Oversharing Update

Because I am, apparently, the type of person who enjoys sharing my personal health issues online, I'd like to report that the rash has spread. It is now not only on my face, neck, chest, stomach and back but it is also on my cat.

And no that's not some gentle euphemism for female genitalia, I literally mean MY CAT, the infamous Princeton P. Kitty.

Some of you might be saying to yourselves that I am a lunatic, that cats can't get poison ivy. And in most cases you would be right.  Because most cats have fur. Sphynx cats--in spite of their many charms--don't have fur. They can, and clearly, DO get poison ivy (although they are somewhat reluctant to have their rash photographed, no matter how many times you explain this is for your blog):

However, it is interesting to note that not everyone is thrilled to be bombarded with pictures of ivy-afflicted cats.  Not because they don't love and care about cats but because the pictures, when viewed in miniature in an iPhone text message preview, look a little obscene...as is evidenced by the response I received from my friend Kelly:

"Here's another fun fact. Pictures of a Sphynx cat's leg, that pop up on an iPhone as a tiny flesh colored picture, at first glance look just like a human penis."

I laughed so hard that I almost forgot how bad my back was itching.

In any case, I still feel like a leper but am heading to the doctor soon...I wonder how she'd feel if I brought the Prince along?

Hockey Fan

In addition to his long term obsession with Rock Band, Princeton P. Kitty has developed a deep interest in hockey.

He likes the Stars but he's still a Blues cat at heart.

This is when I remembered to turn on the flash.

Dilemmas

Ok let’s say you have a hairless cat whose tail has occasionally been described as “rat-like.”

And let’s say this alleged cat takes an Olympic-gymnast style leap from his window seat to the floor—only to get the aforementioned tail caught in the cords of the blinds.

And let’s say that he is then suspended from the blinds like some yowling, angry, hairless marionette.

And let’s say that you immediately rescue the cat from his predicament (which he is pretty sure is all YOUR fault) but the second he is free, he runs all over the house in an attempt to hide from you and your tail-damaging shenanigans.

And let’s say that you finally corner him on the DVR:

and realize that his tail is bruised and a little bit swollen.

Do you take this cat to the vet? Can the vet do anything about a bruised tail?

Or do you spend the rest of your morning trying to figure out why these things only happen when your husband is at work and wondering if 11:00 am is too early for vodka?

Asking for a friend…

Back to the Cardiologist

I'm sure I’ll have a longer blog about this later but I thought I would just give everyone a quick update:

I took Princeton P kitty back to the cardiologist today.

And if there's anything worse than driving for three hours in the car with a distraught crying kitty, it's driving for three hours in the car with a distraught crying kitty who gets himself so worked up that he actually gets physically sick.

I will spare you the details but trust me when I say there was more than one bodily fluid involved.

And if that's not enough please add into the equation the fact that the kitty cardiologist is located somewhat off the beaten path and I was traveling snow-covered roads in a Miata.

Today was not a good day.

However, on the bright side, I think the cardiologist is finally starting to understand my sense of humor.

You may remember that a few weeks ago, he suggested that I give Prince Xanax before bringing him to the clinic and that that particular experiment did not go well.

“Did the Xanax help?” the cardiologist asked.

“Definitely not,” I answered.  “Unless, of course, he was supposed to react in a 60s style bad acid trip fashion.”

“Oh no!” He said. “Well, would you like to try one of the other tranquilizers?”

“No,” I said sweetly. “I think I have enough left to get me through the trip home.”

It took him a minute, but he got it. Then he smiled and said “Seriously, though, there are other 

tranquilizers we can try with Prince.”

“Seriously,” I assured him, “I would rather stab something in my eye.”

And this time, instead of staring at me like a lunatic, he laughed and said “Fair enough.”

I think we’re finally starting to understand each other.

Who Needs Xanax Now?

It's entirely possible that I may end up punching the kitty cardiologist right in the face.

If you read my last blog (and if you didn't why not? You should click here and rectify that IMMEDIATELY...wait, does that sound desperate?), you know that Princeton P Kitty has been seeing a kitty cardiologist and that the cardiologist thinks that my poor cat is "high strung" and needs tranquilizers before future cardiology visits. He gave us a prescription for kitty Xanax and then said "But test it out on him before the day you bring him, just in case he experiences any adverse side effects."

Which probably sounds like great advice.

But I gave Prince the test dose last Monday morning, and now what I wish the cardiologist had said was "FYI: Some cats react to tranquilizers like they're on a bad acid trip and completely freak out and run around the house banging into walls and screaming at the top of their lungs...and since your life seems to be one bizarre catastrophe after another, that's probably what will happen to Prince."

THAT would have been much more helpful.

It also would have saved our regular vet a couple of hysterical phone calls in which I screamed things like "He's DYING, do you hear me? My cat is having a PSYCHOTIC DEATH ATTACK!  What do you mean, let him sleep it off??! HE JUST TRIED TO WALK UP THE WALL!!"

It also would have prepared me for the fact that I would have to restrain the cat in his crate until the drugs finally wore off.

