I have four cats. Most people consider that a LOT of cats. People react to the information on the size of my furry family in many ways, including comments like:

• “You must spend a LOT on litter/cat food!” (Yes, I do.)
• “Wow, do they all get along?” (No, they don’t. They’re like kids, sometimes they squabble.)
• “You must have to clean your house a lot” (Only if I don’t want giant cat fur tumbleweeds)
• and simply “You must really like cats!”

Most of the time, I do really like cats. But you know, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes the cats drive me BONKERS.

For example, recently my cats have decided they are hungry – no STARVING – ALL THE TIME. Saturday morning I got up at 6:20 and fed them, then went back to bed for some much-needed extra sleep. When I got back up at 8:00 they were sitting just outside the bedroom door, SCREAMING for food, despite having eaten less than two hours previously.

Now, to some extent, they have excuses. Rumpelmintz is on a new medication that has the known side effect of an increased appetite. In fact, we were counting on it, as she’s lost a lot of weight over the past year and we wanted her to gain some of it back. The medication seems to be working very well as she now yells for food constantly, and gobbles it up once served.

Kitty.com may have early symptoms of hyperthyroidism, one of which is an increased appetite. She not only demands food loudly, but swats at my legs when I walk by to punish me for not feeding her AGAIN. We can’t treat the condition until it’s advanced to a certain point, so for now it’s a waiting game.

Studley was a stray for years and maybe he just never got over that feeling of not knowing where his next meal would come from – or if it will come at all. He’ll eat about anything offered him, voraciously, as evident by his super-sized stomach.

Jellybean doesn’t really have any excuse, but she also screams at me for food less than the others – for food, that is. She likes to follow me around the house between mealtimes, begging for attention – LOUDLY.

So, there are times the cats definitely drive me nuts. I imagine it’s similar to how sometimes my friends’ children make them crazy. On occasion I even imagine a day when I don’t have any cats – where I come home at night to a house that’s quiet and still and just as clean as I left it (or at least no messier). However, I imagine that would be pretty lonely. For all their demands, my cats give much more than they take. In my experience, all relationships take work to make them worthwhile – and my relationship with my cats worth every investment I’ve made into it.

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.

The big news in Chicago is our loss of the 2016 Olympics bid. I’m sure you’re all wondering what my personal feelings are on the subject – so I decided I’d write my column on SHOPPING!

I’ve lost over 50 pounds this year.  Obviously, that means buying new clothes.  What may be less obvious is it means buying a LOT more clothes.  People fail to realize you can’t just start out in your old larger clothes, then buy a new wardrobe when you’re finished losing weight, and wear clothes that don’t fit in between.  Cinching clothes with belts and safety pins only gets you so far – and by the way, you have to buy new belts as well.

I’m not complaining, exactly.  I would MUCH rather be the size I am now than the size I was, REALLY!  I know how annoying it can be when someone complains that they can’t find clothes that fit because they’re all too big. Trust me, I spent LOTS of time irritated with my sister and nieces when they complained that extra-small clothing was too big.  I’m just saying that at some point, the searching for clothing that fits, and the VAST amounts of money spent, can get frustrating.

It started out really exciting.  The first time I went to a store and discovered I could buy a size smaller than I used to squeeze into, maybe even TWO sizes smaller, I was thrilled!  I started hitting the stores more often (my mother would be proud) and buying the smaller sizes with a big smile on my face.  That smile got bigger and broader when I was down yet another size.

Later I was down three sizes, but my excitement was dampened a bit by all the clothes I’d only worn a few times that no longer fit.  These clothes included suits that weren’t inexpensive to buy in the first place – and had cost a significant amount to be altered to fit perfectly, at the time.

