Diary of a SubUrban Housewife

On the kitty front, still no sign of my precious Trina. I can talk about it now without crying all the damned time, but I’m still profoundly sad. She was in my dream the other night and she was young, spry, healthy, and happy. So I know she’s OK. (And damn it, now I’m crying again.)

Thank you all for your kind words.

And the kittens….damn are they cute. They’ll be six weeks old on Monday.

Some pix for your kitty perusing pleasure:

My little Nina (which I Photoshopped with vaguely disasterous results, but you get the idea, and as always, click to make it bigger):

Cosmo:

And finally, Wanda (who doesn’t pose well so I had to catch her eating some luggage):

If you’ve spent any time here with me, one thing you’ve gathered about me is that I’m a “pet person”. I’ve had pets almost my entire life. I grew up with a dog as a pet, a schnauzer that my mother had until I was long-gone from her house, and in college. At my dad’s house we had two dogs.

When I moved out of my parent’s house and was on my own it was natural for me to want a pet. A dog was not an option so I got a cat. Natasha. She and I have been together for just about forever. She went missing a few years ago. I talk about that here and her return home here.

The thing about that second entry is that you’ll notice I never stopped looking. While I was devastated, I must have known in my heart that she was alive and well and was going to turn up….eventually….it was just a matter of when.

This time it’s different.

As I mentioned a few days ago, Natasha had been sick. But a few doses of antibiotics and some fluids really seemed to perk her up. In fact, when we returned from the vet she lounged with us on the couch, something she hasn’t done for a very long time. I reported her “right as rain”.

Well things seemed to take a bit of a turn for the worse as the weekend progressed. She was hiding all of Saturday, which in itself is not too unusual, and was not a cause for alarm.

But when I saw her Sunday night I knew things were not good. She was hoarse (yes, cats can lose their voices). She seemed to have lost even more weight, because apparently the six pounds she’d lost over the course of the last year was not enough and you know, five pounds is maybe just too much for a cat. I gave her fresh water. She did not want to drink. I put her on the dryer and petted her, trying to coax her to eat something. I poured a dish of kitty milk for her. She took a few feeble bites of food and drank a bit of the milk but was uninterested in any of it.

I gently carried her down from the dryer and put her in her bed in my office.

I spent hours with her Sunday night. I talked to her. I held her. I petted her. I cried. I could see the writing on the wall.

Chuck was already asleep so I planned to talk to him in the morning about helping me to take Natasha to the vet. I knew I could not go alone.

Monday morning I went into my office at home and Natasha was not in her bed. I knew. At work all day I was out of sorts but didn’t say anything. I came home and made a beeline for my office. No kitty. I tore the house apart. Every closet. Every nook and cranny. Under every piece of furniture. Inside the lining of every piece of furniture. No kitty. I told Chuck. I cried.

All night I kept looking.

Tuesday I asked Chuck if he would go under the house and look for my baby. I knew he was reluctant and if he didn’t want to I would be OK with it. But he did. He searched every square inch. No kitty. Again, I searched every closet. Every nook and cranny. Under every piece of furniture. Inside the lining of every piece of furniture. No kitty. I cried some more.

But I kept looking.

I knew she was gone but I kept looking.

Yesterday I cried. Only a few times, though the tears are always just barely under the surface. But I only looked a little bit.

Today I cried. A lot. But I haven’t looked.

I know.

Kittys go away to die. It’ their instinct. They find a small dark corner and go.

My baby lived a long, healthy, full life. She was a house cat. With an open door not 15 feet from where she spent most of her life, she only used that door one or two times.

I hoped that when it was her time she would go peacefully in her bed. But instinct is hard to fight.

I know my baby is in kitty heaven. I know in my heart. But I need to find her. I need closure. I need to be able to stop crying.

Hmmmm….a little theme for my last two entries. How cute is that?

So I had to take Natasha (also known as Trina, don’t ask) to the vet tonight. For those of you less “in the know”, Natasha is my 23 year old kitty, also known around here as The Empress.

Trina has had what we refer to around here as AB (Angry Butt) for the last couple of days, and as old and frail as she is, not to mention the nightmare that it is for a cat to have the squirts, I took her to the vet. Every trip with her is highly emotional for me as at her ripe old age, I’m always afraid it’s going to be our final trip.

I love our vet’s office. We enjoy a multi-pet discount with our vet, but best of all, it’s a 24 hour vet and you can go, without an appointment, after 7:00 p.m. for a mere $10 extra charge. It is well worth it for me to pay the extra money as you get prompt service and no long waits, if you show up at about 6:55, and that’s exactly when I showed up.

