Posts Tagged ‘Pablo’

Mitsy and Pablo

I have a hard time admitting to reality sometimes.  But eventually, it catches up with us all.  So here is the story of what has happened over the last week.

On Tuesday of last week, I took Mitsy and Pablo to the vets.  They have been losing weight, which they desperately needed to do, but they got too skinny, as if that were possible.  I could feel their spine.  They weren’t eating.  I knew things weren’t right.  Mitsy also has a large, marble-sized growth between her nose and her left eye.  We’ve been afraid to test it because doing so might damage her eye, but now it was so big that wasn’t a concern.  On Wednesday, the vet called with the results of all the expensive blood work.  Mitsy’s growth was not a tumor—always said in an Arnold voice.  So in addition to her hyperthyroid medication, she was issued a steroid to break it down.

Pablo has diabetes in addition to his arthritis.

On Thursday morning, I took my two fifteen-year-old cats back to the vets.  Mitsy got an antibiotic shot for her growth, and I brought Pablo to learn how to give him twice-daily insulin injections.

Pablo is awesome with his insulin injections.  He almost even likes them.  I’ve only pricked myself once so far.

Mitsy, who used to love Pill Pockets, quit her pills and food a month ago.  So getting her to take her medication is a chore.  I have to invent new things all the time.  I first figured out that she likes Salmon Pill Pockets but not Chicken Pill Pockets.  But after a day or so of that, she wasn’t interested in them either. Luckily, Perl still likes them with her allergy medication.

On Saturday, Mitsy was breathing really heavy.  I could see her chest rise and fall at a rapid rate.  She and I and Perl went outside to sit in the back yard.  I called the vet.  They said to bring her in.  I let her sit in the back yard for a little while longer, knowing it might be the last time.  And I started crying.  I didn’t stop crying until Sunday.

At the vet, they took X-rays.  I paid extra to have a radiologist stop his golf game long enough to respond to the photos.  The vet could have told me the same thing as it was obvious from the photos.  Mitsy’s heart is enlarged, she had fluid in her lungs, and her kidneys are shrinking.  She is dying.  Congestive heart failure.

It was mentioned briefly that we could do an ultrasound, but really, she has been on hyperthyroid medication for six years, she has a large growth next to her eye, and she is fifteen.  It is her time.  But I still wasn’t ready.

I was there until an hour past closing, using up all their tissues.  We talked about where I could take her on Sunday when my vets is closed if I needed to euthanize her.  The vet gave her an injection of something and sent me home with heart medication and a diuretic to get rid of the fluid in her lungs.

I was certain this was the end.  I would have to call it sometime on Sunday or Monday morning.

The vet called Monday night.  She was timid about what to ask about Mitsy, not knowing what happened.

“The drugs are a miracle,” I exclaimed.

“That’s great!” she said, relieved that she hadn’t just called someone who’s cat had died over the the last day and a half. Then she said, “Just remember, your cat is having congestive heart failure.  That means her heart could stop working at any time.”

“I know,” I said.  The thing was, the drugs had given me another day.  I spent all day Sunday pampering Mitsy.  We went outside again.  I moved her food bowls to the bedroom so she doesn’t have to walk as far.  I put the child gate up so that she can walk between the bedroom and the bathroom without the dog bothering her.

The dog.  The poor dog.  She stepped on something Saturday and started limping, holding up her right, front paw.  I couldn’t see anything wrong besides her ego not getting enough attention.  Her ego has miraculously healed.

Pablo is taking his insulin shots like a champ.  He probably loves me more now than he ever has.

Mitsy doesn’t like to take her pills.  My latest trick has been to crush them up and mix them with water from a can of tuna.  I’m going to be eating a lot of tuna.  But she looks great.  She is eating again, she seems happy.  Her breathing still isn’t great, but it is a lot better than it was on Saturday.

Every day, at this point, is a new challenge.  Will she be alive when I wake up.  Will she be alive when I get home from work.  I pet her and give her a kiss on the forehead and tell her I love her every chance I get, not knowing if it will be the last.  Mitsy and Pablo have been with me for the last fourteen years, through three different states, three cross-country trips, and nine different housing arrangements.  I’m writing their memoirs because they have been the only constant in my life over the last fourteen years.  Everything else has changed, except for them.

