best laid plans

monkey business

2009-11-09T16:52:15Z

My life got a little bit stranger over the weekend.

When we adopted Monkey back in May, her PetFinder ad said that she was about three years old. Three was older than we had planned to adopt, but she seemed perfect for us. Her foster mother, a young and nervous teenager, confessed that the ad was old and the cat was closer to four. Okay, whatever. She had been with the rescue organization for so long, and she was still young enough that we'd have many years together.

On Saturday, we took Monkey to the vet for booster shots and a general checkup. We were surprised to learn that she had dropped from a healthy seven pounds to just over six despite regular meals and treats. The vet spent a long time examining her eyes and listening to her heart. Finally, she draped her stethoscope around her neck and asked, "How old did you say she is?"

Monkey is not three or four years old. She's somewhere over six years, probably closer to ten. The high heart rate and weight loss suggest hyperthyroidism, which rarely occurs in cats under six. More tellingly, the irises of her eyes have begun to atrophy. This doesn't hurt her or affect her vision, it seems, but it's a sign of an aging cat. We had no idea.

I agreed to have the vet run a "senior panel," a series of blood tests appropriate for older cats, to see where we stand. We'll get the results back this week and go from there.

In the meanwhile, I'm not sure what to do about the rescue organization. Someone (maybe several someones) lied to us. They did it with the best of intentions, I'm sure, but it was wrong anyway. What if we were unable or unwilling to care for an older cat? What if we had been upset enough to return her? Where would that leave Monkey? How many other cats have they adopted out under false pretenses? How is this fair to any of us? I don't have any answers.

But I do have Monkey, and we're keeping her.

my cup runneth over

2009-11-05T17:31:56Z

The Yankees won the World Series. One of our best hockey players is out with a broken bone in his foot, and another was just diagnosed with swine flu. Maine voted down same-sex marriage (as if civil rights can be determined by a popular vote). My ankle hurts every time I move it. Would someone give me good news, please?

Oh my God, it's a mirage
I'm telling you I been sabotaged

the dayquil chronicles

2009-10-27T20:32:03Z

Boston is gray and damp. This isn't the October I signed up for.

I've been sick almost the entire month. I get a few days between bouts to get my hopes up, and then I'm back to sleeping a lot and eating cold medicine. I'm coughing this time, too. Hooray.

We have two hockey games later this week. I'm hoping for a sudden recovery. I miss my team.

The fever has brought some bizarre dreams. Last night, Seatmate and I were in a Boston Billiard Club that doesn't exist. A couple of Chicago hockey players were using the table next to us and shooting us dirty looks for getting in their space. "The Hawks' goal song must have been in your head," said Seatmate. (Warning: clip starts with goal horn. The full song sans goal horn is here.) In truth, I'm not sure I would recognize any Chicago players off the ice. Our guys? Anywhere.

The injury bug has sidelined a few of our guys with broken feet, broken fingers, and various other ailments. The upside to this is getting to see the kids called up from the minor-league affiliate. I've become a fan of a scrappy little forward named Brad Marchand. Don't send him back down! He makes opposing players so angry.

Seatmate drove me out to the 'burbs last week to get an MRI on my hips. The nurses had some problems getting an IV into my difficult little veins and ended up bruising both hands. I spent some time the night before changing the music on my iPod shuffle to a good mellow mix, but the control room couldn't play it and I got an hour and a half of oldies instead. I'll get the results when I go in to see my hip surgeon in a few weeks.

I'm getting really sick of my bed. At least I have a purring cat to keep me company.

questions

2009-09-30T18:50:24Z

I've been thinking. ("Uh oh," said Seatmate.)

Why do so many people refuse to write "iPod" correctly? I see "Ipod" every day and it makes my teeth grind.

Why do some Americans use British/Canadian spelling, such as favour and colour? I went through a similar phase in grade school and my parents irritably corrected me until I stopped. (To the people on my flist who do this: I adore you anyway. Love the sinner, hate the sin.)