Soon I was back buying four sizes smaller and lamenting the practically new clothes that were now baggy.  A month or two later, I was shopping for yet another size – down five sizes now. That size still fits a lot of the time – other times I need a smaller size.  So, again, I can’t complain about being down five or six dress sizes – I really can’t.  However, I feel I CAN complain about the fact that I had no sweaters, no coats, no winter wardrobe whatsoever and it is starting to get COLD.  Seeing as how I’ve already bought several wardrobes in varying sizes, I don’t exactly have much, if any, of a wardrobe budget left.

Luckily, my mom is the QUEEN of bargain shopping, and my dad is very generous and with their help I hit some sales and stocked up on some things.  So I now have some clothing suitable for temperatures below 70 degrees.  I still need a really warm winter coat though.  I’m allergic to wool, and since 99% of winter coats seem to be made of wool, shopping for a winter coat is never fun.

I’m also trying to put my rediscovered crochet skills to use (using the term “skills” loosely).  I’ve made myself some clothing that may be rather lumpy and obviously homemade, but it’s warm.

As for the Olympics bid, honestly, I felt I needed more information in order to come to a really firm opinion on the subject.  For example, how many sweaty athletes and confused tourists would be riding the blue line – and how bad would they smell?

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.

I know I complain about my commute a lot. Well, that’s because I hate it a LOT.

Growing up, I felt really bad for those people that had to drive 50 miles every day for their job. They spent 45 minutes in the car, each way, just for work. Well, that sounds pretty darn good right now – as instead, I spend 45 minutes each way on a train with hundreds of other people.

There are a lot of things about my commute I just don’t understand. Like why does it have to smell SO bad? I mean, we all just got up for the morning and are on our way to work. Didn’t we all just shower, apply deodorant, and brush our teeth? WHY is the stench of bad breath and body odor SO overwhelming on the train in the morning?

Then there are all the other odors. There are the people that are wearing WAY too much cologne. There’s the stench from people that ignore the rules not to eat or drink on the el, and have big bags of greasy STINKY fast food. Then, of course you have the people that are passing gas. That’s ALWAYS pleasant.

This weekend, I had to go into work. An added bonus of riding on the weekend is there’s yet more construction to “eliminate slow zones” (which are NEVER eliminated) and so the train ride is extra long. To top it off, someone decided the train ride would be a good time to remove their SHOES and air out their stinky FEET! Are you KIDDING me?

Last week a tourist plopped down in the seat next to me on my ride home. She was pretty excited about her vacation in the big city. So excited, she ignored the headphones I wear to AVOID talking to people like her and started gabbing away with me, her new friend because I sat in the wrong seat on the wrong day.

One of the surprises this tourist had found was that there are NO public restrooms on the el or in the el stations. I wonder if she has ANY idea of just how DISGUSTING those restrooms would be, if they existed? I told her, if you have to use the restroom on your journey and will not make it to your destination, you just have to get off the train, exit the station and find the nearest public facilities. Apparently that thought had occurred to her, but she didn’t want to pay the transfer fee to enter the station again. (What is that fee, 50 cents?) So, she just went to a corner of the el station, dropped her pants, and peed right there. It’s not like I haven’t noticed the el stations frequently stink like urine. I just always attributed it to the homeless. Apparently it’s homeless and tourists. Great.

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.

When a caregiver contacts me regarding a cat having difficulty breathing, coughing fits, and/or wheezing – my first guess is asthma.  My second guess would be heart disease.  Then again, it could be as simple as an upper respiratory infection (the cat’s version of the common cold.) There’s not a lot you can do for a cold – but if it’s progressed to bronchitis/pneumonia, an antibiotic would be appropriate.  Obviously, the first step is to get the cat to a vet.  Any cat having difficulty breathing should see a vet IMMEDIATELY!  I’d start with a chest x-ray.

Studley

If you have an asthmatic cat and would like to talk to other caregivers for support, join the Feline Asthma/Inhaled Medications message board/group.

Feline triaditis is actually three conditions occurring simultaneously:  pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas), cholongiohepatitis (inflammation of the liver), and inflammatory bowel disease or IBD (inflammation of the intestines).

