Foul-Mouthed Tart

I love cats.  I mean, I love all cats, even the cats that sane people agree aren't particularly lovable.  But when I say that Vivian is the best cat in the world, I mean it.  She's kind and loving to anything with a pulse; she lovingly grooms all species, and she particularly loves babies.  All kinds of babies, from the two legged to the four legged.  Her litter box habits are unimpeachable.  She gets along with everyone, even the grumpy ones.  She's twelve.  I got her from a shelter in '99 so she's been with me for most of her life.  It took me less then a minute to pick her out of an entire roomful of cats, and off we went.

So when I noticed that she was feeling a little lighter last week, I knew that she was sick.  Because, of course, she's the best cat in the world and the good die young.  So today, we went off to the vet.  Dr. Fritz, whom I would marry and bear young for if he didn't already have a wife and I didn't already have Dennis, examined her and then looked at me and said, "I think I feel a mass."  Then there were x-rays. 

She's very constipated, which could be the mass he felt.  But then he started tracing her liver and he said, because after all these years of all these pets, I can read an x-ray, "What does that look like to you?"  There were no obvious growths that said HI I'M CANCER, but there were some areas that looked suspicious, enough to make my heart sink.

So the battle plan is first to relieve constipation (this involves me, a syringe of pureed pumpkin, and a displeased cat) and then an ultrasound, followed by bloodwork.  If necessary, a biopsy.  Removal if possible, followed by chemo if possible. 

If neither of those options are possible...  I don't know what I'm going to do.

Damien had his wires out yesterday.  He's looking a little rough around the edges but all in all he's doing well.  He is especially glad to be done with the funnel.  :-)

It's thundering like crazy right now.  It brought the rain, which cools things down, but the noise terrifies Harry.

Harry was unable to attain maximum coverage by sitting on my lap, so he has decided to worm his way under my legs.  It's times like these that I wish I had longer legs because there is a lot of Harry and not so much leg area.

Pookie doesn't appear to be overly bothered by the storm, although he wanted to out outside before and I told him that it was raining, but he didn't BELIEVE ME until he ran out the door, skidded to a stop in the pouring rain, and dove back into the house. 

Usually he stands under Harry during rainstorms, using him as a giant canine rain shield, but nothing could possibly get Harry out of the house right now.

Poor dogs.

Harry just went outside to go to the bathroom.  It's raining.

He checked each side of the house just to make sure it was indeed raining on all four sides.

It was.  Sad, wet dog.

DOG FOR SALE

One blonde dog for sale, nearly 11 years old, mixed breed Great Dane/German Shepherd.  One blue eye, one brown.  Floppy pig ears.  Eats a lot.

LIKES TO TAKE HIMSELF FOR WALKS.

!@#$%!!!!!

Harry and I are watching The Breed. He disapproves of all the canine hijinx and assures me that he will prevent any other dogs from mauling me in my sleep.

He is also blowing his summer coat. :-|

( my score on the classic dames test )

This is what I've been doing for the past week.

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