Really, my life is not a cascade of fiascos – it’s just one of those weeks.
Our beautiful black long-haired cat, Mischief, has come down with an aggressive carcinoma in her lungs and chest, which will probably kill her, according to the vets at Blue Pearl (described by a former vet tech friend as “the Mayo of veterinarians”). They tried to surgically remove the tumors, but they were too well entrenched, and proved inoperable. A call just a few minutes ago suggested a possible chemotherapy approach, but that’s for a different story…
So, fiasco, part 1: my beautiful long hair black princess of a kitty has this … bare spot on her flank.
Just for fair and balanced reporting, I present an opposing view:
We brought her home from the surgery this last Tuesday, along with a clutch of pain meds, and we stayed up with her for part of the night, but eventually we did go to bed. The next morning it was time for her first med. She was entrenched in her traditional resting place, which is on top of some of my Art Editor’s artwork underneath the pool table in the basement (you can see parts of it, above). Thus, we hauled out the artwork, grabbed her, and unceremoniously squirted her mouth with the med.
An hour later, it was time to give her a second med. Alas! She had disappeared!
Eight hours later, she was Still Missing. We knew she wasn’t outside, and we were afraid she was hiding in the ceiling of the basement. Our two original cats (Mischief and Mayhem) access the ceiling in several ways, but their favorite is a hole in the wall of the laundry room, since patched:
The white square is foam core now covering the hole. The shelf is reached via washing machine, so our freshly stitched kitty attained security in 3 pretty large jumps.
Indeed, we did eventually discover her in the ceiling – by first hearing her wheezing pathetically. We verified her presence by ripping down some of the paneling visible above, but could not reach her from our small access port.
Then came Phase II: Recovery.
It didn’t go well.
Six hours of requests, begging, calling, waving tuna fumes in her direction, poking with a tape measure (quite gently), and the occasional frustrated screech could not dislodge her from the top of the (warm) vents upon which she was resting or entice her to any opening. We pulled down more paneling, sawed holes in the sheet rock and unscrewed ceiling access panels, but we were never able to reach her.
Finally, the basement in a shambles and with horrid visions of having to retrieve her body from the ceiling in a few days, I halted my proceedings, and left a light on in the basement for her. I went upstairs exhausted and frustrated, and drowsed on the couch as a rerun of Family Guy played on the TV. At midnight, deep in depression, I fell asleep. Startled suddenly awake, I heard Deb hiss at me:
“Hue! Look!”
Mischief was sauntering across the living room, with nary a cobweb in sight (Deb & I were filthy by comparison). She walked right across to Deb, jumped into the chair, and settled in her lap.
So, fiasco part 2: Two adult humans are defeated by a partially bald, very ill, elderly small cat, who, having achieved her aims, finally comes out to applause and adoration.
Sheesh.
Deb transferred our little furry fink to me, then spent the next hour boarding up all the access points in the ceiling so that, hopefully, we don’t have to repeat this process ever again.