Why didn't I take better care of my ankles as a teenager so I could have avoided the arthritis I have now?

What ever happened to my sister's classmate who was struck down by severe, crippling arthritis in her late teens?

Why are my nails all broken and peeling when they looked fine four weeks ago?

Will I kill my pothos plants by repotting them in October?

Why does my cat talk so much? ("So much to say, and only one little word to say it with," Seatmate said sympathetically.)

Why haven't I been keeping up with my journal this year?

Why am I so grumpy? No, wait, don't answer that.

not-morning photo

2009-09-23T18:05:02Z

New York Rangers @ Boston Bruins, 9.19.09
Jeff LoVecchio (BOS) and Sean Avery (NYR)

cat alarm

2009-09-02T15:53:15Z

I was awakened this morning by the crash of my half-full water glass hitting the floor. I don't know how the cat got to it, but she did. Again.

Seatmate took care of it. I'm grateful. I would not have been nice to the cat.

Every night, I put the glass on top of a bookshelf in the bedroom. It's next to a night table, so I wrapped the edge of the bookshelf in double-sided tape to discourage curious paws. The dresser is a theoretically possible jump away, so I lined the edge of it with clutter: a cosmetic bag, a pile of bills, a lamp. I surrounded the glass with bottles of skin lotion and boxes of Kleenex to minimize the space available for landing on the bookshelf from anywhere. Despite all of this, only the glass was knocked over; nothing else was even disturbed.

I suppose I'm impressed.

Time to switch to a water bottle with a cap. She can knock it over (and dent it) but she can't get water from it. I hope.

Why do I harbor this animal?

Yes, she has her own water. She has a recycling fountain in the kitchen and a bowl in the bedroom. She prefers ours.

"On what planet do you spend most of your time?"

2009-08-19T18:59:05Z

I'd like to take this moment to express my affection for Barney Frank and my pride in the Bay State.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

not-morning photo

2009-08-09T19:37:09Z

Players from the Portland Sea Dogs (AA) greet friends from the Pawtucket Red Sox (AAA) between games at the Futures at Fenway minor-league double-header on Saturday, August 8, 2009. (more photos)

"He pitches like he's double-parked."

2009-07-23T20:52:02Z

Mark Buehrle (Chicago White Sox) threw a perfect game today!

not-morning photo

2009-07-22T18:21:53Z

happy surprise in the kitchen today
(click for larger image)

up late update

2009-07-17T04:11:42Z

Holy failure to update.

The cat has been named Monkey. You can blame me for that. It was one of my first nicknames for her and Seatmate finally ~~gave in~~ came around. We could have put off the naming indefinitely were it not for Monkey's anal glands. She had started scooting her butt along the floor and that flow chart almost always leads to anal glands, and anal glands = vet, thank you. I needed a name for her chart, so Monkey she is.

Cricket was an unholy terror in a vet's office, but Monkey was fine. She wasn't happy, but she handled it without Cricket's screaming hostility. The vet reported that she stayed calm through the procedure, too. I'm not sure I could handle a similar situation with such aplomb.

Monkey is a healthy seven pounds. In addition to missing her right canine tooth, which we knew, she is also missing a few smaller teeth. Illegible (to me) docspeak on the adoption paperwork said they were pulled under sedation because of decay. She seems fine now, but I'm probably doomed find out how much veterinary dentistry costs.

I sympathize. I spent two hours and change at the dentist today getting temporaries. I can't get the licorice-y taste of dental glue out of my mouth.

And tomorrow, I get to wake early for a change and go for an echocardiogram. I'm supposed to get one every year, but it's been two. Oops. It might have been longer, but the hip surgeon wants one. I am currently dedicated to the goal of making the hip surgeon happy, so off I go. Seatmate is driving me because he's awesome like that. We're hitting my doc afterward (he moved out of practical subway reach but I haven't moved on yet) for thyroid and iron levels. My life is so exciting.

morning photo

2009-07-07T15:52:29Z

Oakland A's at Boston Red Sox, 7.6.09:
Nomar Garciaparra tips his cap to a standing Fenway crowd in his first return visit since 2004.

