This is part of a conversation I just had with a person who's frustrated by her friend's cat peeing all over the house she shares with her.

ME: Tell me about the cat. How old is it, where does it live, are there other animals in the house? Any recent changes?

HER: The cat is 1 1/2 years old, neutered, lives in a condo. Lived there his entire life. Lives with another cat, about the same age. They get along fine. Owner got deployed to AFRICA for a year. Left a month ago.

ME: How long has the cat been peeing out of the box? Where? On the wall or on the floor?

HER: He's peed all over since he was a KITTEN. Now it is WORSE. Since his "mom" went to Africa. He pees on the sofa, bed, floor, counters and right in front of us on the table. He DOES use the litter pan, too. Oh yeah, and there's another new cat in the condo, but it stays in a separate room.

ME: Wow, that's a lot of peeing, but you're only NOW dealing with the problem? Did you take him to the Vet?

HER: Yes.

ME: When?

HER: Last YEAR, I think. He had blood in his urine.

ME: Last YEAR? Was there a diagnosis? Any treatment?

HER: I don't know. I don't think so. I think he was ok.

ME: Um...well blood in the urine isn't really OK, by any stretch. You need to get this cat to a Vet NOW.

HER: Okay, but I have to contact his owner and find out who the Vet is and see if that's what she wants to do.

ME: Sigh.

[Warning: this post will contain foul language]

I just read an article posted in the PSPCA about a 19 year old kid who decided it would be fun to duct tape up a helpless kitty and dump it in his neighbors yard. Thankfully, the neighbor took action and got it to the Pennsylvania Society for the Prevention (rather late for preventing in this case, eh?) of Cruelty to Animals where she was sedated so the tape could be removed.

Calling her, Sticky, the folks at PSPCA have not been able to find this kitty's owner, so she will be put up for adoption now that her health is no longer threatened and she has recovered well. Needless to say, here is yet another reason NOT to let your cat outdoors! There ARE crazy fuckers out there! Here is also another reason why I think that not only should this piece-of-shit scum bag get the 2 years in prison and $1000.00 fine he's eligible for, but he should also be stripped down and duct tapped and tossed into a stranger's yard, too! They should wait until it's raining and about 37 degrees and while they're at it, maybe they should also, accidently, of course, forget that they dropped him in someone's yard who has lots of BIG, ANGRY, HUNGRY, DOGS!

Anyone want to go on a road trip to Philly with me? Make sure to bring some tape with you.

I love Bob. I love him so much. Two days ago, when he fell over 16 feet off my deck and I had to wait while he was under observation at Dr. Larry's, it made me realize all to well, just how BAD it will be when it's Bob's time to pass on. Those two hours were long and lonely. Even with six other cats running around, the place feels empty without Bob. He's the ambassador! He must greet everyone who walks in the door. His purr is the craziest thing I've ever heard. It's loud, it's squeaky and it comes so easily to Bob. I always know when he's in trouble when he stops purring.

Although we had the good news that Bob's ultrasound was unremarkable and his ALT popped down, Bob's been down today. He's been sleeping under a table, which he never does. I cajoled him to come sit next to me on the floor, where I had a blanket and heating pad for him. He sat on it momentarily, but got up and went under a different table. He DID eat breakfast and lunch. He does purr. I know he must be sore, but I don't have anything I can give him for the pain.

I talked to Super Deb (who has gorgeous hair, by the way) and am waiting to hear back. It's so difficult to have Bob feeling down when I know in less than 24 hours I'm flying to Chicago. Sam will be here, but he'll be busy with work and not around. Deb suggested I just board him so they can watch him at my Vet's office. I don't want to stress Bob out, but I don't know that I can leave him alone most of the day tomorrow and Friday. I might opt to board Bob for two days and let Sam watch him on the weekend. If I was going away a week later, this would not be such a big deal.

Between severe fear of flying and worrying about Bob, it's sure easy to say I should just stay home and not go on my trip. BUT...it's to the Feline Forum! I would really love to meet Pam Johnson-Bennett. Her book, "How to Think Like a Cat" changed my life. It's because of her that I've been able to help a lot of people with their cat behavior problems. I don't know enough about correcting problematic cat behavior and I want to ask Pam how I can learn more without having to become a Vet to do so. Also, there are TONS of folks who live for and love cats that will be there. I'm even supposed to meet one of our CiCH members, too! How can I miss out on this because of my own stupid fear? Ugh. I wish I wasn't so scared of flying! I know I'm doing myself a huge disservice by not just living my life and enjoying every bit of it I have left.

