We're Not Meant to Hide Under the Bed

My post for Feb. 16, "My Cat is a Phoenix," summarized yet another story of my calico Faith's triumph of her small cell lymphoma that should have claimed her life in 2022.

However, on February 20, I reached out to Dr. Beechler, who had provided end-of-life care and euthanasia to Frances and Midnight, to assess Faith. 

Dr. Beechler offered to come out the following morning, which she did.

You see, Faith was back to doing Faith things: eating, drinking, cuddling, sitting in my chair, looking out the window - except she was also spending more and more time hiding under my bed.

That behavior began around the holidays, when Faith started what I termed "sundowning" - retreating beneath my bed for a few hours starting around twilight.

But during her past week of life, she spent all of her time under the bed, except when performing the above-mentioned activities.

I was 50/50 on what to do.

And so was Dr. Beechler when she arrived that Saturday morning and assessed her. Faith was overall doing well, except she had now developed a heart murmur she didn't have the previous week.

So technically, Faith hit all the "quality of life" markers for a cat - except for hiding under the bed.

She was living life, but not living life, if that makes sense.

When I woke up that Saturday morning, even before I opened my eyes, I gave Faith a test she didn't know I'd given her.

As was her habit, Faith started off the night sleeping on her blanket on my bed.

By morning, she'd be sitting on top of my little cabinet near the bed, looking out the window, also her habit.

So that morning, I opened my eyes and looked at the cabinet. No Faith.

You guessed it. Faith was already hiding under the bed.

While people and animals need to slip into their comfort ones from time to time, we all know that true growth and the meaning of life is not found by hiding under the bed.

That repeated, persistent act from Faith told me her quality of life had lost that indefinable quality that made life quality for Faith, enough that she tried to find solace in retreat.

As we navigate through life, sometimes we need to find solace in retreat. But I believe we instinctively know that true life happens beyond our comfort zones. 

As uncomfortable life is beyond those comfort zones, life's elusive magic is really found there.

And as we and our loved ones journey through life, we, too, will need to discern when to fight, when to step back, when to stive for a cure, for palliative care, for hospice, for the afterlife.

None of these discernments come with easily defined markers and boxes to check.

Not for us. And apparently not for our pets either.

But on February 21, when I opened my eyes to Faith's empty spot at the window, I knew one thing for certain.

We didn't bring Faith back from the brink of death to hide under the bed.

And so, a few hours later, we let her go.

A Gift of Poppyseed

I have a longstanding love for poppyseed that extends deeply back into my youngest years.

Last week, someone gifted me with this poppyseed roll during Faith's last week.

Rebekah and I had bought a variety of tempting foods for Faith, and her interest in them increased as the week progressed.

Her favorite was a soup with minced chicken pieces. By Saturday morning, Faith only had one soup left. I save it, just in case she stayed with it and needed it later in the day.

Unfortunately, "staying" was not in Faith's best interests. Dr. Beechler came with tuna and chicken sticks and asked which Faith might prefer.

Faith, of course, preferred the soup. 

Fortunately, a bit of this roll still also remained on Saturday.

After Dr. Beechler left I had a slice of poppyseed roll in Faith's honor, completely a comforting culinary circle of life.

My Cat is a Phoenix

Anyone who's followed by Faith's nearly four-year cancer journey, knows this little kitty has defied the odds (and her eventual fate) more than nine lives should allow - including one dramatic turn for the better one hour before her euthansia more than two years ago.

Well, she's beat them again, at least for this moment.

Because of her longterm steriod use (anticipated to be a couple of months, not years), Faith drinks a lot but can't keep up with the fluid loss. So she was recently prescribed subcutaneous fluids twice a week at home.

Before Faith received Fluid Treatment No. 1, we had the carpet stretchers at opur house. My room and the hall had rather suddenly developed a large, long trail of  a hump that urgently needed repair due to its size, location, and hazard (large enough we kept tripping over it).

That means completely emptying my room, a many-hour task on Calkins Day, for which I took the day off work.

Well, the carpet stretchers arrived two hours early, and we were far from done. So they headed to some other jobs and came back at the end of the day. That means a panicked Faith hid somewhere all day and under my bed once they were gone.

Faith stayed there most of Saturday, and I don't think she slept much those two days.

By Saturday night, she'd lost half a pound, looked ghastly, and received her first treatment of at-home fluids.

