm still not going to operate heavy machinery.

I was woken up this morning at a little after six by a bunch of crashing around in the kitchen. Figuring that the cats found another Monster Death Cricket, I look at the clock, grumble a few choice words, and go back to sleep.

Hear more scrambling around at about eight, and drag myself out of bed. This is the sight that greets me:



Cat: 1
Paper towel roll: 0

I'm so proud.

Yesterday, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Harley stalking something near the garage. He pounced at it, and then did that hesitant batting thing cats do when they're not entirely sure what they've cornered, they just know that it's smaller than they are and moving, and therefore they're going to eat it.

Envisioning something spiny and/or poisonous, I go out to see what he's found. I move closer, and a tiny gray furry thing darts under a pile of leaves. Harley starts to chase after it, and so I picked him up and moved him over to his food bowl on the porch. I know, nature red in tooth and claw and all that jazz, but still.

This morning I get home from work, and what's lying on the porch to greet me but the tiny gray furry thing. I think it was a mole.

Harley is, of course, incredibly proud of himself.

Harley and Baron.

( Read more... )

Sitting here getting some editing done, and I hear these weird rattling noises out on the porch.

Normally I am a paranoid little person, but when 1) it's dark, and 2) Chris is away, it gets even worse. So I sit here for a minute trying to decide if it's something normal and nope, definitely not. Finally I get up, go into the kitchen, and switch off the kitchen light and switch on the porch light as I peek out the window.

Raccoons. Three fat, fuzzy raccoons on the porch batting around the cat's food bowl.

Me: *has cuteness attack*

Before I can go get my camera, they waddle off the porch and hide under the van, and then I see movement in the van itself. Harley's taken advantage of the fact that Chris left the window open to sit on the back of the passenger seat, staring at the intruders.

Might have to start bringing in the food bowl at night.

Anyway, I called mom about the latest Weird Animal Story, and I hear dad in the background-- "She saw raccoons? She's not going outside, right?" Me-- "Tell him no . . . they're adorable little puffballs, but they're puffballs with sharp teeth. Door stays locked."

I probably would've rolled my eyes at the question, if I hadn't given poor dad so many reasons to be paranoid over the years. ;-)

Figured it was going to happen sooner or later. Had a customer comment on the baby-- just the usual stuff at first, asking when I'm due, if it's my first one, etc. Used to that now that I'm showing. Then she makes a sharp turn off the highway of normalcy onto the narrow dirt road of TMI and asks if I'm planning to breastfeed or bottlefeed.

Me-- o_0

I stared at her for a few seconds and then I said that I didn't know yet, which was a lie, but I can count the number of people I'm willing to discuss issues like that with on one hand, and given that I didn't even know this woman's first name . . . yeah.

And then yesterday I'm driving home from work and I see a car that was in our neighbor's driveway pull into ours. I pull in beside, thinking that someone's lost/looking for an address. Then two women in their fifties get out of the car, and they're both holding Bibles.

Oops.

Though actually, it turned out okay. They were Jehovah's Witnesses, and perfectly polite, and the pamphlets they handed me didn't have anything incredibly offensive in them. It was actually cute, because one lady asked me if I went to a specific church around here, and I told her that I didn't because I'm agnostic. And she just tilts her head at me and blinks and then says, "I'm . . . I'm sorry dear, but I have no idea what that is."

So I explained, and we chatted for a few minutes before I excused myself to get Harley some food, since he was staring up at me with that unmistakable "You have one minute to fill the bowl, human, and then it's time to attack your ankles" look.

-- pictures of the new arrivals.




Harley


Baron


And here's Zot, who demanded to be included. ;-)

Got a call from mom the other day-- "Umm . . . do you guys want another cat?"

She was out gardening and a gray-and-white kitten came up to the fence and started meowing at her. They live right on a fairly busy intersection; the neighbors have had a couple of cats and at least two kittens hit by cars (which doesn't seem to convince them to keep the cats inside, but hey).

Chris said that he didn't care how many more we got, as long as they stayed outside. Then he remembered who he was talking to and said, "Just please, not twenty." Me-- "Nineteen it is!" Poor Chris. ;-)

So mom brought the kitten over . . . fortunately, he and Harley took to each other right away.

Chris-- "So what are we going to name this one?"
Mom-- "Well, you could go with Hobbes if he was orange. . ."
Me-- "If he had a brother I'd name them Ebenezer and Snooch."
Devin-- "Baron von Meowstein! Doooo iiit."

So now we've got Harley and Baron. Expect pictures sometime this week. :-)

At least for a few more hours, until Chris gets home from work.

I left work about twenty minutes ago, and an orange-and-white cat was pacing next to the van, meowing. Not a kitten anymore, but not full-grown either. No collar.

Logic: "It's probably someone's pet anyway. Just go on home."
Inner Stray Magnet: "Here kitty!"
Cat: "Friend!!" *scurries over, purring*
Logic: "Oh no."

I might not have brought the cat home, except that we were right on Main Street and . . . yeah. Not a good combination.

Planned on putting him/her in the bathroom, but unfortunately the cat has a bit of a flea problem. I called mom to see if she wanted to adopt one more, and she said she'd talk it over with dad (he's not as much of a cat person as mom and I are). If they decide not to, then we'll take the cat out to our vet.

Several years ago, when my aunt and uncle and cousins and I were taking a walk, we heard this squeaking noise and started looking for the source. Found an adult cat dead in the ditch, and a very, very young kitten down in the storm drain. So we gather around the curb and my aunt has my uncle hold her ankles and lower her down so she can get the kitten. So much dirt and grimy water on the poor thing we could barely tell what color it was (orange) until we gave it a bath. At the time none of us could take in any more, so that one went out to the vet to be adopted.

And mom and dad got their third cat after a thunderstorm one Fourth of July-- when mom went out to repair her garden, a white kitten darted out from under the truck parked across the street and ran right up to her.

So I come by my Inner Stray Magnet naturally. :-)

Update: Went to our vet. They didn't have room. Went to the local Humane Society. Again, no room. Mom and dad said no thanks, and we can't afford another cat right now. At least not an indoor one. But since we do have a very large backyard and don't live near a busy road. . .

Poor Chris. I told him I had a surprise for him out in the garage--

Chris: "Is it a new Harley?"
Me: "Hon-- how long have you known me?"
Chris: *sighs* "Where'd you find it?"

So now we have a backyard cat named Harley. ;-)

I just got off work, and mom just got back from the vet-- our cat Midnight had to be put to sleep.

He was born on a farm; we adopted him when he was a kitten and I was about nine years old. I picked him out of the litter, so he was always 'my' cat, though mom and dad kept him when I moved out. Chris already had two cats, and we all thought it'd be better to keep Midnight in the environment he was used to.

A couple of years ago he started having health problems, and we found out he was diabetic. So he had an insulin shot every morning, and got along fine for a while.

Then he got cancer. The vet said that considering his age and what would be involved with removing the tumor (which was right under his chin), it'd be kinder to just keep him comfortable.

He stayed sweet-tempered right up to the end of it; the only time he got grouchy was with his daily shot. Even then he wouldn't try to scratch or bite, he just made an annoyed "Mrrrrrt" sound, glared at the needle, and then shook it off and went back to purring.

This weekend he stopped being able to eat entirely, and could just drink the liquid from the food cans.

We've known it was coming for a while now, but still.