This is why some wonderful researcher figured out Xanax Yesterday, my Nurse/Practioner gave me a short course to get me through the next few days. I've normally been the type to just cry, get the runs, throw up before flying, but now that I'm older, I would rather take the easy way out and self medicate. Heck, it's just for a few days. It seems to be helping, but I can also feel when it's wearing off-my gut begins to do summersaults again.

This is no big deal. It's a short flight from NY to Chicago. Famous last words.

Oh, Super Deb just called. I have to give Bob, Metacam. FU@K! If he goes into renal failure there is gonna be HELL TO PAY and I'm talkin' to YOU SUPER DEB and DR. LARRY! I'm talkin' to YOU!

I'll be updating my Blog from Chicago, so stay tuned!

Huggy Mama and her boys arrived barely two weeks ago. Over that time there have been quite a few medical issues that came up. Of course, you all know that the Huggy Bunch never was treated for fleas or ear mites before traveling to Connecticut (that was a mistake, I assure you). Sadly, Huggy had to endure a nasty ear mite infection and she and Snuggles had flea dirt on them.

Huggy's incision from her spay surgery wasn't looking great. Perhaps she picked at the sutures or she was too active, too soon after the operation. She was put on a course of Baytril and I kept an eye on it.

Huggy was really good about being pilled and very clever about spitting them out when I wasn't paying attention. I caught on to her tricks quickly and made sure she got a treat after every pill. That way I knew she swallowed her medicine.

The kittens kept nursing, which I strongly discouraged. They're well weaned and Huggy needed some rest. I don't often have a Mama and kittens for this long. By the time the kittens are weaned, the Mama is usually gone-adopted or released if she's feral. I have little experience with Mamas, especially post-spay.

The past few days, Huggy's really blossomed. The once quiet and reserved Mama, decided she wanted to play along with the kittens. She'd burble and squawk, the merrrow at the toys. She jumped and ran, plopped into my lap, made muffins and purred. She seemed very happy.

Yesterday, since the boys were off getting neutered (or so we thought since they didn't have the surgery when the Vet realized their little nuggets hadn't descended yet), I decided to give Huggy a treat. I carried her into my bedroom where she could get more space to run and we could snuggle in bed together for a few hours. Huggy wasn't scared at all. She didn't hide even though she smelled the scent of all the other cats in the house, I'm sure. She was curious, that's it.

She REALLY got goofy. Running and jumping around. She hopped up on the bed and sat on my lap, purring loudly. She stretched out, laid her head on my face and relaxed. What a love!

While I was petting her, I noticed one of her mammary glands was swollen. I thought it was full of milk since the kittens were not home to feed. It felt hot, but I thought that might be just because her belly is shaved and she's a mom. What do I know? Last night she ate and seemed fine. I gave her her almost last dose of Baytril and went to bed.

I've been in charge of putting together an Adoption Event that happened today. Last night I was really tired. Of course, I got my period that morning, had awful cramps from Hell and wanted to just stay in bed. Instead I dealt with my intern and getting things ready for the adoption event. My head was spinning from all the last minute details. I asked Sam to feed Huggy and Angel and our cats so I could go pick the kittens up from the Vet.

When I got up this morning, I felt bad for not spending much time with Angel, so I fed her and sat with her awhile, figuring Sam would care for Huggy. I left awhile later and made a mad dash to the Vet to get the kittens, then go home, pick up the Mamas and turn around and head off to the Adoption Event with all six cats.

I brought Dash and Snuggles in to see their Mama. I opened the door and I knew something was wrong. Huggy was laying in bed and would not get up. Huggy ALWAYS meets me at the door with a cute little meow-hello. She would not even look at me when I entered the room. I went over to her and she looked up at me. I touched her belly and recoiled.

Her mammary glands were HUGE, HOT, and HARD. It seemed as though someone inserted a hard edged tray under her skin. It was WRONG. VERY WRONG. Huggy did not want to get up. I called out to Sam and asked him if she ate that morning and he said, NO. That she hadn't even gotten up.

