Something Fishy

Those of you who have been with us a while, know that Oliver has allergies. This fall we discovered his liver is failing (hopefully very slowly) so we’re trying not to give him Prednisone anymore.

Benadryl, the alternative, is just icky. The betrayal, the hurt, wasn’t a long term option.

Dr. Tiffany from Cottonwood had one last suggestion: fish oil. It’s an anti inflammatory. And worth a shot.

The day it arrived, I pumped out a bit for both cats. And… It was delicious! They loved it! Hoorah!

But, because this made me happy, it couldn’t last. Oliver was not in love with breakfast fish oil.

Neither of them really wanted it that night until I tossed some treats in it.

The next morning, Oliver ate around the fish oil and left all the food that was touching it. He went and talked Obi into saving his HIS breakfast, from under the office door.

That night no one would eat the fish oil, even with treats.

Seriously.

So now what? Well, in the morning, Oliver will eventually lick the plate clean. Once all other food options are exhausted. So no worries there. Plus, we’ve decided to stop separating the cats for breakfast – Obi is more worried about missing something while he’s locked away than eating.

In the evening, we have baby food! I received several tips for medicating a cat on this blog and decided to combine two – I got some chicken baby food to surround the benadryl and froze it into pellets.

I mixed the rest with fish oil and used that to get the medicine down.

Did the pills work, you ask? I don’t know. Because the fish oil IS working. Like a miracle. All the sores on his sweet grey face after healed up.

No betrayal. No hurt.

Just a Boy shaking his head and muttering something about spoiled cats as I sit on the floor and spoon feed my cats.

Seriously.

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Somebody’s Coming

A letter from Oliver:

Hello, peoples of the bloggy world. I am writing this, or having My Girl transcribe it, because it is very important that we stay on the couch.

Earlier today, The Boy was doing things in his office. Since My Girl was sleeping in the couch, Obi and I were free to help him.

This condo for kittehs used to have books all over it and it wasn’t very useful. We like it better this way.

Obi also checked out some drawers and a cabinet The Boy was emptying. The Boy telling my brother he wasn’t actually being super helpful (which is a ridiculous assertion) woke up My Girl.

And that’s when the troubling part of the day started.

My Girl, after I showed her the newly emptied kitteh condo, went into her office and started moving things around. Garbage bags were filled. Recycling bins were taken out, filled, and taken out again.

It was a flurry of activity that means one thing: somebody is coming.

But who!?! The Boy’s office doesn’t need to be cleaned for company. Certainly not the kitteh condo.

Obi looked at me, nervous. I looked back at him.

And I panicked.

I went to My Girl and demanded answers. I got none. I went to The Boy and demanded answers. He told me to get out from underfoot.

I was so upset by what was going on, I somehow ended up in the basement and couldn’t find my people. I had to yell for help.

My Girl called and called and eventually I found her waiting for me at the top of the stairs. She suggested that we go sit for a minute on the couch and calm down.

So here we are, on the couch. If I try, maybe I can keep her here for forever.

Getting Your Kicks…

When the baby is kicking but it’s time for a snuggle and a nap…

Cart Blank

Every pregnant woman who has ever existed wants this cart from IKEA.

Or, last year when I was reading mommy blogs, that’s how it seemed. But many women said it was too expensive. And indeed it was when The Boy and I were in IKEA and could come up with no reason to buy it.

But! Since then we’ve realized we do need a place to store the diaper changing stuff reasonably near where diapers will be changed. Thanks to The Boy’s sister for sending a wipe dispenser and causing us to use our brains. The cart is the exact right height and color. And it costs half as much as it used to.

Short story long, The Boy had an assembly project because that’s how IKEA rolls. And we like it like that.

Kitten Thunder was on hand to help.

Oliver inspected the box.

He fitted. He sitted.

Obi swiftly counted the bolts and washers and various pieces. Then he realized I was trying to turn a great time with his Boy into a stupid blog post.

Nope. Not having it.

He supervised from a distance until I have up and left.

Who Wore It Best?

Cheyenne usually has snow or ice, rarely snow AND ice. Until this year. My system of wearing shoes when it is slick and my traction-free boots when there is snow isn’t working so I was on a mission to find boots with traction.

Kudos to the folks at Trade Home who found me two pairs I like for a great price. Plus they were really fun.

I found the skirt that had been lost since Thanksgiving this weekend – it was hanging in the closet. I’m excited to have awesome boots to wear with it tomorrow.

But my purchase leads to a burning question. Who wears this box best?

Oh wait, it turns out this box is one size fits all!

