So Laura Clawson can complain about her cat.
This is a full service blog.
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Open Threads
So Laura Clawson can complain about her cat.
This is a full service blog.
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Pet Rescue
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From longtime commentor J. Michael Neal:
I bought Eddie from a rescue organization for my wife’s birthday in 2003. We already had five cats, that had to be kept separated into three different areas of the house, so we didn’t think we needed another, though it turns out that we did. Or I did, at any rate. He had already his first, at least, major health issue: a run-in with a heavy blunt object like a car or baseball bat. His left ear was crushed against his head; he had a big bald scar right behind it where he frequently drew blood scratching himself; his left eye weeped; and his jaw didn’t fit together quite right, so he made a grinding sound when he opened or closed his mouth. He was so incredibly sweet, though, and we were afraid that, as a black cat who was less than physically perfect, he wouldn’t ever get adopted, so I bought him. He lived at first with Ringling in two small rooms at the front, and I regret the amount of time they spent alone the first three years.
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When my wife left, she took Sasha, one of her original cats, with her. Since Sasha could not abide any other cat, that fortunately meant leaving Eddie behind. He was the only one allowed to move between the two halves of the house, as he was the only one that didn’t cause any trouble. He had *no* sense of territoriality or social hierarchy, a fact that drove Monster crazy. She would try to make a show of dominance, and Eddie would just stare at her like she was nuts. Eventually, he would get up and walk away, on the assumption that crazy, dangerous people are best left alone, but he wouldn’t make any gesture of submission. It made Monster furious, until she finally gave up and stopped bothering him unless she actually wanted the place he was sitting.
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A month after my wife walked out, less than nine months after my nervous breakdown, he almost died before the vet diagnosed him with kidney stones. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d left me then.
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In September of 2008, he developed a lesion on his left front paw that my vet couldn’t identify. In November, I noticed that it was bleeding at 2am on a Saturday morning. Thank god that’s when it was, because I hauled him to the emergency room at the University of Minnesota Small Animal Hospital. They took a biopsy, and several weeks later, it came back positive for cutaneous lymphoma. It was, and still is, the first case of it they had ever seen there. His leg was amputated in January 2009. He learned how to get around again, with a sort of hopping gait.
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Last summer, he needed to have six teeth pulled, and then developed an infection on his remaining front paw. By the time it was treated, they had to amputate the two middle toes. We thought it had originated as an allergic reaction that caused him to chew his paw, but the necropsy on the toes revealed malignant lymphoma. I stopped giving him the injections to deal with his allergies, figuring what was the point. Given the rarity of his cancer, the vets had no idea how long he would last. They said it could be two weeks, or two years, though they clearly thought it would be much closer to the former.
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In the end, he made it eight months after the diagnosis. On Monday, he started shaking his head and pawing at it, giving himself some wicked scratches along his scar. He was back to normal on Tuesday, and I thought that the crisis had past. I was wrong. He stopped eating Thursday morning, and started getting weaker. Last night, I decided that the time had come to say goodbye. A friend drove us to the hospital, and I said farewell to my goof about 1:30pm today. He was the sweetest cat I have ever known; the only creature he ever hissed at in his entire life was a cat from across the street who used to get onto the front porch and knock at the window. I’m pretty sure that even then, the only reason he did so was because Ringling got so agitated.
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But he was also one tough m*th*rf*ck*r, going through most of his nine lives without ever showing the strain. He had little energy by this morning, but was alert and affectionate all the way up to the vet feeding the drugs into his catheter. He nuzzled my face right before he died, so I’m hoping that I’m forgiven for everything I put him through.
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I miss him already. I’m not much of a religious believer, but it would be so wonderful to be wrong, and to have a chance to meet him again someday. For a variety of reasons, I’m not commenting here any more, but I know that some of you have followed this saga and would want to know. I will make sure to read all of the comments left for him, and pass them along on that future day.
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Open Threads
The calendar says the moon is only 12% waxing, but our godsdamned little nutball dogs and some of the BJ commentors are acting like it’s a full disc at apogee. Which means it’s time to introduce the Japanese reality tv sport of… competitive fish-lifting:
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It’s clear the mighty Tunch has some Oriental ancestry. Notice the Big White Brute is also the only cat who works out the balance mechanics sufficiently to implement gnawing his own carry-handle (on a fish that weighs almost as much as he does), rather than just grabbing the convenient built-in grip.