I worked through the weekend, so she and I hung out together. She didn't eat or drink much, but she did rest her face in the water bowl.

We decided to cancel my PT for Monday, give Tiny's vaccination appointment to Faith, and do whatever we needed to do to address the issue.

That brings us to last night.

At ten o'clock, Faith suddently discovered water.

And kibbles.

And sticks of wet food (the lickable snacks, and she eats an average of ten per day as a supplement).

Well, she ate eight of them last night.

I dozed on the bed and refilled her bowl each time I heard her licking the empty bowl. Untill well past midnight, I was up and down refilling her bowl. I also gave her fresh water around four.

She's still a little dehydrated. But her veterinarian said no more subcutaneous fluids until her next scheduled one, since she's eating and drinking. She also doesn't need to be seen, hurray!

We get that Faith is on borrowed time, and her situation can change on a dime. Her four-year anniversary since diagnosis is less than two months away, and we'd be surprised if she makes that.

In the meantime...

Tiny is rescheduled for next week. I get to go to work and PT as if nothing happened. 

Faith is currently hanging out under the bed pecking and food and water.

Not bad for a Monday, right?

Faith and Midnight

We never expected to wind up with two cats with cancer.

We're grateful to everyone's whose prayed, thought good thoughts, and sent out healing energy their way.

Today's blog seems the best way to update everyone, since both cats had some medical stuff these past few weeks.

Yes, they are both alive and stable. It's not that kind of update.

Midnight

Midnight came to us at four months of age. Someone had thrown Midnight away along with her siblings. Christopher discovered them, rescued them, cared for them, and found homes for all except Midnight because she was "skittish" and no one wanted her.

So I named her Midnight and picked her up from his house when she was sixteen weeks (that's the short story).

Well, Midnight was skittish because she was sick, underweight, and fighting amongst the bigger cats at Christopher's house for her food. She had ear mites and tape worms, and I didn't expect her to live.

Our veterinarian would not spay her until she was free of heartworm segments. For months, Midnight had regular deworming treatments and we regularly submitted stool samples for testing. Midnight could not be spayed until she was tapeworm-free.

Well, one night she was nine months old and the temperature was eighteen degrees below zero, Midnight dashed out of the house at one in the morning as we were leaving to deliver newspapers. We circled back several times, calling out, "Midnight" all around the yard in the middle of the night.

Around four in the morning, Midnight crawled out from under the deck with three cats and she was not cold at all. I'm sure you know where this story is going.

Ron wouldn't hear of breaking up the family. He named the kittens Faith, Hope, and Charity, and we now had five cats instead of just our rescue cat Frances.

Charity used all all nine lives in three years.

Hope died in July two days before my birthday.

Fast forward to the last couple of years: Midnight's had three surgeries in two years to remove aggressive spindle cell sarcoma tumors from her back. Each time, they've regrown more quickly than the last. She'd barely recovered from the last surgery when the growths reappeared. They grow larger every day. I now call them "Tina Tumors."

The insidiousness of spindle cell sarcomas is that the part you see is not the evil part. These sarcomas finger out and and out, typically with the lungs as their destination.

After consulting with Midnight's primary, oncologist, and surgeon, we learned that, even at eighteen, Midnight is a great candidate for additional surgery. All her bloodwork is perfect. She does have a grade one heart murmur that isn't always detectable. The heart murmur is not a barrier to more surgery.

However.

The next surgery would need extremely wide margins with the goal of removing all the tumors, going into muscle and part of her spine. She would need radiation five days a week and spend most of her days for eight weeks waiting in a cage for those treatments.

None of this will cure her, although it may buy her time. But what kind of time?

Midnight is terrified of all of it and she was shaking hard when Timothy had to leave her for her CT scan.

Oh, and she also has feline gastrointestinal eosinophilic sclerosing fibroplasia with two lymph nodes involvements.

Midnight can't decide for herself, so we decided for her.

We decided no more surgery for Midnight unless one of her tumors rupture or become necrotic. The surgeon said he could still remove the affected section should it happen as a palliative care option.

The heartbreaking part is that Midnight, at eighteen and dealing with all of this, is still Midnight in personality and activity level. And she may still be her regular Midnight self when it comes time for euthanasia if the reason for euthanasia is this cancer.