I took my smart black skirt off when I got home from work, but left on the black sweater, and put on black sweatpants.

I gingerly put Trina in the cat carrier and toddled her off to the vet.

Two things you should know about my cat:
1. She’s a mostly-white tabby; and
2. When she’s nervous, especially at the vet, she sheds like crazy.

OK, so perhaps black wasn’t the best costume choice.

I’m covered in cat hair and $350 poorer, but Trina got re-hydrated (because we all know what the squirts can do to you), had some blood work done, got an overall checkup, but most importantly, got some medicine that seems to have stemmed the, ahem, flow.

My old lady seems right as rain again, thank goodness, and my fur problem…..well, nothing a good lint brush can’t cure.

Yes, I know you’re all bored with the kittens by now. To that I say: too damned bad; this is my blog and I’ll write what I damned well please (and I say that with all the love in my heart that is humanly possible).

Wanda, it turns out is a boy kitten. We’re not changing her name. I’ll leave that to her future owners. I hope s/he does not have therapy ahead of her as a result of this.

The kittens have started opening their eyes. Today they are 10 days old so they’re right on schedule.

I crazy about these little fluff balls and one day I may choose to look back and see how things progressed. Or I may use these entries as notes for my book: What to Expect When Your Cat is Expecting.

Catchy title, no?

Well, the old man finally made it home from the tundra with the digital camera. He took some pix of the kittens. And as you can see, yes, they’re still cute (and less mouse-looking with every passing day).

(As always, click to make it bigger.)

Happy five day birthday kitties.

Two things you should know about me:
1. I am not good at taking pictures.
2. I am crappy at focusing pictures.

At first blush, you’d think that the two are part and parcel of the same thing, but, they really are two separate issues. The first is a composition problem, the second is a visual problem. I can’t seem to get the right things to focus. Believe it or not, I do better with an SLR where I’m focusing, cuz then I can make sure to focus on the subject, but with autofocus, it’s anyone’s guess as to what I’ll actually get to come out clearly.

So with that disclaimer, I will share with you a few of the first pix of the kittens.

Oh, and as further disclaimer, Chuck has the digital camera with the autoflash with him in Bumfuck, Montana, and since the kittens are in the back of the closet I had to make do with a flashlight for a light source.

This is Nina. (Think Pinta and Santa Maria.) She’s the most adventurous of the litter.

This is Wanda. My finger is there to give you a little perspective on just how tiny these babies are.

This is a slightly better picture of Wanda:

Alas Professor Cosmo Mewsalot was in the back corner fast asleep, so no pix of him yet.

All I can say, is thank goodness we didn’t get some of those not cute kittens you hear so much about these days.

Oh, and by way of an update, Sparkle and the babies have been happily living in the bottom of my closet all week. She is extremely devoted to them and patient with them. Zoe has stopped “organizing” them. All seems right in the pet world.

Enjoy.

So Miss Sparkle spent most of this past weekend sleeping, eating, and sleeping some more. Pretty much sounds like my last weekend of pregnancy.

Right before I went to bed Sunday night I couldn’t find her, but then, we all know she goes out because this is how she got in this condition in the first place. I didn’t see her before I went to work Monday morning either. But again…not unusual….see her delicate condition for proof of that.

When Zoe and I came home Monday night and I saw Sparkle saunter out of my closet, as trim as she ever was, I knew the jig was up. The only problem was, after a brief inspection of the immediately viewable household, no kittens were to be seen.

So I called Chuck. In Missoula, Montana. Because it seemed like a thing to do. (OK, reality check here–the man can’t find his wallet if it’s underneath a receipt and I was apparently expecting him to intuit, from half way across the country, where the freakin kittens were. In my defense, I will say my hair is more blonde than usual from two weeks in the Caribbean.)

To make a long story short, after two frantic hours of searching and fretting, the kittens were located. In a pile. Under a pair of silk pants that had fallen off the hanger. On the bottom of my closet.

There are three of them: one white, one black, and one gray.

And to answer the question on everyone’s lips: yes, they are very very cute.

After we found the kittens Zoe and I put them in the designated birthing box and put the box in the bottom of Zoe’s closet. We showed Sparkle where the box was and she climbed in with the babies. The next morning Zoe asked me (frantically) if I had moved the babies. I had not. Sparkle had. Back to the bottom of my closet.

So this is where they will stay.

I put a litter box, food and water in my bathroom. During the day I close my bedroom door and Sparkle and babies have full use of the master suite. With this arrangment I don’t have to worry that Sparkle has moved the babies to a new place, nor do I have to worry that the dogs have found the babies and something horrible has happened.