Late Night Weekend Thread: Competitive Fish-LiftingPost + Comments (40)
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Dog Blogging, Open Threads, Pet Rescue
From commentor Ron L, mid-December 2010:
I share my home with the Shepherd sisters, Troi and Crusher. They are pushing 14. I also have Pearl, our diabetic, geriatric cat. Our youngest dog is Felony, the pit-bull, who is a spry 10 year old. In June, Felony was diagnosed with lymphoma. She is doing very well but her future is uncertain. She wasn’t able to tolerate chemo and we almost lost her in August. Every day since then has been a blessing and a pleasure. My goal for Felony is that she never has another bad day and I think that I can manage that. We have her on doggy hospice care.
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My days revolve around the needs of my aging pets. Medications, seperate walks for every dog, twice daily injections of insulin for Pearl. Crusher, the larger shepherd girl, no longer climbs stairs so if we linger too long in the morning we are treated to the “I’m lonely” barks. Frequently, we are awakened by barks to go in or out. She also barks if she’s silly enough to fall asleep on the hardwood floor instead of the multiple dog beds and carpet runners provided for her. She has trouble rising up from the hardwood and we have to go downstairs and grab her butt and help her up. She sometimes looks a little apologetic about this but mostly she just looks entitled.
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Troi and Crusher were acquired from the Lewis and Clark Humane society when they were about 4 months old. Pearl was the sickliest kitten in a litter found in a trailer park. Felony, the pit-bull, was a gift. When the dogs were younger, we did foster work for pit-bull rescue. We fostered seven puppies. All of whom went to good homes. There has always been a certain randomness to the acquisition of these pets. We did not plan on getting two puppies when we went to the shelter. I did not intend to bring home a pit-bull. Pearl was incredibly sickly and I didn’t want my son to choose her because I thought she was a heartbreak waiting to happen. She’s 17 or so now.
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Some days I feel like I’m living on the geriatric/oncology ward so I’ve decided to take on another specialty, pediatrics. I’m already up during the night. I have a petsitter who sits with the dogs while they await their walks. I have a dog centric life, I may as well bring in a new beginning to a house full of endings. Our puppy is two weeks old today and will come home at the end of January.
Monday Morning Open Thread: Old Dogs & NewPost + Comments (27)
by Imani Gandy (ABL)| 37 Comments
This post is in: Cat Blogging
If this doesn’t melt your heart, then you might be a zombie and you should probably stay away from your loved ones, lest you accidentally feast on their brains:
Judy Pugh, whose home was destroyed by the tornadoes that swept through Tuscaloosa, Alabama on April 27. The ferocious twister left at least 39 dead in Tuscaloosa alone.
Pugh cheerfully told local station WIAT that she rushed to the hallway with her three cats when the mile-wide tornado hit. The roof fell on top of her, but miraculously she and two of her cats were all in one piece. “I tried to get to my hands and knees but I couldn’t. I heard the young men calling ‘Ms. Judy, Ms. Judy, are you in there?'” she recalls.
Pugh was telling the station reporter about how much she missed her third cat Cadie, whom she hadn’t been able to find for three weeks, when the cat walked right up to her during the interview. “I have everything I want now. I have all three cats,” she said.
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Humorous
Some things are cute and funny to a degree. The entire bible in LOLCAT? That’s just too much for me. Seek help, people.
by Dennis G.| 42 Comments
This post is in: Cat Blogging, Dog Blogging, Open Threads
And in other news…
A little over a year ago our old coonhound passed away. Just a few months before that we had lost another longtime coonhound and pack member. For some months we were left only with the goldfish. Then last fall we adopted Logan, a rescued cat. Around Christmas time I was (like a fool) trying to take the poor thing out for a walk. Walking a cat turned out to be like trying to make sense of Libertarian gibberish. There is no point to it. Now Logan goes in and out on his own and so far, so good. He seems happy and so am I. He even seems at peace with the latest occupant of the house, Cooper. They hang out together, and often wait together at the back door for me to let them in:
Cooper is a rescued pup. He seems to be a mix of several breeds. We’ve heard dachshund, rat terrier, jack russell and a few others. He does have a decent hound dog howl and that always makes me smile and remember old Ben. He is a small dog–smaller than the cat–and that is interesting after years of living with two big and lazy old hound dogs. He is also pretty damn active. We have been training him and he seems to be teachable–which is also nice.
After a year or so without a dog in the house, it is great to have another one in the pack.
So here is Cooper:
In the BJ tradition, I may file updates on his progress.
And now that the introduction is done, feel free to use this for an Open Thread.
Cheers