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This is Kitlynn, a 9 year old black short-haired cat and HIS friend, a giant stuffed bear.

Apparently, Kitlynn has not been particularly fond of the giant bear, since he came to live with Mary and Ryan awhile back. Kitlynn fought the good fight. He hissed, growled and challenged the stuffed intruder time and time again. He would not go near, sniff or touch said beast, until some time late last night when things suddenly changed forever!

The real reason for the change of heart will always be a mystery, but whatever it was, Kitlynn gave up his angry ways and decided it was better to have a snuggle and a nap instead of growl and snap. Ryan found Kitlynn relaxed and happy as can be, all comfy and warm on his new best pal.

We can all learn a lesson from little Kitlynn. Maybe we should look at our enemies as someone to snuggle up with and be friends? Maybe, at first, the idea will seem absurd, but over time we might end up being surprised at the results...or maybe we'll just get arrested for trying to snuggle with the Boss?

I get a newsletter about cat wellness issues. I had some down time at work yesterday, so I had a chance to read it (instead of reading it in the bathroom, if you catch my drift, well don't do that..you know what I mean).

I read "Letters to the Vet" section and it PISSED me off. First, was a letter from a couple with a cat who has diabetes AND skin allergies. They gave the cat PRED...why give it a steroid if it has Diabetes???? There is evidence that steroid use can cause a cat to get diabetes in the first place!

Secondly, the VET says "well, it just may be a problem (skin allergies) you'll have to deal with for a long time and it's doubtful the cat is allergic to the insulin and basically leave the cat on steroids."

Wait a minute...once again...what about asking WHAT IS THE CAT BEING FED??????

WHY DON'T VETS START WTIH ASKING THE OWNERS WHAT DIET THE CAT IS CURRENTLY ON? I have lived it, been there, fed it. This sick cat could possibly be helped by a DIET change that would not only help it's skin allergy problems, but with the diabetes management, as well.

WHY DON'T VETS INCLUDE NUTRITION as part of their animal wellness routine??? This newsletter is put together by VETS!!!!!!! Who is getting paid off to NOT talk about this issue???!

SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE!!!!!!!

GRAIN FREE, GRAIN FREE, GRAIN FREE!

I will never tire of saying this. CATS ARE CARNIVORES. WHY ARE THEY BEING FED GRAIN THEY CAN"T DIGEST PROPERLY? I switched my cats over to grain-free and their health has improved dramatically. I even got Bob off insulin and is in remission for Diabetes!

GRAIN FREE!!!!!!!!!

You've got cats. You wouldn't be reading this if you didn't, right?

And, most likely, you LOVE your cats, don't you?

You may even put up with certain, err, annoying, irritating, painful, itchy, smelly and/or costly "inconveniences" associated with the loving of said cats. Again, am I right about this?

I'm pretty sure we're on the same page here.

So let's travel back in time 24 hours-ish or so. I'm in my queen sized bed with my king sized load of cats and humans. We're all either sleeping, licking ourselves clean or switching our tail back and forth as we wait for the perfect moment to attack one of the other sleeping/grooming forms and scare them off the bed because we have a territorial aggression problem. I will leave it up to you to decide which one of us is doing what.

I will give you a hint that at least I am SLEEPING.

Other than the hum of the oscillating space heater and Sam's snoring (ah ha! I gave you another hint: Sam is also asleep, so who is licking themselves?) there is peace throughout the house.

I'm not sure if this is when I'm dreaming about the man in the tuxedo holding out a wedding gown, that has been removed from a happy Bride. He offers it as a blessing, a giant Buddhist Kata to another woman in the room, who gleefully bows under the shelter of the glowing white fabric. Then, the tuxedoed man walks over to me and holds out the Wedding Dress and I step back in fear. I do not want this dress. No, I do not. Please don't tell Sam about my dream. He proposed to me one year and seven months ago. I'm not sure he would be happy to hear this one.

