The Great Spotted Schnookums is currently having a fabulous run of good days, after a spate of ups and downs. Not content with being the self-proclaimed, international poster cat for liver shunt awareness, he seems to have decided to branch out in new career directions – most recently that of Moving Man and Legal Eagle.
Yesterday, he closely supervised the installation of a new door, and helped with moving the old sofa. His assistance included attacking, ripping, flipping, gnawing, chewing, and writhing on it, and then, riding at the helm it as it was moved across the floor – repeatedly, so as to try and obtain video footage of his superior supervisory skills.
Much hilarity ensued. Never before have furniture moving and handyman efforts been so much fun!
This morning, The Dog was unceremoniously thrown in jail (time-out behind closed door) for excessive, very early morning barking. The family sat around, bleary-eyed and yawning, whilst debating The Dog’s fate, (and staying vewwy, vewwy quiet, so as not to share the same consequences!).
Lawyer Newt decided that He Had Had Enough and leaped into action! He pawed and meeped pathetically at the closed door, then trilled demandingly at the Magistrate (aka Cat Daddy). His closing arguments included frantic tail lashing, and pacing between the jail cell and the stern Magistrate’s office.
Who could resist such an emotional and demonstrative plea?
Needless to say, Newt successfully bargained for The Dog’s early release.
The Dog was happily (and much more quietly!) reunited with his BFF and lawyer extraordinaire, and the rest of us learned a valuable lesson – we will NOT bark at 5AM, at least not loud enough to annoy The Powers That Be!
Been frantically trying to wrap up a deadline before the momentous occasion of Newt’s third birthday week. Everything was going fantastically, even better than anticipated. Was on schedule to finish well ahead of the deadline, and enjoy a leisurely birthday celebration with Newt and Cat Daddy on Tuesday.
And then Murphy’s Law entered with a vengeance. Everything that could have gone wrong – did. Laid waste to the plan, the backup plan, and even wreaked havoc upon the backup to the backup to the backup plan. It was a total, unmitigated nightmare of epic proportions!
I was working round the clock, trying to regain some semblance of control, and all the while, Newt was right here with me. He’s been such a little trooper. We’ve talked before about how my little spotted Schnookums insists on being right by my side at all times – even during periods of high stress (such as deadline wraps). I truly believe that his episodes can be triggered / exacerbated by stress, so we are always really careful to maintain as stress-free an environment as possible. We’re successful, most of the time.
And then, there’s deadline time.
It’s one thing for me to have to miss meals and go without sleep while working; it’s quite another story for Newt. In spite of the chaos surrounding the deadline challenges, we managed to keep his food and meds on schedule; but I was really worried that the back-to-back all-nighters were going to trigger him, as they did the last time.
Nope, not this time! Either Newt is getting smarter in his “old age” (ha ha) or mummy’s bizarre schedule is not as interesting to him as it used to be.
He actually snoozed here beside me in his “Annex Box to the Annex Box to the Annex Box” (a.k.a. AB3). He did get a little manic at one point, and was leaping about and chasing the Dog around the house. Am pretty sure it was normal play behavior for him, but was holding my breath, desperately hoping that I wouldn’t have an ER visit to deal with, on top of everything else that had gone wrong with the project.
He got a lovely card from one of his friends in England, and numerous electronic birthday greetings from his friends all around the world. The Slasher Queen even deigned to permit him to sleep in her extra special, furry nest. Both of them took their duties as Quality Control Analysts quite seriously.
The deadline was met, the client was very pleased with the end result; and the Newt and I settled in for a long overdue nap.
Happy 3rd Birthday, Newt! You are living proof that it is possible to not only survive, but thrive, when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds. Thank you for acting as the unofficial spokes-cat for your condition, (feline portosystemic shunt, aka “liver shunt”), and for being an inspiration to other kitties with severe health issues.
To all of Newt’s American fans, Happy Thanksgiving!
On this national day set aside to demonstrate gratitude, Cat Daddy is in his element.The man loves to cook.
Hey, if it makes him happy to do all that work, who am I to argue?
It has been our annual custom to begin our celebratory meal with a list of things for which we are thankful. Having an awesome husband who loves to cook is always on my gratitude list LOL.
As you can imagine, Newt’s continued stability and good health was once again at the top of the list for both Cat Daddy and me. Additional thanks were made for Newt’s many friends and fans around the world, whose support, empathy and encouragement have come to mean so much to us – in particular, our growing community of shunt cat parents, who continue to be a source of information, love and Hope for us.
Newt has been enjoying his Thanksgiving feast throughout the day. Due to his dietary restrictions from his liver shunt, he is not allowed to gorge and stuff himself silly (at least not when we can catch him!) Therefore, his menu for has been designed as a four-course meal, served in shifts.
