Update on Methos

I’m just going to copy and paste the update I put on FB.  This weekend has been exhausting and I am going to give the cat his meds and go to bed.

Yesterday was a long and exhausting day, and the outcome was not as positive as I was hoping. My beloved boycat Methos has an enlarged heart and fluid in his chest; essentially he is in early congestive heart failure, resulting froma  condition called HCM. They put him in an oxygen tent to help him breathe better and wanted to keep him overnight, but ( I will be completely frank because I know no other way) we could not afford the $1000 deposit, so they gave him more oxygen and because his distress is only mild right now, they gave him lasix to help get rid of the fluid on his chest and they allowed us to take him home. I asked the vet repeatedly because I wanted to be perfectly clear, if there is a chance that medication could manage the condition but to find out we need the echo of his heart to find out what kinds of meds would benefit him most. I want to give him this chance. IMG_4304.JPG I will call first thing tomorrow morning to set up a echo before we make a final decision. Thanks to everyone who has commented, contributed or shared our GoFundMe. If you can help, even a tiny bit, we appreciate it more than you know; if you can’t, do me a small favor and share this post. Right now I’m beyond pride; I just want to save my daughter’s best furry friend.

As promised…

Okay, I gotta be quick; my friend is graciously allowing me to use her phone as a hotspot. As promised, I saved up some blog posts for you on my hard drive and am uploading them now. Here is the first, and it is about none other than my dopey boy cat Methos. No time to link. If you’re curious, just type his name into the search bar on my blog. He is featured regularly.

Orig date:11/10/14
Clearly, my mother was right, and I have no fucking common sense. (Don’t tell her I said that.)
The cats have fleas– big, ugly, brown, hoppy bastards! We got some of that Hartz stuff and put it on their necks. (One of my vet tech friends told me I might as well have spit on them.) Maybe it’s worked some…maybe…but not fast enough. The cats (especially Methos–) have been driving me batshit with their scratching and biting and flaking bits of scabs and flea junk all over the place. Hubby and I are getting bitten. Darling Daughter prob is too, but she’s too happy being four to notice or care.
So yesterday my friend told me to salt the carpets and vacuum after 12-24 hours and she also gave me the [dubious] advice to bathe the cats in Original Dawn. Now, some of my more regular readers may already be shaking their heads and chuckling. They are no doubt recalling what I myself managed to forget (it was probably a defense mechanism,) and that is the traumatic event that was the last time I attempted to bathe Methos.
Don’t get me wrong; I knew it would be brutal. I even bought a pair of rubber dish gloves in preparation, a lame attempt to protect mine or my husband’s hands, (whoever was unlucky enough to have to hold him in the water,) until the fleas try to jump ship, so to speak.
Supposedly animals have three responses to fear; flight, fight, or freeze. With Methos, it’s fight and flight, and fuck up anyone in the way. He seemed to believe, despite our having taken loving care of him for almost eight years, that we intended to drown him– either that, or the water was lava.
Hubby had the gloves, (Methos still bit the shit out of him) and I ended up bleeding. DD wasn’t hurt at all but she still ended up screaming, in sympathy I guess, (sympathy with us or the cats, I don’t know.) I don’t think anything but his legs and tail even got wet. We chucked him in the cat room and shut the door, leaving him to recover emotionally.
Chloe was easier. She chose freeze (and cry.) Still, her undercoat never got wet. There was not a single flea in the water from either cat, but both were wet and upset, and we decided to just take the flea comb to them to see what we’d come up with.
As you may have guessed, the cats still have fleas.

The Methos Chronicles: Episode [Nonoxynol] 9

I think I may have stumbled upon something here, folks.  An idea with real potential here:

A method of birth control more natural than pills, more reliable than “natural family planning…”   And the only thing you have to do is remember to feed it and scoop its litter.  Yes, I’m talking about my cat of course.  But seriously, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, let me introduce Methos:

methos1

He’s lovable, he’s large, he’s dopey…he likes to wear shoes (sometimes on his face)

And he has no qualms whatsoever about making himself comfortable in the bed (or on the couch) while hubby and I have sex.  The other night, I practically used him as a pillow, since he didn’t feel inclined to move.  But at least he wasn’t staring right at us this time.   That can get pretty damn awkward.  It’s like I can hear him thinking (perhaps in a British accent), Ugh, they’re at it again.  They’re worse than animals… that’s fucking disgusting…   Except, as I said, he can’t be bothered to get up and leave.  But we’ve adjusted to it.  Mostly we ignore him, and sometimes we kick him off the bed if we find him too distracting.

But there was this one time he happened to on the bed and there was a contraception… mishap.

Women who have experimented with different types of contraception may be familiar with a spermicide foam sold in a pressurized can with applicators.  So, for those needing it spelled out, the applicator can be filled quickly and with little preparation, by applying it to the top of the pressurized can and release it when you see the applicator is full.  Voila!  You’re ready for safe* sex.

*this foam is for prevention of pregnancy only, and does not protect against HIV or sexually transmitted diseases*

*this foam is for prevention of pregnancy only, and does not protect against HIV or sexually transmitted diseases*

I don’t know where on the bed the cat was; I wasn’t really paying much attention to him.  Hubby and I were getting busy, and one of us was attempting to fill the applicator.   It wasn’t anything new, except this time, we held the applicator to the nozzle a bit too long.  Suddenly, the pressure from the can became too much.  The plunger rocketed out of the top of the tube in a plume of contraceptive foam and bounced off the ceiling.

