Just a quick hello. We had a nice, quiet Thanksgiving Day in Newtopia. Hope that if you were celebrating, your day was as peaceful and joyful as was ours.
Not much to report. I took advantage of the perfect weather, and took the tiny spinning wheel outside with The Dog to do a bit of spinning of the never-ending Pink Silk of Doom. Newt enjoyed a variety of snackies and morsels throughout the day. He particularly enjoyed the grilled roast. (I was a mean mummy and did not share my Klöße with him!)
As with every day, we gave thanks that our darling little Schnookerdoodle was hale and hearty. And since I was a slug and didn’t say it on Thanksgiving Day, please permit me to say it now:
I’m thankful for you – each of our, and Newt’s, friends who has been so kind, so gracious, and, so helpful and encouraging. Our journey with Newt and his liver shunt has been enriched by you.
Goodness gracious, has it REALLY been that long since my last post? Yikes! I’m so sorry. Haven’t forgotten you, I promise!
Just nothing much to report, really. The new gig is still wearing me thin. (Trying to adjust to being a “normal” grown up is hard work LOL)
Everyone’s favorite Spotted Schookums is once again burrowed onto my chest for mumsnuggles. I wonder if the cooler weather is making him even more affectionate than usual?
No excuses, really, for not writing. I just don’t have anything fun or exciting to say.
Newt’s doing well, and we are preparing for a long, hard winter – if the Almanac and bajillion acorns in the yard are any sort of indicators. Well, that, and the layer of winter fat that Newt and I have accumulated. Ooops! I think his is attributable to all the extra helpings of soup he’s been getting. Not sure what I can blame mine on. Maybe because I eat his “cat food?” ::snork gasp wheeze::
Sorry, Cat Daddy and I tease each other about eating “cat food” whenever Newt demands (and usually gets) nibbles of whatever meal or snack we are having at the time. It seems that each liver shunt cat’s diet is as unique as they are, but I would confess, Newt’s diet isn’t exactly making his vet very happy – especially not since he gained a pound in less than six months. Eek!
So I guess today’s post can be a Public Service Announcement! Eating “cat food” makes you fat – if your cat’s food happens to include pizza, cookies, macaroni & cheese, mayonnaise-laden sub sandwiches, heavy whipping cream, cheese, spaetzle, lasagna, waffles, pierogies ….
Or, how Newt almost got a new, not-so-little friend this weekend.
A shared concern by many owners of cats with liver shunts is that we often get so wrapped up in taking care of our special kitties, that we often neglect our own self-care. I freely admit to being pretty self-neglectful, and it’s gotten even more difficult with the strains of the new gig. In the interest of trying to de-stress me, darling Cat Daddy has been
once again making noises about me needing to get away from it all, at
least for a few hours, and try to relax. I guess it’s the Quarterly
Spousal Mandate for Relaxation?
Whatever it is, I ended up with some free time over the weekend, and with his gentle urging, decided to have a mini-vacation by spending a few hours visiting a Fiber Festival. Not that I need any more fiber, mind you. Haven’t had a chance to even touch my spinning wheel for months. But, you know, FIBER WHEELS BUNNIES YARNZ!!!
Ahem.
As with prior fiber festivals, Cat Daddy reminded me “Honey, you are not allowed to bring home any bunnies. Or sheep. Or goats.” Remembering how last time, I almost scored an alpaca because it was NOT on the verboten list, he quickly added “Or alpacas. Or llamas.”
Curses, foiled again!
Satisfied that he had exhausted the ever-growing list of new, fiber-producing friends I am not allowed to buy for Newt and host in our house or backyard, he kissed me and sent me on my way, urging me to “have a good time and buy something fun!” (Have I mentioned lately how much I love that man?)
The drive was nice, with the slightly cooler air, and the leaves just beginning to turn. The festival itself was small and friendly, lots of time to visit with vendors, fondle yarn and fiber, and meander around, relaxing and admiring all the lovely items. I decided to stroll through the barns, just to chat with some of the sheep and goats. Suddenly, the light coming from the other end of the barn was blocked, and I looked up to see …
a CAMEL?
Okay, so I thought I was recently hallucinating Ariana the Chicken, but no fracking WAY was there a camel. Right? RIGHT? It HAD to be a stress-induced hallucination. A CAMEL?
Holy Cow – errr, holy camel, as it were – it WAS a camel! A glorious, beautiful, Bactrian camel gazing down upon me.