SHIT!

I made a few calls, fast. I talked to Super Deb and she said to get Huggy to the Vet ASAP. They didn't have any open appointments, so I was on my own. No problem. Huggy was going to the Vet no matter what it took.

Fortunately we were able to get her in to see Mill Plain Vets, Bless You! I had 15 minutes before I had to leave. Sam volunteered to take Huggy to the Vet so I could get to the Adoption Event. It was the LAST PLACE I wanted to go, but I have a strong sense of duty-and the cats needed to be there. I sent Sam off, gingerly putting Huggy into the carrier and giving her a kiss before she left. I felt like a real jerk for not catching this sooner and for not going with her to the Vet. I was sick with worry.

Huggy, moments before I gingerly lifted her into the cat carrier. She was running a fever of 104°.

Within the next hour I heard from Sam. Huggy was suffering from a fairly serious case of Mastitis. Two Vets took a look at her and have put her on an IV, given her more Baytril and Amoxicillin.

She's going to be staying at the Vet over the weekend. On Monday I expect an update. It's possible she may need surgery to remove the worse of the infected tissue. Although I didn't see any oozing, scabs or injuries, she's got a raging infection going on. She's a young cat, only 1 1/2 years old. I hope she's got a lot of fight in her and that she pulls through without any serious damage.

She's been through so much in her short life, but she's lucky she has so many people watching out for her and giving her the best care possible. She deserves all we can do and more—not only because she was rescued off Death Row at Henry County, but because she's so very special and loving. I need to see her pull through, feel great and be 100% healthy. No more fleas, ear mites, feline acne, infections...just a healthy, happy girl, ready to move on to her forever home.

It's quiet in the house. Angel and her kittens are back with Jennifer. Dash and Snuggles have been resting after their big day. I think about Huggy, probably hooked up to an IV, back in a cage. I really hate doing this to her, but there's no choice. I miss her a lot. I wish I could see her. I cross my fingers and hope that her life will be saved, yet again. It's a good thing she has a few left.

It's been a draining few days. Seems like the dam burst on health problems for the cats...and not just mine, but foster cats and kittens and our Director's own cats. I find it tough to remind myself that it can always be so much worse. To just go with the flow, do the best I can to deal with situations and understand that in the realm of problems we could have, knock wood, this is nothing.

Or does it count that once again Dr. Larry prescribed a med that's only for dogs but that is fine to use on cats, too? Does it count that within 12 hours of Gracie getting this crap, Temaril-P she was VOMITING and there clearly was BLOOD in it? That it didn't stop for 48 hrs. Of course this has to happen over a friggen' holiday weekend, so I'm limited to waiting it out or getting her to an ER Vet for a shot of Reglan.

One bit of kibble and no pasta sauce, that's bloody vomit. Pretty, right?

Gracie's been vomiting little fur balls, bloody mucus, food. Then she'll go about 12-16 hours and be fine. She's stable right now so I'm still hoping to wait until tomorrow to get her to the Vet. She's been in good spirits, eating and bugging me-all normal.

So it's fine, except that what the you-know-what is in this stuff that made her vomit BLOOD? This poor cat has been through Hell and back. The last thing I need is to add a complication to her treatment and here we are hurting her-and who will pay for her shot, her IV that I'm guessing she may need? Who can't get a refund on meds that my cat's allergic/badly reacting to? This sucks.

Add to this, the fun with fleas, the ear mites, the chin acne that poor Huggy Bear has from being fed out of plastic bowls when she was on death row, her sutures almost blowing out...that Nicky has to be pilled daily because his colon is blocking up and it could kill him and it starts to feel crazy

Then I find out that Andie's adopter, who had good references, or so I was told, decided it wasn't working out and that Andie had to go! This is after FIVE DAYS. FIVE. This woman is a flake. She insisted on coming over to my home to beat everyone else out on adopting Andie. I made accommodations for her to make it happen. While she was here, her kids were going back and forth. They clearly liked Shamus, but the cat was for HER, not her kids. That already was weird to me. She didn't even spend much time with Andie and based her choice on looks. I should have stopped her.