It was a mess.  There was foam on us, foam on the bed, foam on the ceiling…   But we’re all adults here.  We know sex in real life is often not as sexy and graceful as Hollywood makes it look.  I don’t think that alone would have derailed us for long.  When I really lost it was when I looked over to see Methos, still sitting placidly on the comforter, a look of calm confusion on his face, and contraceptive foam dripping off his head.
Needless to say, it took a little work to get back in the mood after that, but the comedic value was priceless.

Saturday Morning First World Problems

Nothing to improve a Saturday morning like stepping in a steaming pile of cat puke.

This after virtually a whole night spent feeling like Donald Duck in one of those old Merry Melody cartoons.  You know, the one where Donald is trying in vain to sleep but one thing after another seems to confound his efforts?

My first mistake was eating a snack too late.  I’ve discovered, much to my dismay, that if I eat much later than 8:30 or nine at night, I will invariably wake in the middle of the night even hungrier.  It must kick-start my metabolism, kind of like a second wind for my appetite.  And in case you’re not a regular reader, I have a very low tolerance for being hungry.  It makes me cranky and miserable, especially when I’m trying to sleep.  So then I eat a little “mid-night” snack, which is really nothing more than me grabbing something as I make a small circuit from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom to pee, and then back to the bedroom.  And since I usually wake up multiple times a night, catalyzing this routine usually results in several repetitions of this routine, as the more I eat in the middle of the night, the hungrier I am each time I wake up.  I’m usually okay if I can fall right back to sleep; I can take a sip or two of juice and be fine. I try to drink juice or milk or even water in place of eating, but sometimes that just aggravates my bladder and then I can’t sleep because I keep having to pee…  And then when I get up for good in the morning, I already have five hundred calories under my belt (pardon the pun) to try to work off for the day.

And then the damn cats– Methos, specifically.  He’s always doing irritating shit, like butting into the black out curtains and letting in light from the lamp outside my window.  He’s learned that he doesn’t have to run away unless I actually get out of the bed, so after like the fifth time he opened my blinds, I finally got up to lock him in the laundry room.  Chloe hears the door shut, knew she was next (cuz that’s where the litter boxes are), so she led me a merry chase around the coffee table trying to evade capture.

It sounds ridiculous even as I type it.

So, last night was spent in a semi-comatose swirl of eating, drinking, peeing, tossing, and turning.  All of J*’s stirrings made me anxious, as I dreaded her waking early and me having to get up and stay up.

Hubby had a headache this morning, but I managed to beg him into getting up with J* so I could at least get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

So I get up around ten AM and, as I make my coffee in the kitchen…squish…

Methos-neko?

Most of you are probably familiar with “basket cat,” AKA the most relaxed cat in the world, or zen cat…   Shironeko (neko means cat(s) in Japanese)is known for not only being an extremely tolerant cat, allowing his owners to stack almost anything on his head and feet and take pix, but also have a goofy, happy,and completely relaxed look while doing it. I love Shiro.  Seeing his sweet “smile” never fails to lift my spirits.

Shironeko

Shironeko

Today, Hubby and J* were playing with Methos…and the Duplos.  You see where I’m going with this?  Well, after taking the first pic or two, this gave me a brilliant idea.

Methos is tolerant…but he sure doesn’t look zen yet.

Methos and Duplos

Methos and Duplos

Methos and the Pelican

Methos and the Pelican

IMG_3049

Methos and the alphabet blocks

Methos and the alphabet blocks

"Hello Methos"

“Hello Methos”

Methos and the plastic tub turtle

Methos and the plastic tub turtle

So, yeah… I guess he’s a work in progress.  One day he’ll let us take the pix without that I’m going to kill you in your sleep look on his face.

Happy Friday!

*all pix of Methos belong to alienredqueen; please do not use without permission/credit

More Methos

“Interesting…a cat that likes beef jerky…”

He’s getting stranger all the time.  He’s always been…different.  “Special.”  I’m talking about Methos, of course.  He’s lovable, adorable, affectionate… loud, irritating, persistent…

He’s been whining a lot more lately, following us around, tangling under our feet, meowing loudly at night… and the only explanation I can come up with is that perhaps he is reacting to my husband’s increasing impatience with him, and it’s all for attention.  Methos is always pushing his presence, climbing on laps, headbutting, stepping on balls…   If at all possible, he will attempt to sit on me, Hubs, and the baby at the same time as we sit on the couch.   And lately Hubs seems to be forever pushing him away, and not always politely.  On the increasingly rare occasions that Hubs does allow Methos to sit on or with him, the stupid cat looks so content it‘s pathetic.  

But anyway, like I said before, he’s always been bizarre.  Lately here he likes to jam his face into a corner or crook when he sleeps.  And he’s been making himself comfortable in all sorts of bizarre yet adorable ways.

Let’s call this Exhibit A: upside-down on hubby’s crotch

I think here the appeal is perhaps obvious; belly rubbing and cerebral hypoxia.

Exhibit 2… I mean B: The Invisible Ottoman

Nestled into the arm of the couch, feet hanging off…

Exhibit C: Anticipatory Bellyrub Posture

and finally…

Exhibit D: The Supervisor

The screen of my Netbook makes a lovely pillow.

Yes, despite his tendency to constantly get into shit, his repeated attempts to escape every time we open the front door,  habit of stepping on sensitive body parts…  he’s a sweet little bastard.  And he’s getting better about allowing my two year old to “hug” him in a strangle hold or use him as a body pillow, so that’s “Plus Points” for him.  And he does put up with my stupid bullshit, like when I accidentally try to excise a body part, or spray him with a household cleaner, thinking it’s a water bottle.  I guess I’ll keep him around a little while longer.