Thursday, October 4, 2012

Thursdays Out . . . Let's Make a List


There are mental to-do lists. There are written to-do lists. Things on the first get mentally misplaced. The latter get lost under the stacks of mail that are on the mental list to be opened.

I ticked off items on Tuesday -- a nice sense of satisfaction -- following a good Monday. Wednesday's list included Chloe's vet visit, installing sticky shelf-liner under all the new sinks, and tidying up before the house-cleaner comes on Thursday.

Chloe got short-changed on her breakfast, just enough to get her medication down, since she was going to be anesthetized for her blood test and a comb out of her mats. She'd also get her annual physical and shots.

Chloe does not go easily into a cat carrier. Nor does she normally let me touch her with two hands, let alone restrain her. So I grasp her by the scruff of the neck, and wrap my arms around her to restrain the writhing bony bundle of fur to stuff her into the carrier.

She talks to me about this all the way to the vet. At least they've agreed to work on her in our little town instead of having to take her to the city down the hill, a much more stressful ride and the normal requirement.

I wonder if she remembers that first long trip from the city to our town, when she was wrested away from mother and home and roaming in the woods? I wonder if that deep memory accounts for her difficult relationship with her humans?

She was scheduled as the last patient of the morning. There were several cats and dogs ahead of us so it surprised me when the vet tech brought Chloe out to me, already done. Chloe was wide awake and annoyed, and she told me so, all the way home.

She immediately headed to the back room (technically, my office, except that my main computer is on the dining room table, so I am too), the one with the window seat in the sun. She cried if I touched her.

I left her alone and attacked the shelving paper monster. I'd visualized a scene where when I pulled off the backing, the sticky side would wad up and stick to itself, but in fact there's only a bit of a bubble effect in one area. Kneeling on a vinyl floor and crawling under a sinks hurts my knees like hell, and I was glad to get to the rooms with the carpeting.

I'd check on Chloe periodically, unmoving on the window seat, flinching and crying if I touched her.

I got shelf paper installed under one of the twin sinks in my bedroom and a piece cut for the center section between them.

And then I abandoned vacuum hose and tools and rolls of paper and rulers and cutting mat and rotary cutter (those quilters tools come in handy) on my bedroom floor and worried about the listless Chloe. Last year when she had been anesthetized to be shaved, she'd gotten so dehydrated she had to stay in the hospital for IV fluids. Her thyroid problem was diagnosed as a result of the blood tests recommended in connection with anesthetizing her, and treatment since then has saved her life.

She stayed in that back room into evening, looking frail and unhappy. Finally, I took her into my bedroom when she gets her food and medication twice a day. She needed to get fluids and food into her. I put a small amount of food on her plate, skipping the foul-tasting medicine I conceal in it, and waved it under her hose, then left it in the usual place with a bowl of water.

No deal on the food.

As for my shelf-paper project, I moved all the vacuum parts to the other bathroom and rescheduled the cleaning lady for next week.

I left Chloe alone while I watched the presidential debate.

When I finally went in to go to bed, the one positive change was that she had gotten into one of the cat nests on the bed, with more relaxed front paws crossed and resting over the edge of the nest. But she hadn't touched the food.

What could I offer?

Hah! The lure that all our cats since about 1980 have been suckers for: Laxaire, their hairball remedy. (Unsolicited testimonial. Don't rub it on their nose or their feet -- how would you like that? Let them lick it off your finger.)

I extended a dab of Laxaire to her and she purred between gentle licks. Maybe my girl was coming back. I spread some on top of the untouched food, read for awhile, then turned out the light.

In the morning the food was gone. Chloe jumped from the floor to the bed to the window sill, then back to the bed to meow at me and tell me it was time for breakfast. Even with the medicine in it, the food was gone in minutes.

My girl is back. I could run one hand gently over her back.


"Are you feeling better now, Chloe?"
 



"Meow. (Yes)"


So the topic of procrastination came up earlier this week and I wondered whether there is a Procrastinators Anonymous. If there isn't, perhaps we should put forming one on the to-do list.


P.S. There were 12 ladies at NeedleCrafts today and I neglected to take any pictures. There were 10 at the computer club board meeting (all men but for me) . . . good attendance all around.

See you soon.


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3 comments:

  1. I think anesthesia makes them feel pretty bum. If she seems listless again, be sure to take her in for fluids.

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    1. She's a new cat this morning. When I woke up, she was on top of the cat tree for the first time in a long time. As skinny as she is, I suspect she was slow metabolizing the chemicals in the anesthesia.

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  2. I think you're right about her recovery. I've spent the morning picking up cat puke--Shyla is a world-class vomit machine--and I've stopped worrying about it. She seems happy and healthy, though I'm dreading a trip to the vet's. She doesn't let me pick her up yet, but I am allowed to pet and skritch her when she deigns. HiHi, on the other hand, prefers to get as close to me as he can, and loves to be toted around. All 15 lbs of him.
    Here's to continued good spirits for Chloe. I'm sure she's happy to have those mats off!

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