Four days later I get an email saying it's not working out. That their resident cat who was semi feral didn't like Andie and was VERY upset. I asked her if she introduced the cats PROPERLY as we discussed, well, no. I never got an answer. I sent her more info on doing introductions and told her it can take a few weeks, to go slow and it would be fine. I've seen it happen so many times! The cats need a few weeks to get things worked out. So she says, I was just tired and didn't sleep much so, okay I'll give it more time. The next MORNING she sent her husband out with Andie to bring her back, not to me, but to our main adoption home. Why? Because Andie peed on a bed and pooped outside her litter pan. Because she wasn't properly restricted from the gillion animals this woman already has and the poor thing was left to fend for herself.

Andie is shaken. THIN. CRYING. Does NOT even KNOW her OWN brother, Shamus and sisters, Arabella and Sunshine. She growls and hisses at them. She won't EAT. She is pooping outside the litter pan now. What the _____ did this _____ do to this cat? I'm so FURIOUS. I SO WANT TO LET HER HAVE IT, but I can't. I'm not even sure I can say this much, but it's said. I'm really mad. Andie was perky, proud, friendly and loved her siblings. Now she's a shell of what she once was.

Sam and I saw her yesterday. For three hours we sat with her. She only wanted Sam. He made her feel safe. I got her to eat a lot of food. I saw her use the litter box correctly three times. She had a long nap on Sam's lap. So long that his legs kept falling asleep, too.

I worry about Andie's long term prognosis. We plan on visiting her again tomorrow. I wish we could just keep her here with us, but I have no place to put her where she can be around people and not end up being around lots of cats, too. It would just flip her out more.

Thankfully, four more kittens were adopted yesterday. Andie only has to share their huge room with five other cats, instead of nine. She may be able to calm down more and begin to recover. If she doesn't, we'll find a way to get her back here to help her. She's such a lovely creature and has a good heart. We will always do right by our foster cats and this is no exception. The problem now is finding the right home for her with someone who can work with her. A home that's quiet, sane, full of love and with a family who maybe only has just ONE other cat or dog. That's it.

Oh yeah, and there's MORE!

TWEETIE IS FAMOUS!

What the heck shape IS this? Blobular?

I swear Nicky has no bones.

Either my cats are oddly gigantic or this heated Kitty Cabin is too small. Spencer CAN squeeze himself into this thing, but he's more likely to get stuck in the opening, which causes him to freak out and run excitedly around the house. At least it got him to move!

Please accept this goofy photo as my Blog offering for today. I'm still wiped out from the past two weeks and yesterday, spent at an Adoption Event in a bit too warm weather, tapped me. I promise to get you updated on TWEETIE (many updates there), as well as poor Pixie, the other fosters, Bob Dole, Nicky and Gracie. Lots going on!

Stay tuned!

5AM, once again, almost as though a vengeful alarm clock went off, I wake up, hearing one of the blasted cats puking. I dragged myself downstairs to discover Cricket leaving a trail of puke from the kitchen to the basement stairs. Nice.

Before I can even reach the paper towel dispenser, I smell something awful. I look, and, of course, I find Nicky (most likely) dropped a few "friends off" on the bathroom floor.

I'm so tired and so tired of these 5AM puke up calls. I reach down to clean up another mess and all of a sudden I get horrible pains in my abdomen, then my chest. I slowly stand and shuffle over to the sofa and just sit down. I'm so woozy from the lousy sleep, it's really effecting me.

After I finish cleaning everything up, I slowly drag back to bed. My legs are heavy. It's too hot in the house. Ugh.

I finally get to sleep after an hour and I drop off deeply for awhile. Then, guess what? Yep. Bob pukes. 9am. He is hungry. I should have been up by now to feed him. I think he pukes when he's super empty because all he vomited was some water. I get the cats fed and figure I'm up for the day.

I get the food ready for the kittens and make my way back upstairs to feed them. I open the door to "The Ladies Room" (which is my guest room where Gabby and her 3 girls are) to find little Pixie laying on the floor, looking rather odd. Something is wrong, but I go about getting them fed. I see her on the bed, where I feed the kittens. She's not bearing weight on her front left leg. She looks like she's shaking. Oh no.