There may be no known “cure” for triaditis, though I would argue that proper nutrition is the absolute BEST method of treatment and prevention.  By proper nutrition, I mean a raw diet or a canned diet – and most definitely no dry food/kibble of any kind.

Diagnosis of triaditis is difficult.  The only definitive way to diagnose is a biopsy, so exploratory surgery is involved.  Blood tests, such as the GI function panel (cobalamine, folate, TLI, PLI), specific feline pancreatic lipase test, and bile acid test, can be helpful.  However, while positive results from these tests can confirm diagnosis, negative results do not rule out diagnosis.  If inflammation is severe, it may be visible upon x-ray or ultrasound, but not always especially in the pancreas as it’s such a small organ.

Treatment of triaditis generally focuses on managing symptoms, meaning pain management, anti-inflammatories, antacids, possibly sub-cutaneous fluids, etc.  Note many veterinarians feel it’s too risky to give cats non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) like Metacam/meloxicam or aspirin at the same time as giving steroids (like prednisolone) and in fact recommend a week between giving NSAIDs and steroids.

Latifah

I am reasonably convinced I lost Latifah to triaditis. I talked to some feline experts about her case, and I know Latifah had pancreatiatis and IBD – a GI function test showed highly elevated PLI and TLI levels, and low cobalamine levels. About a week before Latifah died, I found her in the kitchen in a large pool of yellow liquid she presumably threw up. (Yellow bile generally indicates a liver problem.)  The day she died, she started out looking tired (which generally indicated a visit to the vet was pending) then before I could get her to the vet she began suffering seizures.  A seizure at the vet’s ended her life.

I’m convinced the metacam and cyclosporine (an immune modulator similar to steroids) Latifah was on for stomatitis were reducing the inflammation of her organs and prolonged her life.  I did a lot of research after she died trying to understand what happened – and some wonderful vets and caregivers gave me a ton of information, and I’m convinced.

Rumpelmintz

Now Rumpelmintz is sick.  She’s lost two pounds over the past year.  I’ve done everything I can think of.  I got her a full “senior moments” work-up with bloodwork and urinalysis and x-rays and EKG and blood pressure.  We started her on metacam in case of arthritis.  I took her to an imaging specialist for a thyroid scan and an abdominal ultrasound.  I asked the vet to check her eye pressure and took her to an eye specialist.

So my next best guess was triaditis – or at least some components thereof (IBD, pancreatitis, and/or cholongiohepatitis).  Rumpelmintz is on the antacid famotadine (Pepcid) and the anti-inflammatory Metacam (for pain) now. We could try oral prednisolone (steroid).  To try prednisolone, we’ll stop the Metacam.  If it’s triaditis, the prednisolone could help, but stopping the metacam could make things worse. Her white blood cell count (WBC) is normal per her bloodwork, so we won’t try antibiotics first.  (Liver inflammation can cause infection, in which case antibiotics should be used before starting steroids.)  Without a culture & sensitivity there’s no way to know if there are bacteria or what kind they are or what antiobiotics to use.  I’m not willing to put Rumpelmintz through a biopsy/exploratory surgery to confirm diagnosis or collect a sample for a culture & sensitivity.  Honestly, she may not survive the anesthesia – and since whether the diagnosis is triaditis (or components thereof) or intestinal lymphoma or something else, the treatment would be likely the same (steroids), I see no point to putting her through it.

We know Rumpelmintz has IBD. I had a GI function panel done in 2005 that showed low folate levels and borderline cobalamine levels.  We can also see her intestines are inflamed on x-ray.  My vet thought the x-ray might have shown some liver enlargement/inflammation, it’s very hard to tell.

At this point, we’re starting a week off Metacam and we’ll start prednisolone October 1 and see what happens. We have nothing much to lose at this point.  We’ll give it a month or so. I’ll weigh her in mid-October and let the vet know what’s going on.

I know we can’t “fix” Rumpelmintz but if we can improve her quality of life, I want to do that. If we can’t, then we need to let her go. I will not tolerate a miserable cat.  There’s no point to living in misery, in my opinion.