Newt has partaken today from an assortment of items selected and prepared especially for his pudgy Pookie palate, including: cheese and broccoli casserole, baked ham, carrots, cucumber salad, freshly roasted chicken, roast pork and warm buttered croissant. Dessert will be a bit of Danish apple yogurt artfully adorned with a splash of cream.
Yum.
And if you tell anybody that Cat Daddy cooked for the cat, he will lose all of his man points.
Little brat broke into the “food safe” and ate eight times his normal amount of fish last nite! He’s okay so far this morning, but monitoring closely.
We had prepared cod for his upcoming meals – at least 1/2 cup of it. Some for yesterday’s snacks, and the rest to freeze for later. We placed it in the “food safe,” also known as a bigass, glass cake dome, which has worked very at preventing Pookie’s pilfering.
Until last night.
Totally my fault. Was motivated and productive yesterday, clearing out excess crafting supplies to donate. (An aside – do any of you know any animal rescue groups, or struggling owners who may want supplies to make things to raise money for their pet’s care? Please let me know! I really prefer to have my stuff go to help liver shunt kitties, or rescued animals, if at all possible.)
In my rush, I may have not gotten the cake dome flush against the stove, and possibly a small sliver of entrée was left – just enough for a mangy tabby’s little lizard toes to slide underneath, crack open the safe, and gorge on the contents like a deranged and starving piranha.
I left for the dog park to sneak in some knitting at 9:55 pm. When Cat Daddy got home at 10:07pm, the dome was slid across the stove, and fish flakes were scattered across the stove, the counters, the floor, the Newtster …
Yes, I smelled his breath!
Not surprising, as that boy inhales his food, and can clean out a full bowl of food in seconds. Ten minutes would be a veritable eternity for him to burp, slurp and gorge himself silly on whatever he happened to find. We’ve already had to put safety locks on the cabinet to keep him from breaking into where The Dog’s kibble is kept, and move any appealing items in the fridge up on the top shelves (and yes, we have caught him clinging like a limpet as he climbs the shelves to get to the good stuff!) So, a valuable lesson – Schnookie is a safecracker!
His usual protein per meal is approximately one (1) US Tablespoon. We’re estimating he ate at least eight (8) tablespoons. Immediate direct dose of Lactulose, followed by another dose three hours later. Needless to say, he did NOT get his midnight snack last night.
Yes, I confess, I punished my Pookie by sending him to bed without any supper!
Monitored closely through the night for any signs of trouble. He was fine, but I wasn’t LOL.
So far, he’s okay today. I, on the other hand, am a bit groggy and nervous, but hopeful that today will be normal for him.
Most of our cat liver shunt friends have commented on their kitty’s appetite extremes. They seem to roughly fall into two categories – the Ravenous Rogues, or the Finicky Fussbudgets. Guess which our Pudgy Pookie is?
While diagnosed as a kitten with probable brain damage, (later rescinded as his HE symptoms got under control), Newt had no problems with food finding. Once he located a food source, he would return again and again to see if he could snag more snacks.
As we began implementing Newt-rition 101 and began cooking fresh meals for him, he soon discovered that the Source of All Good Things was Mount Refrigerator. We learnt very early on to ALWAYS do a fridge check!!! Especially when he was a wee kitten, it was too easy for him to hide behind his veggies. Now, it’s a bit harder to miss the ten-pound tabby swinging from the vegetable crisper.
Some cats come when the can opener beckons. Newt comes thundering into the kitchen when the fridge door is opened. Not only does he peer into the fridge, lately he’s begun climbing it!
Note his little lizard toes clinging tightly to the bottom shelf as he
scales the precarious cliff wall to reach the summit, containing the forbidden
fruit of Other Cat’s Food!
Little brat jumped on the stove and licked the pizza where I’d left it cooling. Fortunately heard the odd sounds in time to intervene before he managed to eat the whole thing.
I’m pretending not to know that he LICKED MY PIZZA!
Cat Daddy gently corrected me – “It’s Newt’s pizza now …”
So scoundrely Schnookums is resting after his pizza-licking dessert, nestled in my arm and making satisfied little Newt grunts while I nibble on his lizard toes.
Newt has had a couple of half-drooly, half-normal days. Today he has been in fine form with his spotted belly self – sleeping peacefully, foraging for leftovers, and then, eating barely half of his snackies. The last several days he’s been refusing to eat his veggies, so we’ve been back on the chicken / cheese routine, with a bit of cream he thoroughly enjoyed today. Hope that tomorrow’s fresh dose of Cheap Chicken Friday will entice his appetite back to normal. Or perhaps I shouldn’t fret about his “diet,” as his vet did indicate that Sir Chubbs was getting rather hefty.