It’s too dark in the bottom of my closet to get a pic with my phone, and Chuck has the digital camera in Montana. Photos will be posted as soon as possible.

Momma and babies are doing great.

Yay! Kittens.
____

And as an aside to those of you (in either my comments and private e-mail) urging me to get my cat fixed: I am an enormously responsible pet owner. Every single one of my pets are rescues. I responsibly spay/newter. Sparkle will be fixed with it is medically safe and appropriate to do so.

I made a choice to let this kitten have kittens. I decided it would be a once in a lifetime experience for my eight year old daughter. I have more homes for these babies than I have babies.

I made a choice. I stand by it.

Sparkle is in a family way. Gestation for cats is 62 days. Since we don’t know exactly when conception occured, it’s anyone’s guess when the kittens will actually arrive, but from the looks of her it’s imminent. Her tummy gets bigger and rounder by the day.

Zoe put a box in her room with towels on the bottom and has written Mom at Work all over it. If you ask me, it’s cuter than hell. Chuck, I’m certain, is of another opinion.

Since this wasn’t exactly a “planned” pregnancy there has been much speculation between me and Chuck as to exactly what the kittens are going to look like. And since there can be several fathers for one litter it’s really anyone’s guess as to what we’re gonna end up with.

Lately we have noticed a wide assortment of neighborhood tom cats lurking around our front door. I now refer to them all collectively as Sparkle’s Baby Daddy.

So we went to see Finding Nemo today. Chuck and Zoe saw it originally opening weekend. They both loved it. Chuck wanted me to see it.

It inspired Chuck to once again take an interest in our reef tank.

Here’s the thing about this reef tank of ours. Chuck decided a long time ago that he really wanted a reef tank. As with all things Chuck, he chewed on it for a while, researched, shopped around, forgot about it for a while, remembered about it, researched, made grandiose plans, shopped around, and then finally got one.

A 65 gallon reef tank. That’s saltwater. Live rock. Live sand. Lots of creepy creatures that clean things. And fish.

My whole thing when he got the tank was plausible deniability. Yes, I knew the tank was there. But I wanted nothing to do with it beyond occasionally feeding the creatures when he was out of town.

Then he kind of lost interest in the tank. That combined with the fact that he was out of town a lot, led to the rapid decline of our tank. Because with a reef tank you need to keep up with it. Regular water changes, cleaning the filters, adjusting the skimmer, other fish tank-related stuff.

Anyway, the tank got really gross. Slime covered the front glass. It got so bad you couldn’t even see into the tank. We had vague discussions of getting rid of the tank.

Then Chuck saw Finding Nemo. Then something happened to me and all of a sudden I was all about the freakin fish tank.

Chuck did some water changes. We went and bought a new skimmer. We took all the rock out of the tank and scrubbed it free of all the brown and purple slime that covered it. Chuck scrubbed the front of the tank. He did some more water changes. He got the old skimmer working. We ordered a new “cleaning crew”. We got some new fish. We already had a clown fish (like Nemo and Marlin). We got a blue tang (like Dorrie). The tank looks beautiful.

Then we saw this movie. A really good movie. I want to take all our fish back to the ocean.

So, my Akita, Suki, suffers from a variety of skin ailments. A recent mega-buck trip to the vet confirms that she is allergic to flea bites. Not just scratch and itch irritated, but big open sore allergic.

This resulted in prescriptions for steriods, antihistimines, and antibiotics. Ka-ching.

Also, the Front Line I was using on her was not sufficient. For her particular situation Advantage is a better choice. OK, so off to petmeds.com I go and order it.

As back story, after the vet visit, Suki paid a visit to the groomer where she was bathed, had skin/coat conditioning treatments, and was shaved.

Now on with our story.

So I apply the Advantage to her semi-freshly bathed and sheared coat the night before last.

Well, yesterday I worked late and left Chuck in charge of Zoe and her friend Katy (who was over for a sleepover). I get home 9-ish and notice something odd about Suki’s coat. She’s got a blue-ish tinge right around where I’ve applied the Advantage. Great…she’s allergic to this and has had some freakish reaction requiring hundreds of dollars in vet bills. In my best Scarlett O’Hara imitation I decide to deal with it “tomorrow”.

This morning was tomorrow and I decide I better check this out more thoroughly. Well, while walking to the kitchen from my bedroom I look out the back door and notice huge blue patches of coloring on the back patio. Blue sidewalk chalk. I give Suki a closer look and realize what the weird blue patch on her back is. The girls colored on the dog.

Blue sidewalk chalk. On. The. Dog.