A lame story

Here’s the picture I wanted to post on Tuesday, of Oliver in the check box. My phone decided that, of the three pictures I emailed to my computer, only the one of Obi was important so the two of Oli didn’t arrive until four hours after I wrote the blog.

"It's a chaise box. Tres chic."

So now, in the ongoing story of Oliver, his fever and his limps:

About two weeks ago, Oliver started limping again. The thing is, though, that this limp doesn’t look like his fever limp. And Oli has put up with almost daily temperature readings since he started limping to assure me that he DOES NOT have a fever. Plus, he’s still on drugs.

Another thing: he doesn’t care that he’s limping. He eats. He plays. He instigates thunders. Whatever pain is causing him to limp isn’t keeping him down at all.

So that’s why I – she who accused by practically everyone of spoiling her cats – did not call the vet for two weeks. But on Monday, Oliver and I were having a serious snuggle fest. He was laying on his back between me and the couch, feet in the air. I was playing with his toes and noticed that one of his toe-pads had been damaged at some point and is healed kind of weird.

“Well,” I thought, “maybe that’s painful to him.” With a possible solution in mind, I called and made an appointment. For the last two days, The Boy and I have debated which leg he is limping on. I said driver’s side, which is the side with the weird toe. The Boy said passenger side. Silly Boy, that is NOT the side with the weird toe.

But…he is limping on the passenger side. Today he was even holding his right foot up. Grr.

We just returned from the doctor. After talking to me and telling Oliver how very handsome he is because yes he is so handsome such and handsome little man and oh so fluffy, Dr. Glick took him to the back room to see if he would walk for her. I waited in the exam room. I knew he was back there either not walking or not limping. Perhaps, as a friend on the Book of Face suggested, he was doing a little limp-free dance to show that I am delusional.

He tried not to limp in front of the doctor. He failed.

When she came back, she talked about his degree of lameness. He took that personally.

Since Oliver has decided that the best course of action at the doctor’s office is to be a jerk to everyone right off the bat and to growl, hiss and resist everything they do, an X-ray would have required sedation. Plus, almost anything we’d find in the X-ray would be treated with a shot of painkiller. So we skipped that whole rigamarole and just got him the shot.

And now we’re back. Obi is giving Oli a bath on the couch and they are both giving me the silent treatment. If I hear the pitter patter of four little feet tonight instead of the thump thu-thump of the limper, though, it will all be worth it.

Update! Four hours later I have no limping cats. Yay!

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Oh go0d, Obi has forgiven me just in time to blog. He’s trying to kill the mouse, which he does regularly and with great precision. Then I have to spend five minutes resuscitating it. Now I’ve got the mouse in my lap and Obi is pushing buttons. The volume on the compute is all the way up. All drives have ejected. Number lock is on, off, on, off, on…

"Are we done yet? I've had a long day."

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It’s Thunder Thursday! Have you seen the fuzzy adorableness that is my Pinterest board lately?

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By the way, if you are interested in following “the business,” you can! My site includes a blog which will be updated regularly with my thoughts on all things social.

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Eau de Doctor

On Wednesday morning, Oliver and I were off to the doctor. We were lucky to get Dr. Tiffany, who not only witnessed the dreaded Fever of Unknown Origin but is also my friend. Oliver? He was less than friendly.

When my sweet grey kitten doesn’t feel well, he is not exactly polite about having things shoved…places. He’s not a fan of having her squeeze along his leg to see where it hurts, then squeezing it again to confirm where it hurts, then squeezing it again to show me that it hurts. To add insult to injury, she put him on the counter next to a DOG (chihuahuas count as dogs, right? Hee!) while she was taking his temperature in the back room so a little hamster canine saw the indignity.

Luckily, Dr. Tiffany does not take the things she is called by animals personally. After all, they are there because they don’t feel well.

Because we could find a painful spot on his leg – which was not the case last year during the FUO – we were hopeful it was not illness but was an injury. He didn’t have a fever, he ate yesterday, and on Tuesday night he was instigating a Thunder. So we got him a shot of drugs for the pain and I took him home and delivered him to the office condo with some ear kisses. Obi did his part by laying on top of Oliver for nose to tail purr therapy.