I love nature. I really do. I love the plants and the little critters and the sunshine and even the rain. Unfortunately, nature does NOT reciprocate. Nature seems to hate me.

Perfect example was our visit to Dad’s ranch. I was telling Dad I was going to put a piece of tape with my name on it on the ranch. (My sister and nieces have started putting tape with their name on it on my parents’ belongings that they want when my parents pass away.) I was joking with Dad that I’d have a little cabin on the ranch with just me and the cats, and it’d be great for me.

Then, as we were closing the gate to the ranch, I saw a little tiny frog and demanded we wait so the little guy could hop to safety before we went stomping around in his vicinity. Really, I’m nice to nature!

Shortly after my little intervention on the frog’s behalf is when nature attacked. First I felt a sharp pain in my foot and ankle. I looked down to discover several sandburs had apparently LEAPED out of the grass to stick into my leg, ankle, and foot. I took a couple out, gingerly, so to avoid getting their little prongs embedded in my fingers – and Dad helped with the last stubborn one.

We’d barely finished when a large bee-like flying thing attached itself to my leg. EEK! Dad rescued me again. Then two large grasshoppers joined in the attack!

I don’t understand why nature would attack ME when I am nothing but nice to nature. A friend said it’s because I don’t intimidate nature. Anyway, I decided I don’t want the ranch after all, not with attacking nature things on it.

There’s even nature attacks here in Chicago. I was attacked by a spider this week. There’s a huge spider that lives at my house. He was living between the banisters of the front porch, so I let him be. Apparently, he decided to relocate and build his web in front of the gate. So I went through the gate on the way to work and walked right into his web. All excited about his big yummy catch, he dropped down right into my face and scared the heck out of me.

I’m hoping the spider decided that near the gate was a bad place to set up his web, and he will rebuild elsewhere.

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.

Here are my finished objects for your viewing pleasure, or displeasure, or amusement:

Menstrual cup cozy

Towel ring for Jennys birthday gift

Towel topper, also for Jenny's birthday gift

Cat carrier cover, also for Jenny's birthday

My big fat wedding shower tote bag - gift for my niece's wedding shower

Dishcloths, also for my niece's wedding shower

Sparkly little evening bag, which I used at my niece's wedding

My first garment! A bit large... but hey, it's wearable!

Silly psychedelic slippers

Purse with two removable covers

Second cover

My second garment - a tank top

The shrugly shrugh - this did NOT turn out, but I wear it anyway

A fun little pouch for my tissues

Necktie scarf

Fluffy cascade scarf

Lavender lace scarf, for Merril's birthday (she got earrings & a bracelet too)

My mulberry bolero - I chickened out and stopped early - so cropped with short sleeves, but I like it!

My boucle bolero - not thrilled with it, but it's wearable!

Hooded scarf - for Jenny's Christmas gift

I’ve got two projects in the works at the moment… I’ll try to post pictures more regularly, so I can bore you more often for shorter spurts of time. As you can see, my crochet skills leave a LOT to be desired!

I was walking home the other night when I saw a dog – a poor lonely, lost dog. I am NOT a dog person. I like dogs, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never had a dog and know next-to-nothing about interacting with dogs. This, however, was a really friendly dog, and he came right up to me and introduced himself. He had on a collar, with tags, and they said his name was “Sandy”.

So, as Sandy-the-dog was so VERY nice and friendly, I was able to look at his tags and call the phone number on them. It was disconnected.

There was an address on the tags, and Sandy-the-dog and I set off in the direction of what was hopefully his home. I didn’t have a leash, obviously, so I’m walking hunched over, holding his collar… but Sandy-the-dog doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to think this is great fun, going for a walk, and grateful to have some company rather than wandering around by himself

So, we walk and we walk and we finally get to the address on his collar (about 3/4 of a mile from where I’d found him) – but no one is home. It doesn’t even look like anyone has been there for a while.

