Thursday, March 24, 2016

A Confusin Transfusion

As most of you who follow me on FaceBook, or are members of my Fan Club already know, I had another medical crisis last week. Once again, Death opened its door and invited me in. Being a cat, I wandered back and forth through the threshold for a while, rubbing my tail teasingly against the door jamb, until Death got fed up and slammed the door.

Someday, I know that he will be quick enough to catch me, but not today.

The crisis began Tuesday night when the two leggers realized that I had been acting out of character. Namely, no lamps had been broken, no blood shed, and most significantly.....the atmosphere in my Kingdom had been peaceful and serene for several days.

Like a character in one of those old war movies just before the enemy strikes, the male two legger turned to the female and said "It's quiet in here......too quiet".

 Wednesday morning, they placed me in the Safety Container of Royal Conveyance (SCORC) and took me to see Doc Brazle in The Land of Unpleasant Pokings. When Doc Brazle saw that my two leggers had made the journey with me from my Kingdom totally unscathed, she knew immediately that something was amiss. When she was able to draw my blood without losing any of hers, she knew that I was in bad shape.

Doc Brazle and the excellent staff at Best Friends Veterinary Clinic did an excellent job of getting me stabilized, but the following day the decision was made to transfer me to more specialized care in Seattle. The male two legger loaded me back in the SCORC and we began the three hour journey to Seattle Veterinary Specialists.

It was during this journey that I experienced my first boat ride. I have often heard and read about sea voyages, fraught with peril and adventure, swashbuckling antics on the briny ocean, I waited eagerly for the maritime mayhem that would ensue.

I must say that the reality was somewhat disappointing. During the entire 20 minute ferry ride, I saw not one cannon fired in anger, no sharks, no white whale, they didn't even make anyone walk the plank. There was a two legger with an eye patch, peg leg and a hook, but she was just the snack bar cashier.

As a matter of mutiny prevention, I was not allowed out of my SCORC for the entire passage. A fact that I protested vociferously.

Upon arrival at the specialized Land of Unpleasant Pokings, I was once again poked unpleasantly (but in a very specialized way). It was determined that I was lacking of blood and in need of something called a "transfusion". A transfusion is the process where they pump new blood into one's body via yet another unpleasant poking.

I understand the theory, but I question the method of delivery. First, they poke you unpleasantly until they find a vein thingy. Then they hook up a tube that comes from a machine and with much whirring and beeping, the fresh blood is slowly pumped in until you are full again. Terribly complicated, expensive and it takes hours to complete.

My method would greatly reduce time, and expense and would entirely do away with the unpleasant poking aspect. All it would require is a unit of fresh blood, one package of catnip and two squirrel thingies.

The patient would be given the catnip to stimulate appetite and general friskiness while one of the squirrel thingies would be filled with the fresh blood. Once all is prepared, the blood-filled squirrel thingy would be released into the SCORC with the ailing, but acutely frisky cat. After much batting, slapping and biting, the fresh blood would naturally be orally transferred to the patient thus turning a normally painful and dreadful process into an enjoyable experience for all (except the squirrel).

The second squirrel would be used as a snack in the recovery room.

In spite of my ingenious recommendation, the vet thingy chose to use the old barbaric method of transfusion.

Well, in spite of all the unpleasant pokings and so on, I have recovered and have returned to my Kingdom where once again I have regained my throne.

For now, my reign continues.

I would like to thank all of my minions for all of the love, support and prayers that you offered to me and my two leggers during this incredibly difficult week. Your kind words and thoughts sustained us even during the darkest of hours when all was thought lost.

I am truly grateful for you all.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Adult Stuporvision (Continued)

Day Two of the male's week-long adventure in geographic bachelorhood.

With the female off visiting the Grandtwins, the male, not used to sleeping alone, decided to leave the bedroom door open overnight thus allowing us feline types to come and go as we please. While this allowed unprecedented opportunities for chaos, I made a command decision to not take advantage of this potentially perfect storm of circumstances to cause hate and discontent............yet.