The great thing is that Tiffany has a fantastic smelling perfume. I know this because Oliver smells like it now. And, because of the therapy session, Obi smells like it too. I’m glad she doesn’t wear Emeraude. Yuck.

"Sleeping kitten, do not disturb."

This morning, the story changed. When I woke up Oliver was still laying at my feet; he hadn’t moved AT ALL all night. Not even to come lay in my arms under the covers. I nudged him with my foot and he got up. No begging for breakfast. I carried him downstairs where he had two bites of food, used the litterbox and walked right back upstairs to climb into bed.

I started counting the minutes until the veterinary office opened.

My baby does not skip breakfast.

Luckily, we had anticipated – dreaded – that this might happen. Yesterday we both fought against the urge to load him up with antibiotics even though there were no symptoms to indicate it. Because of yesterday’s exam, I did not have to take Oliver back across town to get antibiotics. I called. They filled. I picked up.

Can I just take a moment to put out a challenge? Someone invent tuna flavored antibiotics, okay? This iteration of antibiotic is at least room temperature. It hurts my head that, for 20 years, we’ve been shoving cold banana flavored liquid down the throats of our cats. Because cats? They don’t eat bananas.

Anywho, Oliver seems better this evening. He’s still crabby and Obi is getting scorn from all three of us when he tries to Thunder with his brother. But Oli is on the mend. For now.

Fingers crossed for a wimpy FUO.

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It’s Thunder Thursday! Since I couldn’t post a picture last week, we’ll do two pictures this week. First, is Cousin Eliot enjoying his new cat tree. Must be yummy.

"Needs salt."

The second is Cousin Puck, enjoying the gift that keeps on giving: boxes. This particular box was perfect with enough room for a giant puddle of cat, a large exit and a window. It WAS perfect. Unfortunately, shortly after this picture was taken, the box became a piece of flat cardboard when someone tried to pick up the box with a 20 pound cat in it.

"Finally, a room with a view."

We provide our own siren.

Just like parents, it is hard for a cat’s people to hear him/her in pain or discomfort. Poco had asthma for over 20 years, but every attack made me stop and listen. I hoped it would be short. I hoped it would pass without too much pain. I hoped it would be only one attack.

Oliver has inverted sneeze, which sounds even worse than asthma when an attack comes. And since he can go months between them you can tell that Oliver is unsure what is happening. They are horrible. But they pass quickly.

Usually, they pass quickly.

"This is the face of discomfort."

On Sunday, Oliver had an inverted sneeze. It didn’t last long. A while later he was in the condo and I went to take his picture. I noticed he was a little wheezy. Then, later that night, he started to cough.

The coughing came in spurts – one cough every 40 seconds or so for several minutes. Then he’s put his head back down and nap. By bedtime he was still coughing but between he was having trouble swallowing. Neither of us slept well.

I did the math and realized it’s been several months since we’ve been to the vet.

So we were due.

Oliver wanted to eat on Monday morning. This is a good sign. When he doesn’t want to eat we throw him in the carrier and call the vet on the way there. The grey kitten loves his food. Unfortunately, his throat hurt so bad that when I went back to the kitchen to check on him he was just licking the gravy off the food.

I dialed the phone. The vet had an appointment at 2:30 p.m., which I took and I thought in relief about how much cheaper that was going to be that squeezing him in on a “same day” visit.

I hung up.

I saw Oli gag.

I called back and told them we were on our way in. Oliver wasn’t so sick that he couldn’t scream his fool head off the entire way there.

They have another new doctor – he’s tall and seems to “get” cats. Oliver would have liked him had the new doctor not been trying to pry open his mouth to examine his throat. Next time, maybe.

And the verdict? Allergies.

Good grief, kid.

He’s on his way back to fine. Prednisone, our drug of choice, for the allergies. An antibiotic just in case because he had a mild fever.

"Beware the dragon, for you are tasty and about to disturb the kitten's nap."

Why this picture? Because no blog is complete without Obi, right?