I was smitten! A real live camel, up close and personal! I’ve been fascinated by camels for years, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would get to meet one.
It was big. REALLY big. Like, hugely big. Its feet were as big as my head. Its double humps towered and swayed gracefully far above my reach. Its eyes gazed contentedly at me, while chewing and pondering and watching the amazed people go by. I began to talk to it, asking how it ended up in this part of the world, telling it how beautiful it was, all the while trying to find any sort of owner or sign indicating whether or not I might be permitted to ::gasp:: touch it?
Several other folks were taking pictures, and a few brave souls had reached out to pet it. It neither burped nor bit, but stood calmly, swaying serenely, and looking at me expectantly.
Slowly, I reached out my hand. The camel reached its face down, ever closer to mine, and as its chin met my upturned palm, I slowly began to scratch.
Yes, just as if it were a VERY LARGE CAT, I scratched its chin.
The camel gave a deep, contented sigh, and as I continued to scratch its chin, slowly began to sink to the ground, finally coming to rest on its belly, with its legs comfortably tucked underneath.
There was a collective gasp from the small crowd around the pen, and hushed comments of “Wow! Did you SEE that? She must be a camel whisperer!”
I gave the camel one more gentle chin scratch, then it turned its attention to nibbling the hay as I thanked it for the privilege of petting it. Still awe-struck from this wonderful exchange, I floated out of the barn, and then managed to call Cat Daddy.
“So, you said I should buy something ‘fun’ today, right?”
“Of course, sweetie, you’ve been working really hard, you should spoil yourself!”
“Okay. I want to buy a camel. Newt NEEDS a camel. I found a camel! I petted a camel! People called me a camel whisperer! Can I have a camel?”
After all these years of dealing with me, my darling husband is pretty accustomed to my unusual outbursts. He never even missed a beat. Cheerfully he replied “Of course you can have a camel! As long as you can fit it in the car.”
Oops. No way would that camel fit in the car. Why does Cat Daddy always have to be so practical?!
Needless to say, Newt did not get a camel that day. I, on the other hand, had a wonderful vacation, and obtained an amazing memory.
(I did, however, buy camel down, and Newt WILL have his own camel!)
It’s that time of year again, the crisp autumn air, the beer, the lederhosen, and the Chicken Dance – all staples of America’s version of Munich’s famous Oktoberfest. (My preference: dem Brezels, dem Bundhosen – ooh la la! – und das Fliegerlied)
With all the Oktoberfesting going on (hush up, it is TOO a verb!) I thought perhaps the other night I had achieved a maximum overdose of the Chicken Dance.
I was out battling the English (ivy, that is), when I experienced what
I perceived to be auditory hallucinations – the trilling of tiny
humans, calling “Hey, you want to see my chicken? Look at my chicken! HEY, LOOK AT MY CHICKEN!”
I froze in frightened confusion, certain that the trauma of dealing with my own rabid chicken
was coming home to roost.
I vigorously slapped the mutant mosquitoes away from my ears, and yet, the chorus continued.
“Turn around and LOOK AT MY CHICKEN!!!”
Slowly I turned, and, instead of the Ghost of Octoberfests Past, found the neighbor
children pressed up against the fence, standing neatly in a row, proudly clutching … a … CHICKEN!
I blinked.
I blinked again.
I rubbed the ivy debris from my face and blinked again. Nope, there was still a bigass chicken sitting on top of the fence, proudly propped up by a horde of small children.
Uhm … okay. Were I still back on the ranch, the sighting of a chicken would not be nearly so exciting and note-worthy. However, in our little corner of suburbia, backyard chickens are verboten, in spite of numerous sustainability initiatives.
Pleased that they finally had my undivided attention, the chorus of tiny humans continued to sing.
“Isn’t she nice? Her name is Ariana! She can FLY. Do you want to pet my chicken?”
They had her tied with a leash on one leg and offered her up to be
admired. I, of course, held and admired her. She is a pretty thing (Rhode Island Red, as near as I can tell), and very well
behaved. Alas, no signs of a chicken coop, so I told them to ask their parents if they want me to build Ariana
a chicken house to help protect her from less-than tolerant eyes and hungry neighborhood wildlife.
Cat Daddy’s confused, and keeps asking me “Why is there a stealth chicken living next door?” And “Are you really going to build a chicken safe house? What’s next, the Poultry Protection Program?”