...or it may have been the dream I had about the fire truck passing by the house. The ladder on the top of the truck hit the branches on a tree in my yard. Sparks flew and set the tree on fire. They kept on driving away, not seeing they had started a fire. I feared that my house would be fully engulfed in flames at any moment (and in real life, you should know that my neighbor's house burned so badly on Christmas Day that they have to tear the house down and build a new one!). Then, the firemen came back and had to LIFT my house UP to get under it to put the fire out! Everything in the house slid sideways. I could hear the pumping of the water through the hoses.

"Gulp, gulp, gulp."

Or was it???

I woke up too late. My house was not on fire. I wasn't sliding across the room because the house wasn't tipped on its' side. There were no hot firemen in my bedroom, ready to save me from harm. No.

It was Gracie.

She had just puked.

On my PILLOW.

NEXT TO MY FACE.

That "Gulping" sound was her stomach pumping up bodily fluids—which she decided needed to land by MY FACE. Did I mention it was NEAR MY FACE?

I knocked her off the bed, as I sat up in disgust, while she proceeded to do a traveling puke of inch long, matted hair ball bits, every few feet from the bedroom, down the hallway and onto the landing of the first floor.

So I woke Sam up and told him I had to turn on the light. He mumbled something about; "What now?!" and went back to sleep.

I looked down at my beloved pillow. The only pillow I can get a good night's sleep upon. The pillow that Sam accidently slept on and got all sweaty with man-smell, which I then had to air out for a week and boil in the washing machine before I could be reunited with it again. I honestly can't sleep on anything else. I've tried about 10 pillows, even one of those $150 Temperpadic things that made my neck muscles lock up and I woke up screaming my brains out from pain because I couldn't move my neck at ALL.

THAT Pillow.

That PILLOW with the long wet, creamy splash of Eau (err, EWWW) de Cat Blow on it. I dragged myself out of bed and got some paper towels and cleanser to take care of the multitude of messes. I blotted up the goop on my beloved pillow, but there was a stain. I faced the sad fact that I would have to really clean this pillow in the morning (it was already 3:15 AM, so technically it WAS morning, but I mean the REAL morning when it's after 8AM and normal people are awake) and, for now, my only option was to try to sleep on the back up pillow; the second string pillow that was okay to date once in awhile, but not one to make a lifetime commitment to.

I tried to sleep, but my neck was sore from the pillow being too mooshy and not supporting my fat head or weak neck, one of the two, or both. I finally got to sleep a few hours later, just before the alarm went off and I had to get up to go to work.

In the haze of the new dawn, I reluctantly and stiffly got out of bed, showered, slapped on makeup, dressed and went off to work. Sam, as usual, got up, showered and made the bed, not remembering what had happened a few hours before. He MADE THE BED. He MADE THE BED with my CAT-PUKED-ON-PILLOW, still damp and gooey. He just didn't notice, I guess and left it in its' proper place—stacked neatly and erectly right there in front of the two other pillows on my side of the bed.

When I got home that night, the gooey stain had dried into a slightly darkened swath. I was so tired, it didn't even dawn on me that anything was wrong; until I my head hit the pillow and it all came back to me in a flash—the dreams, the sounds, the PUKING.

So I just flipped the pillow over, puke side down and went to sleep.

...the bubbling hormones recede long enough to take a breath, look around and appraise your own life with a fairly clear eye.

Once in awhile, you get to work from home with your laid-off-but-making-a-new-go-of-it-fiancè. You get your work done before 6pm and you have time to make a simple dinner together.

Once in awhile, you realize things are basically okay. Nothing big is happening, but nothing bad, too. Take another breath. You get to do that, too. You get this day; this simple, no big deal, day that feels like the best day of your life, so far.

...and once in awhile, you realize, you sure have a lot of cats and that sure is a wonderful feeling.

I have no idea!

I could also answer; "You don't-you wait a few days, THEN try it!"