The good news is that these tumors have not traveled to her lungs so far. They do seem located despite their rapid growths. Both Midnight's primary and her surgeon feel confident she may die from something else.

So Midnight has joined her daughter Faith in palliative care.

Faith

Faith, as you know, was diagnosed with small cell lymphoma in early April 2022. After much soul searching and multiple opinions, we chose palliative care (for many reasons), which her oncologist said would buy her two to three months.

Chemotherapy treatment, if Faith responded to it, could have theoretically bought her two to three years. 

Well, Faith has lived two and half on palliative alone. At the time of this writing, she is sitting next to me on my desk chair, chin on my arm, and meowing at me when I look at her.

But.

Faith is slowly losing weight.

She needs her anti-nausea medicine daily now - and has Zofran as a backup should she vomit or start eating and drinking less again. Fortunately, we haven't needed it yet.

She was treated for dehydration again a couple of weeks ago.

She is hiding more.

And she looks like an older cat.

Well, Faith is now an older cat.

Faith is a sixteen-year-old cat with cancer.

Some days, she just looks tired, like a clock that's winding down.

She does not look tired now. In this moment, she's now standing on the arm of my chair, nuzzling me for attention.

She tends to look down or away from the camera when I point it at her. Just six months ago, she was such a ham for the camera.

As sad as we'll be when the time to say goodbye arrives, we are so thankful.

We could have lost Midnight all those years ago when she was just a sick little kitten.

We could have only gotten two or three months with Faith after her diagnosis.

And we also almost euthanized Faith eleven months ago. We never dreamed she'd still be with us.

Last November she'd stopped eating and drinking. She was assessed by her primary and a doctor who euthanizes in the home. No one found a reason for Faith's decline. Her bloodwork was good. Her heart and lungs were normal. She had no palpable masses.

So Faith received a modified care plan and had two days to respond. Otherwise, humane euthanasia on the third day was recommended. Daniel was out of town for business for a couple of weeks at the time, and we did a "goodbye" video visit with him, since he and Faith are close.

One hour before Faith's scheduled euthanasia, she jumped off the bed and ran to her food bowl. I took a video and sent it to the doctor. She canceled the euthanasia.

Then we scheduled another euthanasia appointment for two days later, a Saturday, with her primary, just in case. If Faith declined again, we didn't want to drive her an hour away, with her suffering, just to end it all.

We canceled that one, too.

Later that Saturday, Faith left the ugliest, largest hair ball by her food ball I ever saw. That likely caused a blockage that could have killed her. Seriously, this thing was as wide as a sausage and half as long, with long spiky hair sticking out of it.

YUCK!

So now our daily routine looks like we're running an animal hospital, with medication rounds twice a day for both cats and regular weigh-ins. Midnight is taking two, Faith is taking three, and both have additional "as needed" medications, too.

So that's the "tail end" of our update. 

We are thankful.

We are grateful.

We are in awe.

Thank you for taking this journey with us. 

Happy Monday!

The Cat on the Back of the Desk Chair

Timothy snapped this photo one day of Faith and me one night when he popped up to my room while I was still working.

It's typical Faith and me, since Faith has shared my desk chair since she was a kitten.

Sometimes she sits behind me, which is why I almost always sit perched at the end of the chair, even when I worked in an office before the COVID-19 pandemic.

In fact, during hose first few weeks in January 2014 when I became an actual Herald-News employee after being a freelancer for fifteen years felt strange without Faith sitting behind me, so I'd placed Snip there instead.

But if I leave my room for even a minute, I take any open drinks with me.

I learned my lesson years ago when I still worked in my attic office in Channahon.

One time, I ran downstairs to heat up my coffee, and then, when I returned,  my story was filled with random letters and lines and my keyboard was filled with water droplets and an ice cube.

Now if I could only train Faith to copyedit...

The Unprepared Blog

So I've been sick this past week and slept in every day. 

I'm REALLY behind this particular morning and don't have much time to write a blog. 

However, I've missed very few days since we began this blog on August 1, 2010. So what's an unprepared writer to do?

Well, I can thank anyone who's read this blog right now for actually reading it. In this era of information overload and buried posts, I'm humbled anyone is still checking in fourteen years later. I'm truly humbled. So THANK YOU very, very much. As with my BryonySeries and other books, this blog is for you, the reader.

