a simple math lesson

This:Plus this:

Equals way too much of this:

Or sometimes even this:

Please, spring, don't take too long to get here.

tick, tick, tick

So we got an unexpected reprieve Monday afternoon at the vet's office.

And by unexpected, I mean I had scoured the upstairs of our house of all traces of cat before we left.

I washed and put away the food bowl and made sure his favorite toy was out of sight. It would be too sad to see when I walked back in later without him.

His doctor didn't think he was suffering, and that was a relief.

But this morning, when I fed him, his hind legs went out from behind him, leaving him splayed on the floor. I helped him back up and he finished his breakfast.

We're on borrowed time, but I'll take it.

sadness

Kasey has continued to deteriorate.

His back legs are getting so weak that when he stands, he struggles to keep his balance.

And for several days, he's spent most of his time hiding underneath the couch.

We have a vet appointment today at 3:45.

I knew this day was coming but that doesn't make it suck any less or help me not to feel like a total piece of shit.

Those of you who are pet lovers can surely understand.

ETA: I didn't have to put him down after all. My wallet's a little lighter, but so is my heart.

How long is too long?

This is Kasey. He's 16 years old and nearing the end of his nine lives.

For the most part, he gets around alright. Still purrs and craves our attention.

But he's got some medical problems that can't be fixed. The writing's on the wall that his days are extremely numbered. He declines visibly each week.

I've drawn a mental line in the sand about how far I'll allow him to deteriorate before taking him in for that final vet visit.

If he shows signs of obvious pain and distress, it's a given. If he starts using the upstairs as his personal toilet, something will have to be done.

At first, it was easy to be ojective about the notion that we'd have to intervene. But as the inevitable inches closer, that's becoming more difficult. My fear is that I'll let things get too far gone before I can muster up the courage to do it.

That's because Kasey and I go way back. I knew him long before my husband, son, and many of my friends.

I got him from some drug dealers while I was still in college. It wasn't part of a transaction; I wasn't affiliated with them.

A friend in one of my classes knew they were trying to get rid of a cat and since I've always been partial to Siameses, she gave them my number.

When I drove over to check him out, I first took in the large supply of their merchandise on full display in their kitchen. They took me to a back bedroom and opened a dark closet door to let Kasey out.

That's where they'd been keeping him; they didn't want their landlord to know they had a cat (I thought later that it was ironic they were more concerned about hiding the cat than their drug supply).

Inside the closet, Kasey had a bowl full of large-breed dog food and no water or litter box.

I picked him up and his feet never again touched the floor of that nasty apartment. He's been with me ever since, a loyal friend.

good eatin'

Augie and Tilly were treated to a full check-up today at the vet's office.

I thought they'd be excited about the break from their usual routine, but they proved me wrong. Augie whined like a newborn and Tilly shimmied out of her collar in the parking lot, then challenged me to a footrace.

Once inside, their adventure included a round of shots and what the bashful technician vaguely referred to as a rectal exam.

I felt a little guilty on the drive home and decided they deserved a treat. So I pulled off at the local meat market and asked if they had any scrap bones.

"We sell them for $3," a surly worker replied.

Seemed like a lot to pay for someone's trash, but I handed over the money. It was a rare extravagance and the dogs would probably get an hour's enjoyment out of the feast.

Several minutes later, a worker came out hefting a huge, bloody box that he flopped into the front seat of my van. Inside were the most massive bones I'd ever seen. They were dripping with scraps of flesh and utterly repulsive.

When we got home, Augie made off with something that looked like a spinal column. Tilly delicately nibbled at a pelvis.

The box was too heavy for me to lift, so I wrapped up the bones in individual packages and put them in the garage freezer.

The neighbors probably wondered what I was up to with all those large, bloody bones. Too bad Todd's not out of town for a few days; I'd like to keep them guessing.

Augie, our gentle and timid lapdog, reacts to the suggestion that he share his portion of bloody ribcage.

"This beats my usual grub," Tilly says.

Keeping The Whites Pearly

Tilly got to go to the vet yesterday for a much-needed tooth cleaning. Greyhounds are known for their bad teeth. Apparently, it has to do with a combination of bad genes and the poor diet they receive at the racetrack.


She was 3 when I adopted her through a greyhound rescue agency, and her teeth were already kind of grody then. We've had them cleaned twice before, and she eats lots of crunchy food that should help make them strong. But they've continued to deteriorate.


Poor old girl. She had to get six teeth pulled during yesterday's cleaning and felt miserable when I picked her up. Her mouth bled all through the night. The vet said it was normal for that to happen. She's extraordinarily spry today, though. Probably knows she's going to get the fat off the brisket Mama cooked for dinner.




Augie's breathing a sigh of relief that he didn't have to accompany her to the appointment. But he'll get his turn soon enough. And since he's not required to be on a soft diet for the next week, no brisket fat for him. Okay, maybe just a sliver.


Heck, maybe I should get all of this guy's teeth pulled, too. He's been nipping my hand for almost 16 years. He probably wouldn't mind a few extractions; that would mean he'd get to eat canned food all the time.

Or, I could get this devil de-beaked so she'd quit biting. Now there's an idea. They'd have to sew on some lips, though.