But no. I'm so goal-oriented I just HAD to get it done or else I'd fail myself or Gracie or, who knows what? It's stupid. I'm still crabby from PMS, plus I had a bad day at work, plus my computer is now giving me headaches with strange PostScript errors on some of my photos (which were ruined). Nice. Maybe I have a good reason to be in a bad mood? That's why I HATE PMS because you're NEVER sure...

"Am I NUTS or is it fueled by hormones or BOTH?"

Oh yeah, Gracie had a bath. Sam and I took turns washing her and she didn't even try to kill us-even a little bite through the hand. Nothing! She just shivered and looked sad. I will add, that I did set up the area before we tried to bathe her and I talked to Sam about how we should proceed, step by step. He agreed (how could he say; "No!" with the threat of PMS about to take hold of his man-bits? Literally and figuratively?).

I also worked VERY hard to keep myself calm and to be calm and relaxed with Gracie, even though I felt like screaming my brains out and punching everyone in sight.

After adding the shampoo to Gracie's coat, I had to let it sit on her skin, while she continued to shiver, for 7 LONG minutes. We got her rinsed and into two thick blankets. I brought her up to the bedroom where the space heater was on full blast. I gave her some tuna water as a treat and I brushed her, which, well Gracie is a brush-whore, so she loved that, too. Within a few minutes she was relaxed and content. We left her alone and returned to the kitchen to clean up the mess.

I was very glad things went well. No shots fired. No yelling. Nothing. I kept whatever insane thoughts I had to myself. I just wanted to be alone now. I successfully performed my task. I need to go to my cave and sit quietly until this month's psychosis passes. Of course it didn't work out that way because Sam felt he needed to praise me for not being a psycho. I felt like I was a little girl. I was waiting for a cookie, but I didn't get one. If only he could have read my mind right then and there, he might have just slowly left the room, maybe even backed out of it. I grit my teeth and nodded.

"Yes, it went well, Sam. Everything is fine and there is peace throughout the land."

"Now get away from me before I smash you in the face!"

Hey, I never said I was perfect!

I couldn't put it off any longer. I had to get Gracie back to see Dr. Larry for a re-check. I also had to face him for the first time since he read "that BLOG entry" I wrote about him two weeks ago...yeah, the one where I said; "I love you, Dr. Larry!"

I can't even blame hormones because THOSE things are bubbling up right NOW, which is why this post may either not make sense, or just end without warning. I'm so friggen' cranky right now, it's amazing that the worst thing I did was whine briefly when Sam called me, then had the nerve to ask if he knew if when I placed a phone order at the local burger place, if he picked up the order based on giving them his name or our phone number and I loudly whined; "I DON'T KNOW!!!!!!" Lucky for him, he just shut up and quietly hung up the phone. I placed the stupid order for the stupid food and I warned the girl who took my order that a guy would be coming to pick up an order and he would look confused and that would be Sam and to give him our order. Oops..now Sam is going to read this. Tough! I have PMS! Back off!

But I digress...

Poor little Gracie. Her lovely coat still looks shabby, though her shaved parts are beginning to show a re-growth of fur. Her head, neck and shoulders are the worst areas. If you were to run your hand along her head, you'd feel a bumpy crust that clusters in lumps (say that five times fast... bumpy crust that clusters in lumps...hmmm). It's been three weeks since I removed the bedroom rug to see if that would have any impact on her health. It seems to have made a difference.

But first, I have to bitch again. I had to wait for about 45 minutes to see Dr. Larry. When I got to his office, his car wasn't there; a sure sign of trouble if I ever saw one. Indeed there was trouble. A woman had just gotten home from the hospital. She was bed ridden and was still hooked up to various IV's and such. Her poor dog needed to be put down. I don't know the details, but I do know it must have been serious to get Dr. Larry to leave the office and drive a long way there and back to help his dog make his journey to the Rainbow Bridge (or to wherever you think doggies go). The lady wanted to be with her dog, as sick as she was, so Dr. Larry had to bring the 100lb dog to her bedside and euthanize him there. Then he had to get the dog's body out of her house. Yikes!

