The Menagerie Archive

I’m a horrible mom.  I sat on the spare bed while Sophia tapped on the keys of my laptop then she wanted up on the bed with me.  I pulled her up in front of me, while simultaneously leaning back and rolling to the side so that she would be beside me on her back.  But as I rolled my hand rubbed on a blanket on the bed.  It felt wet and I let Sophia drop onto the bed.  She landed right in a pile of cat puke.  I swear I had no idea it was there.  That stealthy little ninja bastard in a fur coat puked without me hearing it.

He’s so way off schedule.  He never pukes during daylight hours.  What the fuck is up with that?  Who gave him permission to change his hours?!

I’ve become accustomed to waking up at two, three, or four in the morning to the rhythmic sounds of, “Aaack hhck aack”.  Usually those sounds occur in the small hallway space between the bedrooms.  That patch of carpet has been cleaned more than any other part of the house.  All the bedrooms lead to that space and that’s as far as the cat seems to be willing to travel in order to puke privately.  Although there have been a couple very notable times aside from this one in which he changed up the routine a bit.

There was the time that in trying to get off our bed to puke he only made it as far as the footboard.  I could hear the sound of water splatter everywhere.  Because it was night, I only thought of the floor and cleaned up what I could find in dim light.  It wasn’t nearly as much as what it sounded like.  In the morning I saw some splatter on Kurt’s dresser.  I wiped it down, then for some reason thought to check inside the fully closed drawers.  I had to wash everything in the bottom two drawers.  It was EVERYWHERE!

The other memorable cat puke moment was the time Bailey was sleeping on Kurt’s stomach and began to hack up a fur ball.  The sound and motion woke Kurt, but only enough for him to sit up, nudge me, and yell, “Get him, Go Go Go!”

This post has been brought to you by Hills x/d and c/d feline prescription diet with chicken and the color tan.

Like many people who have to give pills to their dog I wrap Chelan’s in a bit of neon orange glow-in-the-dark American cheese polymer. I would never purchase the pre-sliced individually wrapped stuff except to serve my four-legged cancer patient her pills. It works like chocolate coating for humans only chocolate doesn’t cause cancer. This ‘cheese’ on the other hand…I think it would be worth investigating.

To accompany Chelan’s evening meal I grabbed a single pre-wrapped slice for pill prep. The unwrapping of the cellophane scared the crap out of the cat. He took off up the stairs not touching a single step. My cat can sense pure evil and he knows it’s embedded in this ‘cheese’. The next time the cat decides to serenade me at four in the morning I’m going to wave cheese in his general direction. Stand back! I have cheese and I know how to use it!

My cat is so stupid.

Kurt took Tuesday off work so that I could take Chelan, our 10 year old husky, to the Veterinary Specialist Clinic for an ultrasound. We knew this would be an all day event and I didn’t want to try and entertain a toddler at a clinic for hours on end. We weren’t very optimistic because over the weekend Chelan had stopped eating and we had to get creative by putting her food in the blender with a ton of water for a nasty doggy-kibble-shake. She still didn’t eat very much. I don’t really blame her it looked horrible.

In March we went from filling the dogs’ outdoor five gallon water bucket about once a week to filling it every other day. That switch happened practically overnight. She’s drinking about two and a half gallons of water a day! The only other possible clue that she was sick was back in December she lost some weight but she easily gained it back after I started giving her a little more food. Thursday I finally got all the results back. After several blood tests, x-rays, and an ultrasound they told us it started as a tumor in the anal gland that has now metastasized to lymph nodes just under the spine.

We’ve decided that she’s just too weak for surgery and chemotherapy. Jumping out of the truck, she would nearly hit her shoulder to the ground. Chelan’s usual vet chalked it up to arthritis but the specialist we were referred to confirmed for me that it was her high calcium levels that were making her so weak and affecting her appetite. She is on pills to keep her calcium levels down. She’s doing a lot better now but obviously this is not going to fix her cancer. We’re just making her comfortable.

On Wednesday, Sophia added another word to her vocabulary, “Bye”. She says it very abruptly unlike it’s antonym, “Hi-eeee”, which she happily says with a wave. She said her new word a few times outside of it’s context but alternating it with it’s antonym.

The next day she added another word. I picked her up from her nap and she said, “momma” before laying her head on my shoulder and sucking her thumb. She only said it once though. I told Kurt when her arrived home from work. He told me that on Tuesday, the day I spent hauling our cancer patient to and from the vet clinic, Sophia was grumpy so he asked her what she wanted. She answered, “Momma”.

The first disaster that initiated the rule of ‘everything happens in threes’ was that I received a letter from the county auditor. They never got our marriage papers. Something happened to them on their way from the courthouse to the county auditor and if it turns out our mail carrier works that neighborhood, I’m going to scream. The auditor has the license request on file but no license so I can’t get a certified copy required to change my name or get health insurance. Kurt has already initiated the health insurance paperwork through his employer, so I have insurance, but I’ll loose it in 60 days if this isn’t resolved by then. I called the judge that performed the ceremony and he wrote us a letter to give to Kurt’s employer. Hopefully that will keep me insured if this takes longer than 60 days.

On Friday, I took Sophia to the doctor for her eighteen-month baby wellness check up and it went really well. The nurse went through her usual routine of asking a bunch of milestone type questions and I felt awesome because I could answer “yes” to most of them. Does she drink from a cup? Yep. Does she walk with confidence? Absolutely! Does she help take her clothes off? Yes, especially her socks. She also tries to put her clothes back on by herself. Does she put words together to form phrases? She only has three words, “Da-DEE”, “key”, and “hi”. “Da-DEE” is obviously Kurt. “Key” is a Sophia derivative of kitty, but for Sophia means any four legged furry creature that ranges in size from mouse to moose. Our husky and malamute are both “key”. “Hi” is a greeting only reserved for Kurt, our indoor ‘key’, and I. “Hi” is usually accompanied by vigorous, almost frantic, waving. She’ll even wave at the cat, and he’s been known to wave back, though he doesn’t seem as happy. “Hi” is also occasionally followed by, “Da-DEE”, which for the nurse counts as a phrase. Yay!