(Also, see misscalculation's awesome Nomar shots. Check her journal for more gorgeous Sox photos.)

...

2009-06-28T19:11:57Z

Elizabeth
January 14, 1966 - June 28, 2002

It's been seven years since my sister died (?). We miss you, Lizie. Rest in peace.

letting the cat out of the bag

2009-06-22T17:16:09Z

I was reading and Seatmate dropping off to sleep when the cat discovered the shopping bag in the hall.

I ignored the sounds at first. Cats like bags. I assumed that she would jump in and out a few times, knock the bag over, and flee in mock terror. But the paper crackling went on and on, and finally Seatmate started to laugh. "I'll get her," I said, amused, and got up to take the bag away.

The cat met me at the bedroom door, the bag dragging behind. She didn't look amused. She looked a little panicked. Somehow, she had slipped her entire body through one of the twisted-paper handles, front paws on one side, back paws on the other, and she couldn't get away.

We didn't mean to laugh in her face, but we did. I put cat and bag on the bed, and Seatmate comforted her while I cut the handle. I cuddled her for a bit when she was free, letting her know we weren't upset with her, and she settled down.

Seatmate turned back over to sleep. I went back to my reading. All was quiet for a moment, and then Seatmate said, "What a putz."

No, we haven't named her yet, but the nickname has stuck.

we are not all Iranians now

2009-06-16T19:47:59Z

From an actual Iranian:

To You, the new Iran 'expert'
Yes, you.

Who thought until this morning that Shiraz was just the name of a wine

Who's beaming with pride you can now write 'Ahmadinejad' without copy-and-pasting it from a news website

Who only heard of Evin prison when Roxana Saberi was there (Roxana who?)

Who's changed your Facebook profile picture to a green rectangle

Who actually thinks that Mir-Hossein Mousavi is a secular
And that his election means that Iran will give up its nuclear claims
And allow you to visit Tehran for Christmas

More here for every insufferable internet activist with a green icon.

#iranelection

2009-06-14T05:33:02Z

Forgive me for the Twitterlike note.

I've been following the aftermath of the election in Iran via Twitter. It's amazing. Some posts are noise, some almost certainly nonsense, but the photos and videos don't lie. Thousands of people in the streets of Tehran, traffic gridlocked, vehicles on fire, lines of riot police running away.

I have a complicated emotional relationship with the Middle East. Iran is not generally considered friendly country for Jewish people, but I'm a commie liberal and I think they deserve better anyway. And that only good things will come from a move toward a more open society.

and she asked

2009-06-11T22:51:59Z

What should we name the cat?

welcome home

2009-05-23T04:14:15Z

It's a girl.

[click for larger image]

defeated

2009-05-16T19:40:30Z

It's over and we lost. The Bruins are out of the playoffs.

I'm angry and depressed.

Personal to Scott Walker: as Shawn Thornton said, we have long memories. Look what happened to Steve Begin. Karma is a bitch.

Edited, September 2009: and now Steve Begin is a Bruin, and I like him. Whodathunk?

disappointment and hilarity

2009-05-07T19:52:59Z

The Bruins lost last night.

It's one thing to play well and lose. It's something else entirely to play badly and lose. Seatmate and I were so angry we couldn't speak. Every single Bruin (except Mark Stuart) deserves to be slapped with a fish.

Manny Being Manny has been busted for two positive tests for a banned drug and suspended for fifty games. The Powers That Be have said it's not a steroid or human growth hormone. So what is it? Inquiring minds want to know. [Edit: it's hCG, a drug allegedly used to cycle off steroids.] Oh, Manny. I still wear your jersey.

On a more cheerful note, this picture made me laugh until I couldn't breathe. Text is NSFW (profanity).

