Goodbye

We had to say goodbye to our kittyboy today. His health rapidly declined in the last couple of days and when the vet ran tests, they found that he was in liver failure. Although super sympathetic and supportive of us, the vet said that there was no hope. He did not stand a chance at recovery. They gave him steroids, fluids, and antibiotics and sent us home to make him comfortable and decide when to euthanize. We woke up this morning to a weak boy who could barely keep his little black head up. JD and I were going to wait until Friday to take him in, but decided not to prolong it since he was in such poor shape. We cleaned him up, whispered our goodbyes in his furry little ears, and wished him well in kitty heaven. It sucked.

It is so awful saying goodbye to a pet. I remember in junior high, our beloved cat got ran over right before we left for school. My mother made us all go to school that day even though we were sobbing. I cried all day and my teachers thought that a family member had died because I could not stifle the tears and grief. Being older does not make it easier. We did our crying last night after the news of his terminal situation. I braced myself to be strong today. But I was not. I have cried all day.

He is gone and it seems a bit surreal. We've had him since we've been married. I told JD that he's a part of our story and it seems like a chapter has been ripped out. I keep expecting him to come trotting in with a foil ball in his mouth or to hop up in my lap to make biscuits until I hold his paws in my hand to stop the pricking of sharp nails in my belly. But then I remember that he is gone.

We took down his stocking and packed away his toys tonight. We left his ornament on the tree though. Beatrice likes it and so do we.

JD and I keep hoping that he had a good life. We hope that he knew that he was loved.  We hope that he knew that he was our sweet kittyboy and saying goodbye was harder than we ever imagined. We miss him and our home seems a little emptier now without him. Love you, buddy.

Unthinkables

So the unthinkable has happened. I am sick. I caught JD's beast of a cold and I feel like crap. Beatrice's party is tomorrow and I can't be sick. I didn't make plans to be sick so this has really thrown a wrench into everything. I've been speaking my health into existence (Romans 4:17) and gargling with hot salt water. Wanna know when you're officially a grown up? When you gargle hot salt water without your mom forcing you to do so. Which, by the way is my least favorite thing to do. But when you nurse a baby, you cannot take anything that contains antihistamines or your milk dries up. And wouldn't you know, cold meds are chock full of them. So it's hot salt water and positive speech for me. And a teensy bit of whining. I should've seen the sickness coming. I have been mixing things up all week and rearranging our days for appointments that never existed. I was certain that I had a hair appointment on Wednesday and switched around all of today for a 2 o'clock pediatrician appointment that is not until next week. My brain needs health to operate at full capacity apparently. 

So the party is tomorrow and most everything is completed. Did I mention that we have changed everything about the party? It's no longer at the park, we are having it here with immediate family only. We are serving chili, cider and cake. The 3 Cs of perfect fall party making. The other unthinkable thing? It's actually cold. The high today and tomorrow is in the 50s so our menu will be perfect. However, the downside is Beatrice has her 1 year pictures tomorrow morning. Outside. And all of her dresses and outfits are short sleeved. Will y'all think that I'm a bad mother if I don't make her wear a sweater? Or shoes? Because I'm just warning you now, you will probably see pictures of a 1 year old bare foot and in short sleeves in the cold. I can't ruin 1 year old photos with sweaters and shoes. Don't judge me...


Something unthinkable happened yesterday. 2 somethings, actually. Beatrice had her first (and second) waffle fry from Chick-Fil-A and had pizza for dinner. I have refrained from giving her any junk food her entire life but I figure with all of the cake she is about to eat this weekend, I might as well introduce her to fried, greasy goodness while she has the chance. Plus I'm sick and cooking is not happening right now. She loved it (of course) but she equally loved the lima beans I offered her in attempt to not feel so guilty for feeding my child crap all day.

The last and most unthinkable thing? I think I might love the cat again. He's been sleeping with me on the nights that JD is not here. Plus he seems so concerned with my health, it is kind of sweet. But don't tell JD. I will never hear the end of it. I guess the only other unthinkable things I can think of happening are that the party goes off without a hitch, I wake up feeling better and Beatrice doesn't catch the cold that is attacking my throat and chest right now. PRAY FOR US!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Story About the Cat With Some Unattractive Pictures of My Face

Recently, the cat's life has gotten better. Because of this, he has been banished to the half bath at night. While we sleep snug in our soft, warm bed he sleeps on a folded up crochet blanket inside a tiny cat bed on the bathroom floor. I am perfectly happy with this arrangement, JD however, is not. He loves his cat-boy and thinks everyone deserves a second chance. He has been begging me to let the cat sleep with us again. I was hesitant for many reasons. This being one.