So, now what? Sandy-the-dog and I talk it over for a while. Then we decide to go to my house and figure out what to do next. So, off we go again. At one point his collar slips off ENTIRELY but thankfully Sandy-the-dog is a VERY good dog and STAYS and we get it back on and continue our journey.

We get to my house and Sandy is VERY excited about running around in my back yard while I disarm the alarm and open the basement door, and he’s VERY excited about going in the house and he’s VERY excited about the basement and VERY excited about jumping up on the cot and investigating everything.

Next I call the microchip company listed on his tag. I must say, they’re not particularly helpful. They didn’t even take my information, in case the owner calls looking for him. They just give me the phone number of someone at Animal Care & Control, which is apparently where Sandy was adopted. So, I call that number, and it’s someone that’s out on vacation. I call the general Animal Care & Control number, which just has a recorded message telling me the hours I can come in to look for my lost pet.

At this point, I’m getting desperate. While Sandy-the-dog is VERY nice, I really don’t know much about dogs and the idea of keeping him overnight isn’t appealing. So I call my veterinary clinic. I talk to one of the friendly staff members, tell her my dilemma, and she graciously says I can take the dog there. They’ll keep him overnight for me, and have him transferred to Animal Care & Control in the morning. I ask her a few questions – like how exactly do you ride with a dog in the car? Do they wear seatbelts? (No, they don’t, apparently you just hope for the best.)

So now. Sandy-the-dog and I are going for a ride in the CAR! Sandy-the-dog is VERY excited and happy about going for a ride in the car! He hops in the back seat, and we’re off. Then he hops in the front seat. Very cute, but distracting – so I ask him to SIT, and he happily sits on my handbag. He’s very happy, he’s smiling, and he’s happy, happy, happy. He hops into the back seat, then hops back in the front seat… SIT! He sits on my handbag. He leans over and gives me lots of grateful kisses on the arm, hand and face.

I drop him off at my vet clinic, where they are super nice and don’t even charge me for boarding him. I admit, I shed a few tears on the drive home. I know only 14% of dogs relinquished to shelters are reunited with their owners, and the failed contact attempts so far don’t look promising.

The next morning, I decide to walk by the address on Sandy-the-dog’s tags one more time, and put a note on the door as to his whereabouts. Someone obviously loved Sandy enough to train him well, maybe they’d go back to their old home, looking for him.

Sandy-the-dog’s story does have a happy ending. I got a call from the vet’s office saying Sandy’s owner found my note on the door of their old house. They’d moved, and hadn’t updated Sandy’s tags yet when Sandy had gotten loose. They retrieved him from the vet, and he was back home.

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.

I lost Ralph Friday. It was sudden and unexpected. I came home from work, started the usual routine of grabbing my mail and saying hello to the cats – when I see Ralph wasn’t there to greet me. Stepping into the living room, I see him laying near the bottom of the stairs. Of course, those mixed feelings hit me – a combination of dread and fear and hope that really nothing is wrong and I’m being paranoid. But I know something’s wrong, the way you just KNOW. He’s not getting up. I give him a freeze-dried 100% meat treat and he eats it eagerly, but he’s not getting up. Honestly, I hoped he’d just fallen down the stairs and broken his leg, but again, I just KNEW. I knew this was bad.

Ralphie in the cat tree, surveying his domain

I drove him to the emergency vet, and I hopefully told them maybe he fell down the stairs… but the minute the veterinarian looked at his gums and pawpads and told the assistant to put him on oxygen… I knew before they told me, Ralph had thrown a blood clot.

Unfortunately, this is a very painful condition which generally can’t be well-managed, and there are no real effective treatment options. The vet suggested taking x-rays, just to be thorough, and I went along with it… knowing it was pointless, but willing to grasp on to any tiny sliver of hope offered… but we all knew.