Knowing that the female would be away for the next six days, I chose not to squander my chances for maximum mayhem by blowing it all in a single night. A solitary evening of madness would most likely result in the male deciding that on reinstating the locked-door policy for the remainder of the female's absence. It would also prevent me from pawing his mustache every morning exactly 37 minutes before his alarm was set to wake him.

This would not do.

So, at least for the first few nights, I concluded that restricting our deeds of destruction to "normal" hours was the best course of action. That being said, There was still much fun to be had.........

Consider "Operation: Bait and Twitch". This particular mission proved both amusing and beneficial.

It began when the male decided to make a tuna salad sandwich. 

The male two legger accepts the fact that the preparation of any meal containing tuna fish will attract the attention of any cat within a 36 mile radius of the location of the kitchen. This tends to place the two legger on "high alert" and he will therefore guard his meal like Rosie O'Donnell protecting the last Twinkie on Earth. Generally, we will go through the motions of trying to steal a bite or two, knowing full well that our efforts will likely be in vain, but this night, I was determined.

As he sat in the bedroom, slowly munching his delectable edible, contentedly watching yet another silly program on the talking box thingy, I sent Jaq out into the hallway to begin the "Bait" stage of my plan. Just as she reached the carpet that marks the entry to the livingroom, Jaq began making her patented "omigodiatetoomuchfuragainandnowigottaputitonthecarpet" sound. The sound Jaq makes when she has a hairball defies description. The closest comparison I can make is the sound that would be made if Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber and Luciano Pavarotti collaborated to rap an Aerosmith song in Portuguese.

This triggered an ancient instinct in the two legger that caused him to bolt down the hallway yelling "NONONONONONONONONOOOO!!!!"

His sudden departure left a void next to his tuna salad sandwich that was instantly filled with Ivan and myself. After a quick and decisive slapping match, we decided that I would eat the portion on the plate and Ivan could consume the morsel that had ended up on the floor as a direct result of our little smackfest. 

By the time the two legger returned, all evidence had been eradicated and the plate was duly cleansed. His reaction was neither unexpected nor particularly original. Rather than showing gratitude for us having thoroughly washed his plate and floor, he said something about "damcats" and then proceeded to cast aspersions upon my character.

I would have been offended, but I had already dropped off into a tuna-induced slumber. 

It seems that there is a new policy in effect. We are now banished to other rooms whenever the male is feeding.

Given his newfound vigilance where we were concerned, our next bit of maniacal madness needed to be well-thought out and planned to the nth detail.

Other than small nuisances and general feline friskiness, we laid low for the next few days. We needed him relaxed and confidant that we had "learned our lesson".

This also gave me time to plot.

The night before he was due to pick up his mate from the airport, the male spent the evening scrubbing, vacuuming and dusting my entire Kingdom. We supervised of course, but did little to hinder his activities. We allowed him to sleep soundly (until exactly 37 minutes before his alarm clock was set to wake him).  He awoke rested and happy owing to the fact that he would soon be reunited with his mate. After a thorough final inspection, he departed safe in the knowledge that his bride would be returning to a spotless household.

Yeah, right.

Upon his departure, we set to work.
Ivan harvested the dust bunny crop that he'd been carefully tending under the entertainment center for the last five months. He spread it across the livingroom floor in a manner that displayed both the vast yield and variety of his labors. Seeing his collection decorating couch, easy chair and coffee table, I must confess that I have underestimated Ivan's artistic prowess.

Inspired by Southwest Native American art, Tiger Lily took advantage of the spotless litterboxes and created several "sand drawings" outside of each litterbox.

Having an eye for photography, Jaq "re-arranged" all the picture frames on hallway shelves and the end tables. Obviously her sense of arrangement dictated that some looked better face down, while others were better displayed on the floor.

Finally, I decided that since so much of our handiwork was being displayed on the floor, perhaps it would benefit from more light. This was easily remedied by the knocking a couple of lamps down.

Several hours later, the two leggers returned. As they approached the door, I heard the male say: "I worked all night to bring the house up to your standards of cleanliness........SURPRISE!"   

I fear she was not amused.