YouTubery: Telus commercial hilarity with dancing macaws. O Canada.

frustrations and happy things

2009-05-06T20:27:12Z

I don't know what it is, but lately I'm really sick of being sick. I'm tired of gimping along from one doctor to another. I'm tired of making phone calls and sending emails to get doctors to talk to one another. I'm tired of being in the middle of their dueling egos. I'm tired of my primary care doctor's total lack of curiosity. I'm tired of coordinating appointments and record transfers and tests. I'm tired of asking Seatmate to pick up my meds at a pharmacy just half a mile away. I'm tired of my hips hurting and knowing that it has to get worse before it can get better, if it gets better. I'm tired of being an interesting case.

I am Jack's rising sense of impotent frustration.

However. My kitchen is a delicious jungle of happy plants. We have white planters, white oven mitts, and a soft off-white rug for the living room. We have a huge pile for the Salvation Army folks to pick up. The Sox beat the Yankees last night in the pouring rain. And the Bruins are still in the playoffs, tied at one game each in their second-round series against the Canes. Tonight, I plan on settling in with Seatmate and some Papa John's parmesan breadsticks and cheering our Bruins in game three. (It's in Raleigh or we'd be there.)

Sports dorkery: Cam Ward is phenomenal, but I think the Bruins are a stronger team overall. I can't help being an Ovechkin fan despite his constant uncalled charging and my general love for the Pens. I don't have a dog in the fight between the Hawks and Nucks, but I was madly amused by Luongo smacking Byfuglian in the face the other night when Buff gloated after a goal (something our beloved Tim Thomas might do).

YouTubery: an amazing overhead view of Mine That Bird coming from the back of the pack to win the Kentucky Derby.

not-morning photo

2009-05-02T19:15:45Z

Canes @ Bruins, 5.1.09

checking in

2009-04-29T21:17:23Z

We have started looking at cats on PetFinder.

My longing for feline company has gotten stronger as spring has taken hold. Every little cat face I see kills me. We're taking steps to get the apartment ready for a new cat: bringing in a new scratching post, comparing water fountains (Drinkwell, PetMate, CatIt), hanging the plants out of reach of little paws. Then we'll go meet some shelter cats. I have my eye on two right now, one a tortie who resembles Cricket, the other a lap cat in sleek black. I'm hoping they'll be around when we're ready. Soon.

(I've become accustomed to being catless. I left a sandwich unattended on my bed for a few minutes today. Cricket would have scarfed that sucker down as soon as I turned my back.)

In the meanwhile, Seatmate has transformed the kitchen and worked his way to the bottom of the Perpetual Laundry pile and conquered Ikea in various forms ("Ikea is my bitch," he said triumphantly after whipping through yet another assembly). I'm impressed. The apartment looks better all the time.

The Bruins start their second-round play on Friday night, again here on home ice. More playoff awesomeness. I'm so psyched.

But I'm ready to come home to a cat.

drive-by with photo

2009-04-26T23:25:20Z

passing the flag at game two, 4.18.09

swish!

2009-04-14T21:01:51Z

I hate that Nick Swisher is a Yankee. I love Swish. I can't help it.

In 2007, when Swish was still with Oakland, I watched him sign autographs and joke around with fans at Fenway for a good thirty minutes. Someone in the crowd had a Swish bobblehead headband, which he borrowed and wore for a few minutes. He seemed to have a smile for everyone and a laid-back attitude I liked a lot.

Last night, the Yankees' starting pitcher got shelled and the game got way out of hand. With the Yankees losing 15-5, their manager decided to save their bullpen and sent Swish, the first baseman, out to pitch. Swish turned in a scoreless inning, a strikeout, and a lot of smiles (except from Posada, who got pissy with reporters about the game).

Swish isn't the first non-pitcher to pitch in a major league game. From my own memory, the Red Sox sent Dave McCarty out to pitch a few times in 2004, and had Alex Cora warming up in the bullpen last year. Why not?

With the Bruins heading to the Stanley Cup Playoffs, my head is still mostly in hockey. I loved being reminded of how much fun baseball can be, even down ten runs. Long live Swish.

(And go Bruins, but that's another post.)