Because you all totally care about my pets.
Optimism is hard to come by these days.
We used to have two cats. Here's a picture:
The big ol' orange tom is Tobias (yes, named after the character from Animorphs). Liz, you may find it particularly funny that he was named Wesley when we picked him up at the Humane Society. His name was almost Samwise, but I couldn't get it to stick. He was mine. ♥ I got him when I was thirteen. He grew to be huuuuge, with really big paws and a bit of a gut by the time we had to give him up. He was incredibly smart and adaptive, which is part of how he got so huge; no matter where we hid the treats, he found them and tore the bag open. At one point, he learned how to open doorknobs. It was a little terrifying.
The Russian blue mix is Toonces (yes, from Toonces the driving cat). Strictly speaking, he's my sister's cat, but since my sister moved out at age 16 to live with my dad at his apartment (which is nearly 13 years ago this May), he's stayed here. She got him for her 11th birthday, and she's now turning 29 (oh man, she would kill me if she saw this post) so uh, he's 18 years old. He is an 18 year old cat. He's sort of the dignified pet of the house, he's lasted longer than any of our pets, and the best word to describe him would be "princely."
For about a year now he's been clearly deteriorating. Physically he's been mostly fine, but mentally he was obviously having trouble. Navigating the house grew difficult for him, and he would wander around our counters knocking things over like he was lost. He would spend whole nights yowling for attention, and occasionally get bite-happy. He was almost ninety in cat years, so we let it slide.
Since this Wednesday, he's been physically deteriorating, barely able to move or meow and now he's having trouble breathing. As I'm writing this he's probably holed up in my mother's room dying, but we don't want to trouble him. It's so stupid to get upset that a cat who's lived far longer than logic says he should've is dying, but I was seven when we got this cat. I had to give Tobias up because outdoor cats in the neighborhood had driven him to neurotic territorialism, Toonces is dying, and our house -- which has housed at least one cat for 18 years now -- is going to be catless.
On the upside: here is Cowgirl! She is our Jack Russell Terrier/pointer mix puppy. This is pretty old (you can tell from the Christmas decorations in the background, obvs) so now she's obnoxiously big and faster than a speeding bullet. She is loco, for serious, and sometimes it's fun and sometimes it's ANNOYING. She tears toys up like they're nothing, can kill a full rawhide bone in about a half hour and leave a one-inch spiky shard on the floor, and it is physically impossible to take a picture where she doesn't look more adorable than loco. I wish I could capture this, but the best I can do is tell you she tore the face out of a Funshine bear earlier this week.
Yep.
Shorter me: my cat is dying and my puppy is insane.
I could really use a happiness IV. I suspect Doctor Who Season 15 is as good as I'm going to get.
We used to have two cats. Here's a picture:
The big ol' orange tom is Tobias (yes, named after the character from Animorphs). Liz, you may find it particularly funny that he was named Wesley when we picked him up at the Humane Society. His name was almost Samwise, but I couldn't get it to stick. He was mine. ♥ I got him when I was thirteen. He grew to be huuuuge, with really big paws and a bit of a gut by the time we had to give him up. He was incredibly smart and adaptive, which is part of how he got so huge; no matter where we hid the treats, he found them and tore the bag open. At one point, he learned how to open doorknobs. It was a little terrifying.
The Russian blue mix is Toonces (yes, from Toonces the driving cat). Strictly speaking, he's my sister's cat, but since my sister moved out at age 16 to live with my dad at his apartment (which is nearly 13 years ago this May), he's stayed here. She got him for her 11th birthday, and she's now turning 29 (oh man, she would kill me if she saw this post) so uh, he's 18 years old. He is an 18 year old cat. He's sort of the dignified pet of the house, he's lasted longer than any of our pets, and the best word to describe him would be "princely."
For about a year now he's been clearly deteriorating. Physically he's been mostly fine, but mentally he was obviously having trouble. Navigating the house grew difficult for him, and he would wander around our counters knocking things over like he was lost. He would spend whole nights yowling for attention, and occasionally get bite-happy. He was almost ninety in cat years, so we let it slide.
Since this Wednesday, he's been physically deteriorating, barely able to move or meow and now he's having trouble breathing. As I'm writing this he's probably holed up in my mother's room dying, but we don't want to trouble him. It's so stupid to get upset that a cat who's lived far longer than logic says he should've is dying, but I was seven when we got this cat. I had to give Tobias up because outdoor cats in the neighborhood had driven him to neurotic territorialism, Toonces is dying, and our house -- which has housed at least one cat for 18 years now -- is going to be catless.
On the upside: here is Cowgirl! She is our Jack Russell Terrier/pointer mix puppy. This is pretty old (you can tell from the Christmas decorations in the background, obvs) so now she's obnoxiously big and faster than a speeding bullet. She is loco, for serious, and sometimes it's fun and sometimes it's ANNOYING. She tears toys up like they're nothing, can kill a full rawhide bone in about a half hour and leave a one-inch spiky shard on the floor, and it is physically impossible to take a picture where she doesn't look more adorable than loco. I wish I could capture this, but the best I can do is tell you she tore the face out of a Funshine bear earlier this week.
Yep.
Shorter me: my cat is dying and my puppy is insane.
I could really use a happiness IV. I suspect Doctor Who Season 15 is as good as I'm going to get.