The cat sleeps on my face. He doesn't start there. He plays for a minute, pouncing our feet and legs then makes his way in between our pillows where he makes a nest. He makes biscuits in my hair for a little while before falling asleep. Then he decides that my face would be more comfortable. So he moves. To my face.

I really don't want to post these pictures because I am just a few days postpartum from a 48 lb weight gain pregnancy but they really depict what I am talking about with the face-sleeping. That thing around my neck under my chin? That's my meat scarf. I'm happy to say that I have lost that flab, er fab accessory. And those lips all purple and puffy? Some people get a pregnant glow, I got huge collagen lips that made me talk funny, like they were too big for my mouth. Pregnancy is not a good look for me. Just saying. 


As if the face-sleeping isn't bad enough, the cat has been known to attack me in my sleep. My face mostly.

I was about 12 weeks pregnant in that lovely photo. The beginning of the purple puffy lips is evident, as you can see. The cat was sleeping (on my face) when he got spooked. He lunged off of me. Imagine soundly sleeping with your warm cat-boy snuggled up to you when all of the sudden, you are jolted awake by claws slicing your face open. I screamed, I felt wetness trickle down my face, I ran into the bathroom. JD thought I had lost my mind but I made him look at the horror show that was my face at 5 in the morning. He wasn't too concerned. He sided with the cat actually. He said I must've done something to provoke him. It really was a tiny scratch. That bled and bled and bled. 

Now do you see why I'm fine with the current sleep situation? The cat is crazy about my face. And I don't even like him anymore.

It doesn't matter. He still wants to do this.

This.

And this.

We've been letting him sleep with us on the nights that JD is home. So far he hasn't slept on my face. I think he knows that this a probationary thing and if he screws up by sleeping on or attacking my face, he is back to the bathroom. I will keep you posted....

Random Thing of the Day

It's about time he pulls his weight around here.

This Means War

I am at war in my own house. War against cat litter. I vacuum every day. Every single day. No matter how hard I try to keep the floors clean, my cat continues to kick litter outside of his box. And there is nothing worse than walking barefoot on grainy floors. Oh wait, an infant crawling around on grainy floors is worse. Awesome. I can handle many disgusting things but cat litter grains on my hardwood is the bane of my existence and I rue the day that I opened my home to that litter kicking furry beast. Or at least acquired a pet that called for a box to hold its feces. Because who doesn't love feces boxes? It's my decorating scheme.

So I vacuum. And vacuum and vacuum. And my floors stay clean for about 5 minutes because that's how long it takes the cat to muster enough courage to emerge from his hiding spot and go kick some more litter onto the floor. Our floor plan doesn't allow for the cat's box to be anywhere but where it is so I have learned to deal with it by vacuuming a lot. And ruing the day. Then a little extra vacuuming. And I round everything out with some more vacuuming. And finally, I vacuum to finalize the vacuuming.

Oh and to make matters worse, Beatrice ate cat food today. And liked it. As if worrying about my floors weren't enough now I have to divert my baby's attention away from the cat's uber expensive special dietary food. Honestly, the first thing I thought when I discovered that she ate it was how we can't afford to buy more $40 a bag cat food if Beatrice continues to eat it. Not, "oh how gross, cat food is not good for babies." I'm pretty sure that's not a normal reaction but now you realize the full extent this whole cat litter thing has played on me. I'm not well.

JD's made it pretty clear that the cat is here to stay and suggested that maybe I need to vacuum twice a day. You know, to give him more opportunities to kick some litter on the floor. I will continue to wage war on a losing battle but I don't care. I cannot live like this. The cat is so freaked out with all of the vacuuming that I do feel small victories every time he darts under a curtain to take cover. But then he goes to the litter box to kick litter so I guess the joke's on me.

Safety First

Our cat, Heathcliff Ferdinand, AKA Diddle, has had to sacrifice a lot since we had Beatrice. Because of this, he has to sleep in the bathroom at night. We no longer play hide and seek every day and he's lucky to get a wadded up receipt "paper ball" to play with let alone any real cat toys tossed his way. We pet him at best twice a day and Beatrice chases him relentlessly. His life basically sucks.

When he was little, we commissioned a handyman friend to build the Tower of Power:

It's a 6 foot wooden monstrosity with multiple levels for ultimate climbing fun. He loves it. Well, he used to love it. We had to give it to my brother and sister in law because of this:

That's my child playing near the Tower of Baby Danger Power. Don't worry, being the subpar cat parents that we are, we replaced it with this:

We like to call this the Mountain of Mediocrity. It's lightweight, low to the ground and he hates it. He has had nothing to do with it since the Tower of Power has been evicted. I feel bad for him, but that mammoth of a cat perch was too much of a hazard for our human baby. I'm sure he understands.