I let him go. I talked to him and stroked him, and kissed the top of his furry little head, and wished him well… and my heart, the heart that didn’t seem capable of breaking or aching any more than it already did having lost Latifah, Afer, Omaha, and Louie in less than two years… well, it did. It hurt more, and I don’t know how you can describe pain when the pain that already existed was unbearable, and more pain was heaped on top of it. How do you put that kind of pain into words?

I try to take solace in the fact he didn’t suffer long. That morning he was fine. We had our usual routine of him hopping into bed with me once he realized I was awake to get his morning hug – and following me into the restroom for more hugs and kisses and cuddles. His precious little meow reminding me to hurry with their breakfast and all his “assistance” as I got their food ready and medicated the ones that need it.

Ralphie in a box

I called Ralph my little “miracle man” because when all others had given up hope for him, he rallied and proved that if you just STOP dumping poison into a cat – they really are SO resiliant and can overcome so much. The jaundice, diabetes, anemia, chronic fungal and bacterial infections – they were all gone… but they had taken their toll on his little heart, and the damage was done, and it came back to haunt us on Friday.

I don’t know who will be Jellybean’s knight in shining armor, protecting her from the dangers she sees lurking around the corner. I don’t know who will cuddle with Studley (and hump him, though Studley probably won’t miss that). I don’t know who will greet guests and sit in their laps and purr so loudly you can hear it across the room, and make big drool puddles on the guest’s arms and laps. I don’t know.

We’ll carry on. We’ll just keep going, me and the four cats that are left. But there will be another gaping hole where this precious little being was – and now isn’t.

Fly free, my little miracle man.

Ralphie with "Hump-me the Tiger"

More about Ralph.

Last weekend I visited a friend in Iowa. It was a FABULOUS time, with the exception of the drive there, and the drive back. It seems like any drives I make out of state are fraught with disasters galore.

I set out Friday morning – and was soon hit by torrential rains. It was POURING rain, visibility was poor, and every time I tried to change lanes my car started to hydroplane. It was all the more exciting as it’s summer in the Midwest so there’s lots and lots of construction. Lanes closed and reroutes and all the fun that comes with it. Fantastic. I wasn’t sure I’d make it there at all, but I did.

The visit with my friend was great. We went out to dinner, we painted veils for her dance costumes, and we went shopping (of course!)

Then it was time to go home – and the trip back managed to be worse than the trip there. Again, I was hit with torrential rains. It seemed to start right as I walked out the door. The rains finally let up, and at some point, I needed to make a “pit stop”. As usual, I let this go until the need was rather great – as we all know, less frequent stops make for a speedier journey, right? I finally pulled off the interstate on an exit that boasted a little gas station/sandwich shop. Walking into the station, I noticed a distinct odor. Not a nice odor – a very bad odor. Making my way to the restrooms, I noticed the floor was damp and getting wetter the closer I got to the restrooms. It wasn’t a nice, clean, “freshly mopped” kind of wet. It was a stinky, dirty, yellow-brown kind of wet. Did I say STINKY?

Unfortunately, since I’d put off my little stop, going back to the car and traveling miles to the next exit wasn’t really an option – so I tried to tiptoe (like that helps) through the nastiness to the restroom, held my breath, took care of business, and got out. I’m disgusted, though. I bought a package of baby wipes and tried to clean off my shoes a bit before getting back into the car – then my hands – then the steering wheel – then anything else I may have touched or looked at.

I’m back on my way when I hit construction. Not the minor construction I hit going to Iowa. No, I‘m driving along when they announce that interstate 80 eastbound is CLOSED. CLOSED. Closed completely. The detour is a highway going south. How is a highway going SOUTH going to get me home, which is EAST? Well, it’s NOT, that’s how. I drive about 50 miles out of my way SOUTH to catch another highway east which eventually got me back to I80 going BACK west, which I could use to catch interstate 88 east, which is what I needed.

I did finally make it back home… and have a whole other adventure to look forward to when I drive all the way to Nebraska next month. I’m bringing baby wipes.

Submitted for publication in The Greeley Citizen.