She Seems All Right

Here is Rhadwen on the floor of my study this evening.

Usually, this pose means she's feeling fine and is at peace with the world.

Hope it's the same now. She seems all right. She's been taking her ulcer medicine on schedule. Not willingly, but resignedly. No more blood thrown up, that I've been able to see.

Watch and wait is all I can do.

But-- touch wood!-- things look promising just now.

And the Kittens Follow After

Gwenith and Huw had their own turn at the vet's today. Happily, for them, it was only for routine shots.

I knew Gwen would be a struggle to corral for the trip over. She's shy and elusive and very wiry and determined to break any hold on her. She would go in the one and only cat carrier. Huw was for the banker's box. He was fine with it last time we went to the vet's a few months ago; he should be okay with it again.

An early lunch served in the Kitten Room about a half hour before the appointment got them both within reaching distance. Once Gwenith had her head in her bowl, I grabbed her, took her struggling to the carrier, and popped her in. Done! And the uneaten food went in after.

I put the carrier on the floor of the car.

Huw's turn, now. I'd put the open box, lined with a towel, in the dry bathtub. I picked him up and put him in, and He. Refused. To. Stay. I grabbed the lid; he jumped out. I shoved him back in and put on the lid; he pushed it up.

It was with mighty effort that I got my boxed tabby down the stairs. He wasn't settling down happily; what if he got loose in the car?

Leash. I need to find a leash. Put the box down by the front door and weighed down the lid with some bricks I happened to have sitting there. Lightweight leash is in the basement. Go get it, remove bricks, don't need to remove lid: Huw's done that for me. Off he goes!

"Oh, no, you don't! Come back here!"

I catch him and loop the leash onto him, hoping I won't have to use it. Cat back into the box. Cat still trying to push out of the box.

Meanwhile, Llewellyn is very, very excited. He knows something is going on. He's not sure what, but it looks like fun and he wants to be part of it.

He refused to sit-stay inside and ran out the front door when I carried Huw out to the car. I couldn't put down the box until the car was secured, or I'd be advertising for a lost gray tabby. Llewellyn frisked by the side of the car; would it make sense to let him ride along, even if I'd have to leave him in the car at the vet's?

I grabbed the back door handle and let the dog jump in (O fanku, fanku!!). Got Huw's box into the front seat of the car and belted in, my purse on top for a weight.

Then changed my mind. Dog's staying home.

Charged with him back to the house, sent him inside ("Aw, Mom!!"), locked the front door, and ran back to the car.

By the time I had the car started, it was about four minutes to our appointment time. By the time I'd driven two blocks, Huw had pushed out of the box and was heading for freedom.

"Huw! No!" I pushed him back in with my right hand while steering with my left. The rest of the trip was like that, with me hoping he wouldn't choose a time when I had to shift gears to pop out again.

He protested all the way over. Gwenith was quiet at first, but presently joined her maows to the duet.

Happily, they both calmed down in the waiting room. They were no wise so noisy as another cat that was brought in afterwards. Though the loud efforts of that kitteh's mistress to hush it were more obnoxious than her cat's cries were.

And though Gwenith the Pink Princess had to be unceremoniously dumped from her portable palace and Huw the Bold made a strategic retreat behind the same chair Rhadwen favored the other day, neither of them put up the screaming-meemie, ai will kil u awl struggle their adopted mommycat/big sister did the other day. But they didn't have to suffer the indignity of having a thermometer shoved up their rears at the outset.

They are both strong and healthy. Gwenith now weighs 8.5 pounds. Huw her littermate tips the scales at 12.7. Why am I not surprised?

I got them home safely, and they have not shunned me since then. So I guess all is forgiven.

But before vaccination time comes round again, I assuredly must acquire another cat carrier. The present system is not working.

Rhadwen Visits the Vet

I don't know what the tone of this post should be. Maybe let's stick with straight reporting, and let the spin develop with events.

Late yesterday morning, I was upstairs with all of my four-footed kids when Rhadwen, my ten-and-a-half-year-old calico started to hawk up a hair ball.

Not on the wooden hall floor, if you please, Wennie, even if it's not yet refinished. I picked her up and deposited her on the bathroom floor.