Personally, I’m just happy Ariana isn’t a rooster.
As far as Newt? We haven’t told him yet, lest he decide to invite himself over to the neighbor’s house for “dinner.”
Just a quick hello. This pic made me giggle, and wanted to share.
Newt was nestled deep within the confines of his “penthouse” (the battered paper bag where he had moved his prized bag of dog fur that he has been slowly felting into a custom Newt-blanky). In an effort to reclaim floor space amidst the ever-increasing number of Newt’s Annex Boxes, we put the bag on top of his lair. Voila, instant penthouse!
Like several other liver shunt kitties we know, Newt seems to often prefer to be burrowed into something – be it blanky, bag or box. Sometimes a combination of all three!
We can tell he’s in his penthouse from the tell-tale crinkle as he rustles around in it. The other day, after hearing the crinkle crinkle, I asked him if he was in his penthouse.
It seems that little Pookie is taking inspiration from the Olympics. He just gave a medal-worthy performance in the Vomit Toss.
Blarg.
My own fault for forgetting to pull the other cat food after supper (I usually pull food before letting Newt out of his lunch room). The crafty little devil mesmerized me with his King of Yarnia routine, and I was so busy adding Romano and tuna flakes to entice him to eat his leftovers, that I completely forgot the other bowl in the top of the bay window.
Until I heard the unmistakable clang slurp gulp noise of his notorious forbidden food feeding frenzy.
Muttering an expletive, I sprang to my feet and raced across the kitchen to grab the now-empty bowl. I was mentally kicking myself for the oversight, and trying to figure out how much of the premium, high-protein food he might have ingested, and whether or not I should direct dose some Lactulose stat.
Happily, Newt saved me the mental gymnastics, as I had no sooner sat back down at my desk, where he, still perched in the top of the bay window, began to lurch and heave and launch the most impressive demonstration of projectile vomiting I have ever witnessed.
Once again, I sprang to my feet and raced back across the distance.
In languorous, slow-motion, it arced gracefully across the kitchen, suspended in mid-air for a one, two, three count, until it dispersed with a fat, wet splat! On the just-washed kitchen floor, the just-washed rug, just-refreshed water bowl …
The Dog and I may, or may not, have also been splashed by the spatter pattern – I’ll never tell!
Quick update on Newt. Got his latest urine test results today. The good
news is, no sign of crystals! The not-so-good news is, looks like a urinary tract infection (UTI), and he is on another round of antibiotics. So, while not exactly the all-clear for which we were hoping, it’s still very good progress away from his prior blockage and Struvite crystal problem, and nothing terribly alarming. Otherwise, he’s doing well.
Newt remains unfazed by the UTI diagnosis, and was doing his King of Yarnia
imitation when I got home from getting his meds.
“King of Yarnia” is what we’ve taken to calling it when he rolls, writhes,
preens, flirts and begs for head butts and belly rubs from on top of the
yarn bins, located on top of the bookshelf next to the bed in his
room. I’d *just* been telling his vet about his terror-inducing King of Yarnia act. Since I caught him in the act, decided to grab a quick camera pic to send her.
This picture was taken seconds before he:
Rolled off the edge of the bin;
Slid down the wall;
Wiped out the scarf rack on the wall; and then,
Landed on the bed.
I think I aged another ten years!
But, I suppose it’s comforting to know that he WILL land on the bed?
Newt has been behaving … oddly. Nothing to be alarmed about – quite the opposite, in fact. Been trying to articulate what, exactly, is different about him.
As near as I can explain, he’s been acting like a normal cat!
To clarify, not so much “Newt normal” but normal normal, if that makes sense. Not the “starving, must eat all the things hyena”, not the “heat-seeking, burrowing, little limpet”, not the “predictable, must have my normal routine” Newt. Just … behaving like a normal cat. (Well, as “normal” as a cat can be LOL)
He’s eating, but not huge quantities – acting a bit finicky, but not a mild hunger strike. He has been playing more than usual, with newly discovered toys, not just his preferred old favorites like Ball and Bouncy Bee. He has also learned a couple of new Scare Mum tricks, chief of which is to jump on top of the two large plastic yarn bins on top of the bookshelf, and perch precariously while regally surveying his domain.
I can almost hear him roar “I am the King of Yarnia!”
Well, at least until he decides to hang halfway off the ledge, rolling and writhing and preening while begging for head butts and belly rubs. Then he’s just simply ahhhhdorable.