It is interesting to note that the whole reason we were supposed to give tranquilizers to this poor animal in the first place is that he freaks out when we put him in the crate and take him to the cardiologist.

And the crate situation was made infinitely worse by the introduction of hallucinogenic drugs...I put him in the crate to protect him from himself and HE CRIED AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS FOR FIVE STRAIGHT HOURS.

Which made the dogs start crying...which made me start crying...and I couldn't even leave because I was afraid he'd start having fits or something...it got so bad that Opie actually offered to take a vacation day and come home from work.

So, let me just say, we have to go back to the cardiologist in the next week or so and if he says ONE FREAKING WORD about lowering Princeton's stress level, I am throwing caution to the winds and jacking him RIGHT IN THE FACE.

It might be a good idea to start doing a little research and seeing if we have other kitty cardiologists in the area.

Maybe I'm Just Anal...

I hate it when my cat interrupts me in the bathroom.

Which probably makes me sound incredibly anal so maybe I should explain...here's what I really hate:

When I get home late at night, after teaching a 3 hour Composition class, and try to enter the house as quietly as possible so I don't wake up Opie.  Tiptoeing up the stairs, sliding into the bathroom, and leaving the door ever so slightly unlatched, again so the sound doesn't wake Opie.

Which is when this crazy animal:

 

 

decides to throw himself, full force, against the door, slamming it into the wall. And then, while I'm in the process of flinging myself off my "perch" in abject terror, the cat--STILL AIRBORNE--hits the bathmat like a springboard and flips himself into my lap.  And then, because I am now gripping the counter and wall in a desperate attempt not to fall on the floor, the ridiculous animal decides to claw his way up to my shoulder and stand there with his back claws dug in and his front paws on my head, purring triumphantly.

 

That's what I hate.

 

And I have to be honest, I don't think that makes me anal AT ALL.

Another Mystery.

Today makes the second time in a week that I've come home to find this dog:

trapped either in the bathroom or spare room. Based on his desperate run for freedom both times, it's easy to discern he'd been trapped for quite awhile.  The only other person home on both days was this little cat--who is roughly 1/5 of the dog's size:

 

 

Princeton P. Kitty swears up and down that he is innocent of all charges and he is trying to point the paw back at Bubba.  The problem is, Prince is pretty smart and Bubba is...well, let's just say he's aptly named. But is this the face of a creature who would trick his fellow animal into a small space and leave him there for hours?  Surely there's another explanation....right??!



Lions and Tigers and ... Dogs?

Does anyone else remember the news story a few months ago about the tourists in Argentina who thought they were buying a poodle but when they got it home and took it to the vet realized that they had actually bought a ferret on steroids?

I would post the pics here but that would be a violation of those pesky copyright laws, so check them out here.

(It is interesting to note that, although this is horrible, there is a tiny little part of me that wants a poodle ferret).

Anyway, I was pretty sure that this was pretty much the limit in animal impersonation frauds.

But no!

Because yesterday I read about a Chinese zoo that tried to pass off a DOG as a LION.

To be fair, it was a huge Tibetan mastiff and not a Chihuahua, but still…it’s a DOG.  A fact the zoo patrons became aware of when some little kid was like “That lion is BARKING.”

Now the zoo officials are all “Oh, we didn’t mean to try to fool anyone.  We were just keeping the dog in the lion den for security reasons.”

Which is a little hard to believe because first of all, how does putting a dog in a lion pen help anyone feel secure?  Second, check out how that dog was all gussied up. Pretty sure that wasn't an accident.

However, this has led me to come up with an amazing fundraising idea.  I think I’m going to start a backyard zoo.  I won’t even have to get new animals; we already have enough.

The first think I’m going to do is dye Bubba’s eyebrows, muzzle and paws black and start calling him a panther.  And, unlike the Chinese zoo officials, I’m going to be prepared.  “He’s not barking,” I’ll say if anyone asks.  “He’s coughing. He’s very sick…and it’s probably contagious.  Don’t get too close.”

 

Then I’ll hurry them over to our next exhibit—the baby leopard.

 

Again, preparation will be important.  I mean, I can see it now…”That’s not a leopard,” some little kid will say.  “That’s a bald cat in a leopard coat.”

And I’ll say “Leopards ARE cats.”  And then the kid will feel stupid for speaking up and hopefully won’t say a word when I take them over to the polar bear habitat.  “We just have one,” I’ll say.  “And it’s just a baby, that's why it's so small.”

Seriously, I smell a million dollar opportunity!

 

 

Princeton P. Kitty -- Rock Star!

Ok, I know I'm teetering dangerously on the "crazy cat lady" line but, seriously, how funny is this cat?  Who knew he was such a Beatles fan?

 

 

Kitty In the Sky With Diamonds 

 Kitty-Cat Garden

 

Sgt. Princeton's Lonely Hearts Club Band

 

 

With A Little Help From My Cat

 



 

Catnip Fields Forever

 

Hmmmm...it might be time for me to start getting out a little more....