Quota

Oliver hasn’t had a tremor in almost two weeks. We’re hoping to say good bye to them permanently, much like the mystery fevers from a few years back. But while we were trying to figure out the cause of the tremors we discovered an issue with his liver levels.

So today, after several weeks without steroids for his allergies, we went in to give more of his blood to check levels.

And to get his annual vaccinations.

And an allergy shot, if levels allowed.

Levels did not allow. The bad news is that Oliver has to give more blood in a couple months. The good news, for him, is that he’s switching to benadryl for his allergies. That means The Boy can’t call him spoiled when he demands treats each night while I’m taking my pills. Because he’ll need a pill too.

So there.

Shortly after bringing Oliver home I got a phone call about a cat lover’s basket I won at a silent auction on Friday. I ran right over, thinking it would be full of cat toys. Bribes.

I was wrong. It was a basket for me. Cat books, cat pajamas, etc.

Luckily, Kitten Thunder can find a silver lining for any cloud.

And I am forgiven.

Kitten-Slaughter

The mess was everywhere. As I entered the living room, I could see the first indications that someone had suffered an ignoble end. Two steps in, it was clear.

Yarn Ball was dead.

His innards were strewn across the room. His tail was caught in the Velcro of my laptop charger. Poor Yarn Ball.

As we know from The Princess Bride, though, there is a difference between dead dead and just mostly dead. Would true love bring him back?

I went about fixing him. I rerolled him faster, stronger.

Obi seemed happy. Then, about an hour later, The Boy walked into the room. “Oh noes,” he said. “The yarn ball isn’t a ball anymore.”

It was true.

I looked at Obi. Suspicious. Suddenly, what is assumed was kitten-slaughter seemed more like murder.

The Boy started trying to fix Yarn Ball. After realizing he’d never rolled a ball of yarn in his life and that it’s not as easy as he thought, he handed Yarn Blob to me.

With a kiss to the ears, I set the brown suspect free and tossed Yarn Ball to the floor.

We’ll see how this story unravels in coming days.

Starving

Poor Oliver.

He’s so hungry.

There’s nothing for him to eat.

See that? Those are snackums.

He can’t eat those.

They’re from the OLD bag of snackums. There a NEW bag of snackums two feet away. I should open that.

Because Oliver is starving.

Battle: Rye vs Fry

Today I went to my chiropractor, the fabric store, the grocery store, and drove through at Arby’s to pick up lunch. This probably doesn’t seem like much, but I’m recovering from some mild food poisoning and feeling a bit wiped out.

But the kittens were almost out of food.

Note the relief on their faces. And the planning. What can will they open first?

***
Side note: dear lady giving me the side eye in the grocery store for picking around the dented cans, have you ever opened a can of cat food completely filled with mold because you didn’t notice the dent had actually caused a hole? No? Then don’t judge me.

Bonus: that can was in a box, so the mold had also spread around other cans, through the cardboard and onto my floor. My life for the win!
***

Anyway, I got home and put away the refrigerated items. The rest is still on the floor in the kitchen. Oliver is administering Purr Therapy and trying to convince me he’s a good boy.

I don’t know about that. For one thing, I must have let Kitten Thunder’s manners out the back door when I came in with the Arby’s bag. Obi licked my sandwich wrapper, in my lap, while I was eating.

Both of them bit my finger because I wasn’t putting down that roast beef fast enough (yes, Oli is allergic, but a tiny bit of roast beef is just one more zit on his already acne-ridden chin).

Then this happened.

That’s right. My tall grey kitten stood up and jammed his head into the bag and stole a curly fry.

Then this happened.

I was done with them, but kittens with bad manners don’t get rewarded for such behavior.

So this happened.

It’s a squirrel food battle between rye bread and curly fries. I’d pretend like I don’t know which will win, but I put out six slices of wheat bread at the same time as that slice of rye last night. They were gone for me to put out the fries today.

From where I am on the couch I can see a squirrel hauling a chunk of fry up the tree.

No fair, says Oliver.

Belly Work

The Boy worked hard this weekend, putting in two more windows for added efficiency upstairs. These ones are lovely and open at the top – a great feature when you’re trying to get hot air out of your attic addition in the summer.

Obi was excited to do some man’s work. But The Boy is starting to think Obi’s definition of man’s work is different than ours.

If The Boy is in the basement, Obi suggests they go up to the belly rubbing rug. If The Boy is upstairs cleaning paint brushes, Obi points out that he happens to be standing on the upstairs belly rubbing rug. And he should use it.

Basically, Obi wants The Boy to stop doing whatever he is doing and rub the brown kitten’s belly.

Things are different with me, of course. I should stay on the couch at all times. That’s Girl’s work.