The doctor appointment disaster hit when the nurse left and the doctor came in. His first question for me was, “Do you have any concerns?” Up until this point, my only concern was Sophia’s lack of words. Words have finally started to spring up. She’s still behind in that area according to my personal chart, but between her three words and the three baby signs she uses at least we’re communicating better. So my concern this time was something that had been bothering me since Sophia was ten or eleven months old, the bouts of what looked like pure baby rage. Only her rage is completely silent. Even after I told the doctor’s answer to Kurt, he still thinks Sophia is just experiencing a surge of adrenalin.

Three things made Kurt’s explanation not sit well with me. First, the occurrences are random. There are many time that there isn’t even a cause for frustration or anger at all. Second, when Sophia tenses up it’s ALL of her muscles including her jaw. Something about a toddler’s jaw locked in an open position without her making any nose seemed very odd. She’s a toddler, when a toddler’s mouth is open sound comes out, ALWAYS. Third, Sophia acts as if nothing just happened after a ‘surge of adrenalin’. I would think that a toddler would take at least a few minutes to calm down after an adrenalin surge.

The description I gave of Sophia’s episodes of muscle tensing led the doctor to confirm my fear. Those not from a surge of adrenalin. They’re seizures. He told me what type of seizure, but for the life of me, I can’t remember. It’s probably a good thing though, otherwise I’d be freaking out at all the descriptions, causes, treatments, and side effects listed on webmd.com. It may seem odd but part of me is just relieved that it isn’t fits of rage. I feared having to take her to years of therapy to control her anger or something, but of course, seizures bring a different set of fears. We just have to wait and watch that they don’t get worse. I hope that this is something that will disappear with age, preferably before she starts school.

Later the same day I received a call from the veterinary clinic. Chelan, our ten-year-old husky has been drinking water as if we live in the desert. She’s drinking about two and a half gallons of water a day! The results from her blood and urine tests had come back and the vet narrowed down the possibilities to the three most likely. The first is a chemical imbalance in the brain. We love Chelan but she has to be one of the dumbest dogs ever. She survives in our household on cuteness alone. Since bringing her home from the pound, we suspected a malfunctioning brain. The second possible cause is a malfunctioning gland, the name of which escapes me but it’s near the thyroid. The third is a form of cancer. In the morning, I’ll be setting up an appointment for further testing. It’ll take another week to get those results.

He’ll leave the room and then meow as if he’s lost. He whines incessantly. There are days I want to drop kick him down the stairs.

But on quiet nights when I want company, he’s there, always. As if he’s my regal protector. The bastard is just trying to make me feel guilty isn’t he?

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55’s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

Last night Kurt and I were watching one of George Carlin’s old comedy acts. I’ve seen them all before. I’m a huge fan of Uncle George and was in a odd daze for a couple days after his death. Kurt thought that he had found an act that we hadn’t seen yet, but it turned out he simply didn’t rate it on Netflix. It didn’t matter. I love Carlin. I may not laugh at every bit like I used to, but I appreciate and enjoy it just the same. The comedy bit we heard last night had the seven dirty words skit plus three add on words and an informative history of the word fuck. It turns out, according to Uncle George, that the word fuck in old English originally mean to hit something as with a stick. It has somehow morphed into a sexual word. Some people combine sex and violence as Uncle George acknowledges, but it seems odd to marry the two with one word, unless describing a specific act. Towards the end of his fuck tirade he says,

“The person who thought up the slogan, ‘Make Love, Not War,’ . . . his job was over that day. He could’ve retired at that moment. If it would’ve been me, I would’ve walked away. So long, I’m goin’ to the beach. You guys work it out.”

“Now I have a slogan, too. It’s not as euphonious. It doesn’t roll off the tongue. It’s ‘Make Fuck, Not Kill.’ Substitute the word ‘fuck’ for the word ‘kill’ in all of our writings. I’d love to see it. Just for awhile. Just for a year or so. And we would change.”

He gives some examples of the switched words like, “my horse broke his leg, guess I have to fuck him now”.

Another comedian I like to watch is Jeff Dunham. He’s a ventriloquist with several puppets. My favorite is Achmed the Dead Terrorist. Achmed is easily upset by audiences that laugh at jokes told about him and will say, “Silence! I kill you!” Except that it sounds like, “I keel you!” which is what we currently yell at our cat when he sits just outside our wide-open bedroom door and meows incessantly. Thanks to the two comedians, we’ve decided it might be more effective if we yell, “Silence! I fuck you!” as our threat to the cat.

We also decided that instead of yelling, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you” when we’re upset at each other or the cat we shall kill and then fuck. It seems only humane.

We’ve grown apart over the years and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you can forgive me. I’ve bought a ramp so we can go places together more easily. At your age, obviously, five-mile bicycle rides are out, but I hope to be close again. It’d help if you stopped shitting in the house.

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55’s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.

She squeaks delighted to see him run under the chairs and beds and giggles when he leaps to high places. She follows him butt-scooting wherever she can. She loves the cat. Too bad the feeling isn’t mutual. He looks up at me as if to say, “Would you keep that damn pink squishy thing AWAY!”

Flash Fiction Friday is hosted by g-man. You may also visit Flash Fiction Friday 55’s, a blog dedicated to hosting 55 Flash Fiction Friday posts.