And I could give another "shameless plug" for WriteOn Joliet's upcoming radio play, since everyone is working very hard at delivering an entertaining performance for all those brave enough (ahem!) supportive enough to come out.

Of course, I could easily default to a cat photo, like this one of Faith, who is stressed by my coughing and refusing to look at the camera.

But, mostly, I want to wish you a beautiful day filled with every good blessing a beautiful day can bring.

And I wish that blessing for each and everyone person (and animal) that you love.

Faces of Faith: Part One

Faith is six weeks away from her two-year anniversary of her diagnosis of small cell lymphoma.

Many cats with diagnosis live two to three years when treated with chemotherapy, prednisolone, and vitamin B12.

For many reasons, we opted for palliative care only, understanding we would get two to three months instead. But except for the scare in November (when we actually scheduled her at-home euthanasia only to have her pull through an hour before the veterinarian arrived), Faith has continued to do well.

Here's half a dozen photos of Faith for you to enjoy today. Hope at least one makes you smile.

Happy Thursday!

Christmas "Hope" Ornament

Some people have "hope chests" into which they place items they'd like to use one day in their marriage.

On Friday night, Cindy "gifted" me with a "hope ornament" for my Christmas tree this year.

This "hope ornament" features all three of my cats: their names and their basic likenesses.

It's especially sweet considering that all three are seniors now and that two are not in good health.

Frances is eighteen, has full-body arthritis, and recently battled her first urinary tract infection.

Midnight is sixteen, slowing down, and had a sarcoma removed a couple years ago, so we have to watch her for further skin lesions. She might also be developing arthritis.

Faith, one of Midnight's "kittens," is fifteen and nearly died this spring. She has small cell lymphoma that we have decided to treat just with steriods, vitamin B, and medicine for nausea as needed. 

Charity, one of Midnight's "kittens," died quiet unexpectedly in 2013 and is buried in the backyard of our former Channahon home.

And Hope (yes, we have a cat named Hope), also one of Midnight's kittens, is living the fun life is Morris.

Photos of all four cats below the ornament photo.

And finally Hope - who is living her best life (not with us):

The Many Poses of Faith the Calico

Anyone who's ever owned a pet knows no two pets, like people, have the same personality.

We have owned up to six cats at one time (not on purpose), and Faith, my calico, is by far the most photogenic in terms of posing for the camera.

Yes, Faith loves to get her picture taken. And she has quite a few that the kids call her "Tinder" pictures.

I'm fairly certain she has no idea what that means. I've show her the resulting photos on my phone, but she never looks.

Still, she does brush up against the phone; her way of claiming kitty coprights?

At any rate, when The Herald-News asked its employees to submit a photo of their pet for an advertisement for its Cutest Pet Contest, the dilemma was narrowing the selection down to one.

I used the top one. Scroll down for others.

And if you live in The Herald-News readership area, and if you own a pet, consider entering.

Here is the link.

https://www.shawlocal.com/the-herald-news/marketing/2022/03/07/herald-news-cutest-pet-contest/

Happy scrolling!

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: A Rather Longish Post on Phobias and Cat Bites

Monday, November 28, 2011

NaNoWriMo Whatever Day It Is and Giving Thanks

Okay, since I've delayed the official Herald News story,  here's the incident that (sort of) kicked me out of the National Novel Writing Month.

I love antiques, and my house is full of them. One particularly heavy dresser, with heavy drawers that stick, belonged to my maternal grandmother. On November 9th at  8:15 p.m. exactly (I know because I had just looked at my computer clock and realized I was fifteen minutes later feeding the cats), I decided to grab some cozy flannels and set up for a shower while the kitties were eating.

As I was shoving the resisting drawer back into place, my calico, Faith, decided at that moment to leap across the room and grab onto the draw to peer inside. I slammed her paw flush into the drawer, leaving her dangling. I never heard an animal scream as she did. I quickly pulled on the drawer, and as I did, Faith, in pain and fright, sank her teeth into my thumb.

Owwww! PAIN!

The drawer popped; Faith dashed away; and I knew I was in trouble. I flew down the stairs and into the bathroom and started washing out the wound in hot, soapy water, forcing the pinholes to bleed. Faith stood at the top of the ladder crying, crying, crying. My thumb was already reddening and swelling, but it seemed impossible infection could be developing so soon. The redness, I told myself, was because I have chronic hives; the warmth I felt was due to the fact I was running my hand under hot water; the swelling and tenderness was trauma to the thumb bone.