It’s an odd feeling, finding a new normal. After four years of being hyper alert to every flick of a whisker, knowing so well all of his oddities, predilections and propensities, to discover that he is currently NOT acting in his normal fashion, but in what seems to be a new normal? Vaguely unsettling, but to be fully enjoyed – once we get over the shock, and adapt to the newest version of Newt normal.
In fact, just the other day, both Cat Daddy and I were marveling that he actually has been looking more like a cat these days, instead of our darling little half-grown adolescent kitten. His fur is sleek and glossy, his white markings are the whitest and brightest they have ever been, while his black spots are a rich, glowing ebony. Eyes have been a very light amber, and we haven’t seen his inner canthi in months. And his face seems to have filled out some more – more adult-like, and less kittenish. Oh, he still has that adorable little half-grown look about him, but he looks truly like a real cat.
Fascinating.
Strange, how living with a liver shunt kitty makes you truly appreciate “normal” in all its wondrous variations – even when the “new” version of normal causes an initial alarm.
Newt’s been doing well. I, on the other hand, seem to have succumbed
to some nasty little bug – ahhhhh CHOO! Not sure if it is a cold, a
weird sort of flu, work-site-locations-are-filled-with-germs-itis, or
what.
So, trying to continue my pro-active efforts at self care, I took the night off right after work, and went straight to bed to try and sleeeeeeeeeeep. In my quest for comfort, I
was migrating from sleeping spot to sleeping spot, accompanied by my
ever-present guardian Pookie Bear.
At first I was touched by his seeming
concern for my well-being. I kept dozing off as he was circling round
and round me on the bed, like some sort of feline shark – stopping to
stare at me quizzically, nose-to-nose. This was of course, after we had to play a gentle round of Pouncy Fingers each and every time. I was then repeatedly awoken to the
sound of his little meeps and trills while he was walking on my head – again, circling slowly – round and round and round, stopping to pat my face and meep in my ear.
It was only after I finally migrated to The Newt Nest that he grunted happily and immediately settled down to sleep.
Harrumph! It wasn’t concern for MY well-being that was causing his behavior; it was his annoyance at having to try to get comfortable in a place not of his choosing. Brat!
Like several of the liver shunt kitties we know, Newt does seem particularly set in his ways, and has definite routines. Was interesting to see how something as seemingly simple as where to nap upset his delicate sensibilities.
Eeek, had not realized it had been so long since posting an update! My apologies.
All is well here in Newtopia, and like so many owners of cats with liver shunts, we have been celebrating the good days as they come.
We had some concerns about six weeks ago, where he had a moderate episode, followed by a couple of mini episodes. Primary concern was that for a brief time he was not interested in food or water – always a bit disconcerting, but even more so now that we have been supplementing his food with soup, to help address the prior issue of urinary obstructions. We are quite lucky in that most of the time, Newt has no problems
eating. He doesn’t go on extended food strikes like a few other shunt
cats we know, and he’s never refused food for a long enough time that it
became truly worrisome.
He made it through just fine. I, on the other hand, may have aged another couple of years!
He is still enjoying his kitty cocktails, taking his herbal medicine on his snacks, and doing wonderfully well. In fact, we do think he’s gaining a bit of weight – Fat Boy Newt is FAT! Due to take him for another urinalysis to see if the pH levels have adjusted back to normal.
He’s adjusted better than I have to my new schedule. Cat Daddy is doing his customary amazing job of taking care of my little Pookie Bear (and of me, too!). Things were pretty hectic for the last couple of months, but finally seem to have settled down to a dull roar – for now. In fact, be proud of me! I actually took my own advice for a change hahaha and have been implementing some changes to minimize stress and engage in self care activities. Yay, me!
I actually took an entire day to go shopping with friends at the wool festival last week. I didn’t buy any sheep wool (why would I, when I have all that lovely chiengora to spin?) but I did indulge in some stunning copper-colored mohair. Newt was doing rude things to it while helping me examine my purchases. I’ll see if I can get you a picture.
Any guesses why I selected a copper color?
So, that’s why I haven’t written anything. Nothing really to report. Boring is GOOD, when owned by a liver shunt cat. I haven’t forgotten the request to post the “recipes” for his kitty cocktails, and will also try to get you a current pic soon – as soon as I can figure out how to do so in a manner that is not “boring!”
Newt remains unfazed by the UTI diagnosis, and was doing his King of Yarnia