Work on the next project for Major Corporation has been delayed. Again. Taking advantage of the downtime this week to continue with other client projects, juggle in teaching a Reiki for Animals class, and force myself to try to learn how to operate the spindle.
I mean, come on, if I can wield a skil saw and various other power tools (vroom, vroom!) surely I can handle rotating a small piece of wood to turn fluff into string. Right? Uhm … riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Part of my decision to participate in the “Tour de Fleece” (TdF) was to challenge myself. The premise of the TdF is to spin yarn every day that the Tour de France cycles. Today we were challenged to spin something difficult, as the cyclists face the Tour’s toughest mountain stage.
My mountain?
I attempted spindling. In public. Invited by an expert local spinner to bring my wheel, plus “any other fiber or projects” for “show and tell” and seated NEXT TO yet another real spinner, who was pounding rapidly and effortlessly on a cute little hitchhiker. (Note to non-spinners, she was not engaged in any wrestling ring maneuvers with freaky thumbed-out dudes. “Hitchhiker” in this case refers to an adorable little lightweight, easy to transport bit of portable spinning machinery.)
Knowing how frustrated and embarrassed I’ve been with my furtive fondling of fiber, spinning alone, behind closed curtains, or under cover of darkness at the dog park, you may understand how attempting to spin, in public, in front of real spinners, no less, may have been a wee bit of a challenge for me. A veritable mountain out of mohair, if you will.
(::giggle:: Mountains out of mohairs – sorry, had to see that again!)
I didn’t “tell” much, but I certainly “showed’ how not to spindle. I flaunted my novicity. (is that a word?) Made no attempt to try to and hide the mess – err, faux yarn – under the table. Arms flying side-to-side while attempting the long draw and control the frenzied hyper-twist without scrunching of face. Ubiquitious swearing was limited to non-verbal expressions – merely a few grimaces and grunts. Had roving slung from shoulder to shoulder in a festive garland of spinning celebration, and luscious pooflets were flying in my wake.
I managed a whole three feet!!! Roughly an inch a minute! At this rate, I’ll have completed one spindle of yarn sometime within the next 30 years!
Fortunately the real spinner was too engrossed in her smooth flying finish to even notice the pesky novice peering rudely over her shoulder, trying to figure out just HOW in the nine hells she made it look so .. so .. so easy! Did not drool on any of the real spinners’ yarn, or accidentally kick any of the other spinning wheels in residence. No real spinners or knitters were whacked with the wayward flying spindle.
And no one pointed and laughed! Well, I think I did hear some stifled laughter when I gasped in astonishment and blurted out that the last couple of inches actually looked like something resembling YARN!
Woohoo, yay, me!
Additional difficulty – carting the wheel up and down stairs, across a hot parking lot to knitting meeting, then back again. No luck with the first possible modern, temporary replacement part needed, but many words of admiration on Virginia’s elegance and beauty.
Not to mention a delightful discussion of how one spotted runty little tabby cat has continued to enrich my life with new and interesting paths and people. And poofs. Soon to resemble something akin to yarn.
We have a new adoption to celebrate! Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I made the rash decision to adopt a new family member. Like everyone else in the family, she is in need of some TLC and special care.
Now don’t fret, thinking I’ve gone round the bend. Cat Daddy and I would never adopt an animal without the other’s consent. Rather, this beauty has arrived to hopefully help in the quest to promote cat liver shunt awareness, and Collie rescue.
Newt is having a good day, and thoroughly enjoyed the photo shoot.
Please meet Newt’s newest friend:
I think her name is Virginia. Will write more about her later, as research yields answers to our mystery girl.
Still quite gobsmacked that she is here, along with her companion weasel. No, silly, not a real weasel, but rather a “reel” weasel. Click reel, actually – also known as a yarn weasel, for measuring yarn. (Pictured on right, with Newt’s rat tail)
First, let me assure you that I am quite happy that Newt is feeling better, in spite of what you may read in the following paragraphs. Thrilled, in fact.
We revel in the “good days.” Whenever our naughty little boy gets into mischief, it makes our heart sing – and makes damage control that much easier to perform!