And now that is about to change.

I’m trying to be ready.

But I’m not.

Reasons I don’t live in New England

This tree bloomed at the end of January. Since then, I have been spending Saturday afternoons in the backyard with Mitsy and Perl. Perl chases squirrels. I read the newspaper or a book. And Mitsy? Well, Mitsy paces and stops occasionally to sniff something. Truth is, I don’t know what she is doing. But Perl almost caught a little bird that was losing a fight with a bigger bird.

New hiding spot

In an effort to quell any need I have to move after being in the same spot for nearing four years, I have been redecorating. Out with the old, in with the new. Including a new pet bed. I’d call it a dog bed except Perl has yet to be allowed to use it. Mitsy and Pablo love this new spot behind the couch. They can watch the door and run in either direction from the dog. I didn’t realize they would like it so much!

Fire! Fire!

I’m sitting on the couch here at home trying to get some work done before I get into the office. Pablo jumped up beside me to squeeze into the five inches I left him between me and the arm of the couch. Suddenly I see smoke coming from my laptop!

I immediately went into rescue mode! I yanked out the power cord, flipped the computer over, pulled out the battery and tossed each separately on the floor to see which one sparked.

Nothing happened.

So I felt them both. Neither seemed hot.

All I can guess is that my cat had stepped into some of the carpet powder I had sprinkled down a day ago, but must not have vacuumed all up. So when he jumped up next to me, a plume of white powder rose from his toes.

At least that is what I’m going to assume since I can smell baking soda and my computer seems fine.

Status quo

Seems that everything is back to normal. As normal as my life is. My new vacuum cleaner sucks—and that’s a good thing. My cats are sitting with me, watching the moth I accidentally let inside my now clean condo. Everyone seems healthy and happy and all is good with the world.

Home again

I managed to get into San Francisco. The flight was delayed by an hour because of bad weather in Boston, but I didn’t care because I’m already late getting home and I ran into my friend, Ken (thanks for getting that stupid Barbie song stuck in my head), who also happened to be on my flight (or I was on his flight), so I had plenty of entertainment.

He had a rental car—or better yet, a maroon grandpa boat—waiting for him, so I caught a ride, but only as far as Menlo Park. He couldn’t get me to the train or else he’d miss his meeting, so he ditched me with the attendants at the Rosewood Sand Hill Hotel & Spa. They were fabulous. They called a cab for me. They offered me water. They were worried about what time my train was. And they probably enjoyed wondering why Ken and I drove up but I needed to go to the train station while he was staying for a meeting. Always good to make people at 5 star hotels curious.

So a $20 cab ride later, I successfully bought a Caltrain ticket. Only waited a few minutes for a train. I even looked it up to make sure I didn’t accidentally get on an express train.

I walked a lovely mile home to drop off my bag. Pablo, the one with the unexplained fever, not to be mistaken with Mitsy, the one with the brain fungus, was under the bed and not coming out. However, he did blink slowly at me, indicating everything would be okay.

I put the top down on Myrtle and drive to the specialty vet. The highway was at a standstill, so I took back roads and hoped I’d find my way to Campbell. I did, but arrived 10 minutes after they closed. However, they took pity on me and let me in to pay my ginormous bill.

I then broke Perl out of doggy daycare jail after paying their ransom. Now we are all home and all is in order. Perl is licking her paws, Mitsy left the room because she wasn’t getting enough attention, and Pablo, King of the Castle, is hogging all my time.

And it may only be 8 pm, but i am off to sleep.

Night!

Let me try this again

I’m on the commuter train back to South Station. Didn’t know where to buy tickets, so I don’t have one. Didn’t really sleep. Showered at 4:30 am since I wasn’t sleeping. Know I should eat, but not sure if I can.

Not exactly starting the day off right.

The saga continues

There was no way I was going to make my San Jose flight from JFK, so I was moved to a flight tomorrow.

I picked up my bag from baggage claim and looked for cheap hotels, but I’m an amazing cheapskate and I refuse to stay in less than a three star hotel after tenting, so I’m taking the train to my sister-in-law’s house.