I couldn't be mad at Dr. Larry, but I was tired after a long week. Even though I'd rather be in Larry's waiting room, than at work, I really wanted to just go home and take a nap. Instead, I leaned my head against the wall and took a quick nap. I thought about the poor dog and thought about how it has to be so tough to have to kill animals day in and day out. I know we call it "put to sleep," but heck, they aren't going to wake up from this sleep, now are they? I suppose one has to think about ending the suffering of another being over how it makes them feel, but still..shit..he kills animals!

Finally Dr. Larry arrives. He's had a tough day and seems to have completely forgotten about the BLOG incident, so I forget about it, too. We focus on Gracie and have a really good talk about what to do next. I feel a moment of pride here, I must admit. I've been very SLOW to treat Gracie beyond tests and just the basics for treatment. Instead of doing everything possible, I'm THINKING FIRST. My goal is to see if Gracie's immune system, with very limited help from LOW doses of steroids (only 2, each over a month apart), will improve over time. Dr. Larry said he thought she looked 40 percent better than the last time he saw her! SO IT MUSt BE THE RUG. It's the ONLY THING that's been changed.

Dr. Larry even agreed that we should NOT do the hyposensitization therapy at all, but give it more time. He didn't want to give her more steroids, so I asked him what else we could do besides a Depo shot. He said there was a less risky steroid we could use that would just help a bit and also not put Gracie at risk for diabetes. So we gave her that shot, then just so I wouldn't think life was going to be easy, Dr. Larry said he wants to see Gracie again, in two weeks and...during that time...

GRACIE NEEDS TO BE BATHED THREE TIMES!

And you don't just bathe and towel off...NOOOOOOO...that would be easy! I have to bathe her, LEAVE the medicated shampoo on her for 7-10 MINUTES...then she can be rinsed and dried off! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

This is where I said; "Trim her claws, NOW!"

Followed by: "Shit!"

So bathe her I shall...and I have PMS...and I'm really pissy...THIS WILL BE F-U-N!

Spencer has his eye on about 30 goldfinches who are busy scarfing up seeds. Good thing there's a thick glass door between my little pouff and his, err, "friends."

I bought an electric blanket for the feral cats even though once I shelled out $60 for it and it arrived, I found out you're not supposed to use it with PETS. Who cares if they stick their claw through the electrified wires?

Ok..I care, but the damn ferals won't even go INTO the stupid, but cute little feral cat house that we built for them. No matter what I do, I can't get the cats to go in there. They'd rather live outdoors and freeze their kitty-tushes off!

So I got into the habit of making sure the controller on the electric blanket says the blanket is heating. It turns itself OFF every 10 hours, regardless of whether or not you WANT it to go off every 10 hours!!!! What if you're really SICK and need the blankee 24/7? Yeah, it's preventing a law suit so they don't get nailed when the house catches fire because someone left their blanket on for days on end. This is all nuts to me. Just let me burn down my house if I want to. At least my feral cat house, which no cats live in, will be warm.

Tonight I was downstairs and I looked out into the room where the empty feral cat house was. I thought I'd go out and turn the pain in the ass electric blanket controller back ON. Why not..just in case the cats change their minds, right?

Fortunately, I had the wisdom to turn ON a LIGHT before I walked out into the feral room. Sitting on TOP of the feral cat house, was a Possum. All I could see was his little behind, so I walked over to another part of the basement where there's another window to get a better look. It's just a baby possum. It can't be more than 6 months old. He's all alone and looks so sad, but at least he's sitting on an old fluffy mattress pad. Must be nice on the toes, compared to the snow and ice that fell today.

He was just too cute to scare away, so I left him there. I know. I know. I shouldn't do that, but I just didn't have the heart tonight and besides, who says the cats have to get all the comforts of human home life?

Why does my gut tell me I'm going to pay for saying that?

Sunday's are for relaxing in the sunshine with a cup of tea, a good book and Bob at your side.