Still on standby for the next big project for Major Corporation. Fine, more time to try and organize my spinning. I usually am hesitant to block out wait time (unbillable) for projects to land, but this one is worth the gamble. Two months, reasonably close to home, same great Team I’ve successfully worked with before, so I’m waiting. The demands and stress of this type of work are difficult enough, so having a great Team certainly helps make things much more tolerable. A bit impatiently, but I’m waiting. Injured finger is almost back to normal (many bits left unsaid in a previous post about biting the hand that feeds you – use your imagination!) so am trying to be a good girl, stay away from the computer and do something else. So let’s work up our courage and face our spindle fear, shall we? I mean, I am supposed to be on a Tour de Fleece Team, and it would be nice to actually spin something, instead of just cheering on the rest of the team. Just Spin It! (with apologies to the famous shoe company for stealing their slogan).
Am simultaneously encouraged and disheartened. Missed the spinning meeting on Saturday. Remembered at the last minute, then got stuck in dreadful traffic. Sunny and hot here today, so I planned to re-wash the Chiengora. That sounds sooooo much more enticing and exotic and expensive than dog hair, don’t you think? I believe that it smells like dirty dog. Cat Daddy, on the other hand, simply said “I don’t see a problem, it just smells like The Dog.”
Oh, great, does this mean that other people think that The Dog stinks?!?!
Newt LOVES the smell of The Dog, as evidenced by his frequent burrowing against his soft, silky fur, freshly bathed or not. Come to think of it though, for someone with a predilection for stinky shoes and sweaty feet, not to mention for the first year of his life having carrion breath that could knock a buzzard out of the air at 100 paces, his sense of polite aromas could be a bit … skewed.
Perhaps in my spinning paranoia (spinanoria?), my olfactories are playing tricks on me, trying to convince me that the freshly cleaned piles of fluff smell dirty, when really they don’t. Whatever. I’m the one who has to spin it, so I decided to wash it again this morning, with a vinegar rinse, then set it out to dry. The torrential rains on Saturday, and my busy day yesterday meant the fluff stayed safely inside on the makeshift drying racks. I use the term “safely” quite loosely.
It seems that SOMEONE had other plans for my precious piles of plucked fluff. The culprit decided to redecorate the house overnight in a faux sheep shearing slaughter scenario.
Cat Daddy asked this morning if we had hosted the SMMA last night (Sheep Mixed Martial Arts), as we have a terrific trail of terror leading from the drying racks, throughout the kitchen, filling the table, my office, spiraling around the living room, covering the couch, meandering down the hall, and ending with a whimper in Newt’s Room. Yes, I’m sure it was him, as he greeted me with a gleeful grin this morning, and waved those delicious pink footie paws at me – complete with shreds of cheingora still clutched between his long lizard toes.
What, you mean your cat doesn’t have its own room? Technically, the room was supposed to be my studio, but when Newt began to need to be isolated for feeding, that was the logical choice. Add a litter pan in there, and suddenly, it’s no longer mummy’s garishly painted studio, it became “Newt’s Room.” Hence the bright orange Dog Rug, specially knitted to match the lime green, purple and orange hues of Newt’s Room. Newt has his meals in there, and the rest of the time, he and his One True Love lounge in and out, joined periodically by the Dog. Yeah, I know that One True Love also had HER room (which used to be my library), but apparently, the blankies and sunshine are better in Newt’s Room.
Are you noticing a theme here? Not only are the felines plotting their world domination, they are slowly and steadily taking over all the corners of our home which were previously allocated for ME!
So fine, take over the house, you ungrateful fuzzybutts, but leave my fleece alone!
Have you ANY idea how difficult it was to wrestle – errrrr, wash – the Dog to get that should-have-been freshly cleaned fiber, then put up with Cat Daddy’s joyful teasing about setting up the Cheingora Laundromat in “his” kitchen for the fiber prep, then have the neighbors pointing and laughing at me chasing drying piles of puff escaping across the windy lawn (and fighting the birds for it, no less!), then MORE of Cat Daddy’s howls of laughter as the makeshift drying racks were moved into the kitchen for safekeeping and to finish drying during the rains? And when I FINALLY worked up the courage and decided that my precious camel-coloured cheingora could be sacrificed upon the alter of the dreaded Spindle of Doom, (yes, I had nightmares last night about spindling!), I awake to … to … to …
Words fail me.
Perhaps the Universe has a really sick sense of humour? Instead of spinning, maybe I should sweep it all up, chuck it into alternately hot and cold water, agitate the stuffing out of it and turn it into felted cat toys.
Except that I may have found a wheel, within my limited budget, assuming I that want to experiment with repairing it. May go for it.
Along with Newt’s artistic redecorating endeavors, anything to keep me from actually spinning!
Most of our cat liver shunt friends have commented on their kitty’s appetite extremes. They seem to roughly fall into two categories – the Ravenous Rogues, or the Finicky Fussbudgets. Guess which our Pudgy Pookie is?