I feel her leg. It feels normal, though what do I know from normal? It doesn't feel massively broken. She doesn't want to eat much, if anything. I call our Director. I'm frantic, but it's because I'm not used to this stuff yet. She assures me she will get me a Vet app't and to not worry. Maybe the kitten is sick or she has had a bad reaction to the FCRVP shot she got a few days ago.

Longer story, shorter-I end up taking Pixie and her sisters to visit Super Deb and Dr. Larry. It just worked out better for all and I was glad to have them see the kittens.

Super Deb gives Twinkles and Sprinkles a nail trim. Ooo la la!

Later that same morning, about 5:06AM:

I realize I never bothered to look at the insert in the box the pain meds came in. I only had to medicate Bob for four days, so why get involved with reading miniscule type with my old people eyeballs?

Really, how bad could it be?

Then I went online and saw THIS.

WHAT

THE

#^#$!?!

Apparently Metacam is NOT approved for use in

CATS

Last I checked, BOB IS A

CAT!

And WHY didn't anyone bother to tell me it has known side effects of

ACUTE (horrible terms since it's far from CUTE) RENAL FAILURE!

This is for a CAT who is at least 15. It would be one thing if Bob was young, maybe he would have better odds of surviving this stuff, but GEEZUS. Maybe we should have let him suffer for a few days with a sore tooth hole and not risk

KILLING HIM!!!!!

Just makes sense to me and ever more so at about 5:37 am.

So let's be calm. It's just one web site with about 30 horror stories of cats on Metacam. I found another web site that said, hey, it's not THAT bad and since cats can't handle pain killers, this is about the best that can be done for them and the benefits outweigh the risks.

This is like the time I took VIOXX. Wow, did I feel good, but luckily I didn't take it for very long because it could have DIED from it. Oops! Guess the FDA missed that one. Oh and when I took "Yaz---that fun and funky birth control pill that's supposed to make your periods like a blissful day at the spa? Well, I was on it for four months. I didn't SLEEP. I got PMDD, instead of PMS and I was violent and suicidal, but hey, I'm just one dumb person. Probably was something else that did this to me though oddly enough, I slept like a rock and didn't try to off myself when I stopped taking it. Now there's a lawsuit claiming increased numbers of women having Heart Attacks, Strokes and Blood Clots from this crap. Huh. Guess it wasn't just me having problems.

This reminds me of the saying; "That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger (or more pissed off or have not-cute renal failure)."

I'm thinking I have to call Dr. Larry and YELL at him, then ask him if I need to bring Bob to the ER. Bob's breathing seems heavy. I'm trying not to flip out. I wake Sam up, because why should I have to have all the fun, alone? I ask him if he remembers seeing Bob use the litter pan or drink water. He remembers one, but not the other, I remember the opposite. Good, so he must have done both? I get Bob to drink warm water mixed with tuna water so I know he's got some fluids on board. I lay down on the hardwood floor, while he sits in the "cat loaf" position on a comfy cat bed. Fat as I may be, I have not nearly enough padding to be comfortable at this point, but I love Bob and I want to watch him. I'm waiting for a sign, telling me I need to get dressed, rush him to VREC in Norwalk and drop about $1,000.00.

Nothing. No sign. My right shoulder and hip are complaining. I'm really tired. Fuck it. I go back to bed, knowing I have to get up in less than two hours because we're signed up to do a dog transport. Ugh.

Of course, I can't get to sleep. I think about the nice lady's web site. She says Metacam is ok. She has complex math that makes my head spin. How many KG's is Bob? How many mL/KG dose did he get? I need my Parents. They did math!

My alarm goes off. What sleep? I get up to check on Bob. Somehow, while I was lying in bed worrying, one of the cats blew this hairball.

I really like how there's a little swooshy tail at the right tip of the hairball. That's classy.

I can't believe I'm going to confess this, but I got two forceps out and "teased" apart the hairball, to see if I could get any idea of what color the fur was. Sure enough, it was Bob's.

He puked up his food because this Mother of a hairball was ready to blast out. Bob's breathing has always been a bit heavy, but he's had ultrasounds done. He should be fine. All that pissing and moaning for nothing?

Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm still going to have a TALK with Dr. Larry about this.

and no, Bob did not get any more Metacam. Nor will he. He ate well, had a nice long nap on the deck. I have yet to see him drink or use the pan, but I will be watching. I WILL BE WATCHING!