She continued to kakk, and brought up-- not a hairball-- but what looked like clear stomach juices tinged with blood.

Then she squeezed back behind the toilet and did it again.

Not a lot, either time, but against the white vinyl it was appalling.

We do not mess around with animals bringing up blood in this house. My late lamented shaggy terrier Maddie died four years ago of some mysterious blood disease, and it began-- or rather, my awareness of it began-- with blood on the bathroom floor.

I called the vet and got her slotted in as an emergency case early yesterday afternoon.

She didn't mind going into her carrier at all. She didn't mind the ride in the car, or the wait in the waiting room.

The examination? She minded that very, very much.

Cold plastik fing nawt gud bed! Ai getz doan rite noaw kthxbye!!

Ten-point-eight pounds. Good grief. I thought she was up to fifteen at least, she's so big. Is it really all fur?

Poky-tempachure thingee goez where??? DO NAWT WANT!!!

Between us, the vet tech and I were able to hold my yowling, spitting cat still just long enough to verify that her temperature was normal.

Then the vet came to do the examination, armed with a heavy towel. Oh, no, Rhadwen was not happy with that, no, she was not. The fighting and clawing started even before the palpations did. I have no idea how the vet could tell there were no areas of unusual tenderness on her tummy, but that's what she said.

Questions. Was she eating her food? Yes. Was she sluggish or lethargic? Obviously not. Could she have eaten anything she shouldn't have? Hm, Thursday afternoon I was sanding some woodwork; maybe she stepped in some of the dust when I wasn't looking and licked it off her toes . . . Could she have gotten into any chemicals? I gave them the name of the wood stripper I've been using, but doubted it could be that, since it evaporates very quickly and she'd never shown an interest in it before. Does she go outside, and could she have eaten something out there? Yes, she does, in the backyard only, and maybe she could have, but nothing I'd noticed.

"Her eyes are bright and she's well-hydrated. We'll take x-rays to see if she's ingested anything, and call about that stripper."

They left us in the room together. Rhadwen took her stand under a chair and stared at me balefully.

Reenter the vet and the vet tech, this time with a muzzle.

O. MAI. GAWD.

Ai weel kil u!! Ai will kiel u wid debastadieng dedness!! Awl ov Uuzz!!

They took her away, her yowls reechoing down the corridor.

Soon she was back, the muzzle askew.

"Any possibility of it?" I asked.

"I don't know yet," the tech replied. "We'll try setting up the x-ray machine first. Then we'll come back for her."

"Should I come back and hold her?"

"We think we can do it. Maybe."

Eventually, the vet and the vet tech returned, got a better grip on my fighting struggling scratching clawing spitting howling yowling sweet calico baby, and bore her back to the x-ray machine. Through the closed door her cries reecho'd and I wondered if there might be more blood on the floor today-- from the vet.

Before long the tech brought her back, and the vet soon joined us. "We got one. The x-ray shows no foreign bodies in her digestive system, and no sign of tumors or any other abnormality. It doesn't look like the chemical stripper could be involved-- she'd have caustic burns around her mouth, and she doesn't. If she'd got into rat poison--"

"Oh, no! That's what they thought might have happened to my terrier that died, though I have no idea where she could have gotten any!"

"Well, if it were rat poison, she wouldn't be throwing up blood, it'd be coming out elsewhere."

"Yes. I know. That's what happened to Maddie."

"So that's really not a possibility. And since she's eating and drinking and she's strong enough to have nearly killed us back there--"

"I'm sorry!"

"That's all right. We'll treat the symptoms and give her some ulcer medicine. Keep an eye on her and if there's any negative change, bring her in right away."

They told me what to look for, and sent us home with the medicine in a little bottle and a syringe to give it to her with, every eight hours. Cherry flavored liquid, which is ridiculous for a cat-- why can't it taste like tuna?

Rhadwen's been taking her dose the past day and a half by now. Not happily, not willingly, but getting it down. (We'd have an easier time with it if the dog wouldn't interfere.) She seems very much herself, and if she's kakked up any more blood she's done it someplace I haven't yet found it.

God willing, she hasn't at all.