I bought a Charlie Ticket and put on enough cash to get to and from South Station. When I tried to use the ticket, the bus driver grabbed it when it came back out. Seems that my card couldn’t be read. But he looked it over and let me on anyways. So now I had an extra two dollars on the card.

I got to South Station and it took half an hour to figure out the system. First I realized I didn’t actually want Amtrak. Then I figured out which train I needed. Then when I tried to buy a ticket, I had to cancel and go find the zone. I tried to buy the ticket again an realized I needed to know how much a ticket costs, so I cancelled it again. Finally, I added the appropriate amount to my Charlie Ticket

I went in search of food. It was after 6 pm and I’d had an English muffin, a peach, a bottle of water, and an iced vanilla latte. So I was shaking like mad and my ears are ringing so much it is hard to hear.

My choices included McDonalds, Chinese, pizza, or fresh sandwiches/salads. I really wanted pizza. Or a cheeseburger. I’d been saving myself up to eat at the JetBlue terminal at JFK. So I was starving and having a har time caring about my diet.

Guilt finally won out and I got a 408 calorie sandwich, carrots instead of chips, and a mojito lemonade.

As I was eating, I got a phone call from the vets holding Pablo hostage. Seems the bank declined their request for a couple grand while I’m in Boston. And they don’t take American Express. So I begged and asked if I can bring a check from my other secret off-shore account tomorrow. No, I don’t have a card for it. Money just magically appears in it when I wave my wand. And my checks for it have a wicked old address, but please, let me pay tomorrow and release Pablo today. He needs to go home.

They called back and the connection was so bad, I had to hang up on him. I called back. Little do they know about my sand wedge hostage situation that I am negotiating at the same time.

The vet had agreed to let me pay Tuesday for a hamburger today.

Pablo is going home. I’m not.

As I was walking down the track, carrying a half eaten sandwich and negotiating the release of my cat, the conductor smiled at me. After hanging up the phone, I went back to him and asked if I had the right amount on my ticket.

I had the wrong ticket.

I asked if I should go back and get the right one. He said to get on an I could buy one on the train.

So I did. And he charged me for zone 8 when I only need zone 4.

I’m too tired to argue.

Pablo being held hostage

The specialist keeps coming up with more tests to do to Pablo. I think this might have become a hostage situation. His fever is gone, but he isn’t really eating on his own yet. They did say they might release him Wednesday, but they want more money now.

In other hostage situation news, I’m in contact again with the Callaway rep. He is holding my sand wedge hostage until I give him the money I owe him for the irons I’ve been playing for a couple weeks. I promised to pay him tomorrow. That is going to be one expensive club!

Pablo still at the specialist


But I’m getting on a plane. I had to decide to be worried here or with my family. The vet told me to go. Mitsy and I did go visit him today, and he does seem better. His temperature still isn’t normal, hanging out at 104, but he actually responded to my touch, he ate a little, and he slept a bit. He will probably be there for a few more days.

The specialist has a nice greeting room with carpet and a couch and chair. As soon as Pablo was oriented and realized the assistant was gone, he sauntered behind the chair and stayed there the whole time. So the vet found me on the floor wedged between the chair and the wall so I could pet my cat.

He is better than yesterday, but someone mentioned that they have seen a couple fatal pneumonia cases lately. That didn’t really make me feel better.

Now the clinic knows that Pablo likes to hide, so they built him a fort in his kennel. He is getting antibiotics and fluids.

On the guilt side, since his pneumonia was caused by something he inhaled, I bought a new vacuum today. I should have done this years ago. I got the top of the line Dyson. It is beautiful. I didn’t want to use it because it was so clean and I knew it would just get dirty. The only problem with it was how many times I had to empty the canister because my carpet was so dirty! The first thing Intern said when he came to drive me to the airport was, “Wow, your carpet is so clean!”

It was an expensive guilt purchase, but cheaper than another episode of pneumonia!

Finally, I just want to thank everyone for your support. I haven’t had time to respond, but I do appreciate all the well wishes. Thank you!

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