The Cat

Soon after we got married, I started begging JD for a cat. The cat I had for 9 years had recently disappeared (I got word she is in the Great White North hunting caribou) so I was feeling the need for a new furbaby.

After a few months, I finally convinced him and we picked out a black kitten. The caregiver at the shelter told us that black cats get adopted last because so many people are superstitious and afraid of them. He was the oldest kitten there and had been there the longest. We had to help this kitty.

Heathcliff Ferdinand came home in a cardboard box at the end of June. He was scraggly and awkward with a face only a mother could love. We bathed him and showed him his new digs. He was perfect.....for about 2 hours. Then he had explosive diarrhea on JD's laptop. The honeymoon was over.

JD wanted to get rid of him right away, this was not what we had in mind when we wanted to add to our family. I begged and pleaded for the chance to get him checked out at the vet. Surely it was something in his system that could be cured instead of a behavioral issue.

The vet ran every test, treated him for every possible worm/intestinal bacteria and nothing worked. Heathcliff never pooped on the computer again, but his litter box was a nightmare. We had to get up with him every time he needed to go and quickly lift him out so his paws wouldn't get "soiled." The diarrhea never got better (think milkshake consistency, only with poo).

JD and I lived in constant fear that we would come home to a house that was covered in poo. It was taking an emotional toll on us. We debated on keeping him but realized it would be nearly impossible to find someone who wanted a gastrointestinally challenged black cat.

The vet finally diagnosed him with chronic feline juvenile diarrhea (are you dying yet?). Seriously. He was perfectly healthy, very playful and incredibly affectionate. But, he had the runs. The vet said he would eventually grow out of it. For 9 months, we escorted our cat to the litter box at all hours of the day and night. We had to feed him $40 a bag special gastrointestinal sensitive food and see the vet pretty frequently. It was a very trying time in our young marriage (and on our wallet).

And then one day, he pooped a hard poop. It was as if the heavens opened up and angels were singing (I sure was). I took a picture and text messaged it to the vet (a picture of the cat, not the poo) saying "I make hard poop!" We were so proud of our boy. He was finally better and now we could begin our lives as a happy, normal family. And we were. I mean, we weren't the type of pet owners that dressed our cat up in holiday outfits or anything......

Okay maybe we were. But he was our baby. He completed our little family..... And then I got pregnant.

I cried a lot when I first found out I was expecting. It was partly hormones and mostly fear of not being ready. When I stopped crying and started being happy, everyone told me that as soon as that baby arrived I would forget about "the cat."

Blaspheme. I could never forget about my boy. I secretly wondered how I would ever love a baby as much as I loved my furbaby. The entire pregnancy, I held Heathcliff and rocked him in the nursery (JD caught me and told me to cut it out and to stop being weird). He was going to have a baby sister and I just knew he would be mommy's good helper.

Well, I had Beatrice and at first Heathcliff was very curious of this noisy new housemate. His curiosity soon grew to contempt and it wasn't long before he grew depressed. He lost weight, his fur was falling out, and he acted pitiful. As a new mom exhausted and a little depressed myself, taking care of another thing was the last thing on my mind. JD spent as much time as he could with him, but once he went back to work the cat was neglected yet again.

His depression turned into weird behavior. He tried to lay on Beatrice while I nursed, he would howl when I held her, and he would try to climb walls. Weird yes, unbearable no. Until he pooped on my bed. That is the day my boy became "the cat."

Please click to enlarge and see the cat's expression

I went a little ballistic because A) it's my bed and B) I had so many other things to deal with. We had been down the poo road with this cat before when he couldn't help it and I was not about to do it again because he was mad about the baby.

More crying ensued and numerous calls were placed to adoption shelters, but no one wanted an adult male black cat with litter box issues. We were stuck with him. A very helpful rescue shelter called me and gave me great tips on altering his behavior. I tried them with a bitter attitude (because I now hated the cat), never thinking they would work. But alas, he began gaining weight and his fur became shiny again. The bad behavior stopped. The cat was rehabilitated.

I now have a love/hate relationship with the cat. I don't really hate him, but I don't trust him. He still tries to lay on Beatrice every now and then, but she is so wiggly he doesn't try for long. He mostly wants to be apart of whatever we are doing. He lays on the blanket with us for bedtime stories, he brings his ball on the play mat, and he sits on the arm of the chair while I nurse. His new hangout is behind the curtains in the nursery. It is kind of cute.

Beatrice loves him and I guess as long as he is gentle with her, we can't ask for anything more. However I have a feeling this will be our last cat. He is officially Worst Case Scenario Cat and we are in no hurry to prove him wrong.