So I am keeping my eye on her. I hope it was only something like sanding dust that she licked off her toes and it irritated her tummy. I don't like mysterious illnesses but this one can just go away quietly and never poke its nose into our lives again. I do not want my big furry girl to be sick; no, I want her around and healthy a long long long time.

My Dog's Other Name Is "Mr. Hyde"

Llewellyn is the sweetest doggie you'd ever want to meet-- if you're a person or a cat.

But if you're another dog, make your will. And if you're a person with another dog, know that he doesn't believe in innocent bystanders.

I'm not happy about this. It severely limits where I can take him. But until I can afford the proper training, that's how it is.

That's how it was yesterday. I was up on a ladder, upstairs stripping wallpaper, when Llewellyn began to bark. And bark and bark and bark and bark and bark!!

"Llewellyn, hush! Naughty noise!!"

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!

"Quiet!"

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!!

The volley went on unabated. I supposed it wasn't just somebody passing by with their dog. Somebody must've been at the door, and couldn't get the bell to work.

I climbed off the ladder and went downstairs. Llewellyn was still in a barking fury, aimed at the front door. I gave a glance out the window of the wooden front door; I saw no one and concluded it was the little girl from down the street, who doesn't come up high enough to be seen.

But I looked more closely, and saw a woman I didn't know.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

I open the wooden door--
I hear the visitor say, "Does Kate Carp--?"
Llewellyn rushes past me, snarling with a hatred volcanic--
I look down and notice, oh, no, she's got a chocolate Lab mix dog with her!--
I look up and notice, oh, no, the screen door is off the latch!--
I yell, "My dog hates other dogs!!"--
I reach for the screen door knob to pull it closed to keep my dog in--
The visitor similtaneously reaches for it and pulls the door wide open--
Llewellyn surges out and hurls himself tooth and claw on the chocolate Lab--

And next thing I knew, the visitor and her dog were knocked all the way down my five front steps into the bushes, struggling and tangled in their leash, with my dog doing his best to send the Lab into canine oblivion. I tried to grab his collar but he kept it out of my reach. Somehow I ended up straddling him from behind and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off the other dog. Then I could collar him, and drag him back into the house.

But I had to get back out and help the lady and her dog and see how they were. Oh, gosh, where could I put him? How could I keep him secured? I've got the stops off all the doors upstairs and they don't close properly!

Leash-- leash-- keep hold of him with one hand; reach up on the refrigerator and grab his leash.

I got it on him as he desperately tried to get back out and finish off the offending Lab. Hooking the loop under a leg of the kitchen stool, I made a mad dash to the front door.

Crash! He had the stool over and was nearly outside before I could seize his leash again.

I dragged him away and this time, wrapped the end several times around a stair baluster, and ran.

Whew! Got outside and the door slammed shut just as he got loose again.

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!! came through the window next to the door. Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!!

The visitor and her dog had regained their feet by now. I'll pass over my apologies; they were many and profuse, especially once I'd noticed that the woman had a bruise over her left eye socket-- she must've hit it on the concrete steps tumbling down.

She insisted she and her dog were just fine. She hadn't even felt the bruise, and surprisingly, her dog was intact. No blood, no injuries. She said if this had to happen, she was the best person for it to happen to, since she loves dogs and trains them. She told me she'd dropped by because she got this particular dog from the previous owner of my house, who used to socialize puppies to be helper dogs-- this particular chocolate Lab turned out to have knee trouble and got drummed out of the corps. She'd happened to be walking her by my house and thought she'd drop in to show Kate C. how her dog was doing. She discussed what I might do to train Llewellyn to get over his fear agression against other canines.

The visitor told me a lot of things, but one thing she did not tell me was, "I'm sorry I pulled the door open and let your dog out. I saw the state your dog was in, and it was a dumb thing to do."

No. She didn't say that at all.

Maybe in all the tsimmes she forgot that's what she did.

I hope she and her dog really are all right. I hope it for their sakes, and I hope it for my dog's.

Because if it came to a claim being made against my homeowner's insurance, I know what can happen in these cases. And I'd be devastated if anything happened to Llewellyn, simply because he contracted a phobia against other dogs in his previous life-- and now a visitor with a dog had taken it upon herself to open my door and let him-- or his raging alter-ego-- out.