I comforted Faith and then showered and climbed into bed, but the status of my thumb bothered me. I remembered the past cellulitis incidents of my children and how rapidly a soft tissue infection could spread. I recalled a neighbor who, after noting a slightly red hair follicule, took a short nap and awakened to a swollen face; he died en route to the hospital. I switched on the light and examined my hand. The thumb was definitely red and swollen. I turned the computer back on and typed in "cat bites."

I learned one could adopt a "wait and see" approach with some dog bites, depending on their severity, but cat bites must always be considered a medical emergency. The combination of their long, sharp fangs and the particular type of bacteria they carry in their mouths meant a bite from them literally injected that bacteria directly into soft tissue. I was already sleepy from the drowsy antihistamines I take at bedtime, so I needed a ride.

Ron had to be at the warehouse in three hours, so waking him up was the worst option. Timothy was already in bed and had to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning. Christopher had been dragging all day and was nearly asleep, but he works from home and had nothing pressing to do the next morning. Sooo, after enduring all of his "you're paranoid" and "this can wait until tomorrow" comments, we were off to the ER.

Confession time. I don't know if it's because I have allergies, chronic hives, and asthma (and have experienced the unpleasant consequences of those afflictions), but I have a medical phobia. I am not afraid of hospitals or needles, but of the substances I have to swallow--or have injected into me--in the name of healing. I fear nasty side effects and allergic reactions. I FEAR them. However, I feared worse what might happen to me should I not treat this a cat bite, so here I was in this unhappy predicament.

The ER trip was straightforward, as I feared it would be. One tetnus shot (My last one was in the summer of 1986) and my choice of two antibiotics. Because I'm allergic to penicllin (big surprise), the protocol is one antibiotic from each of two lists. The nurse rattled off two medicines I'd never had--doxycycline and clindamycin--which meant, if I became allergic to either one, I wouldn't know which one.

Sigh. Decisions.

Let's back up. Just two weeks ago, my daughter and web administrator Sarah Stegall had four wisdom teeth removed. Preoperatively and during the post-op period, she took low doses of prescribed clindamycin. On day nine of her treatment, she emailed me a photo of a pimply-looking rash over her shoulders and chest and asked me if it was subcutaneous emphysema. I called her.

"Subcutaneous emphysema? Do you know what that is?"

"No," she said, "but a friend had it after having wisdom teeth pulled."

"That's not Subcutaneous emphysema, but I am concerned about the rash."

Sarah was not. "It doesn't itch."

"Doesn't matter. Have you ever had a rash like this?"

"No. I woke up with it today."

"I'll call you back."

I researched clindamycin reactions and found it can, indeed, produce a distinct pustular rash. I emailed Sarah and told her to show her pharmacist. She agreed to do it later. I awakened the next morning to frantic texts from Sarah. She was in the ER, rash spreading, throat tightening, in pain with two dry sockets and waging war with the doc on call, who claimed it was impossible to have an allergic reaction to a major antibiotic. Abridged ending 9minus the unprintable comments I had about the doc): antibiotic stopped, new pain meds initiated, and an ER trip to the dentist for socket packing. Fast forward to cat bite.

"Can I take Bactrim?" I'd had drug for the first time last year for a leg abcess (another long story), and I had tolerated it "okay."

That eliminated the doxycycline, but the nurse insisted I still needed the clindamycin. I told her about Sarah's reaction and my phobia.

"Have you ever tried Flagyl? We could use that one instead."

I didn't like that option either because that was another unproven drug for me. SIGH! Yes, I know there's only one way to prove it.

"Well," I said slowly. Rebekah did well with clindamycin. I'll try it."

The nurse brought in the clindamcyin first and suggested I wait half an hour before taking the Bactrim. That way, if I had a negative reaction to the clindamycin, I'd have it in the ER.

Well, I did fine with the Clindamycin, and then the Bactrim, so I was sent home with the next morning's dose and told to expect the hand, which was now as swollen as the thumb, to get worse before it got better. I was also instructed to elevate the hand as much as possible, although typing was not prohibited. Just what a features writer on deadline wants to hear.

By next afternoon, I was running a low grade fever, and the infection was traveling up my arm. The plan was to now temporarily stop the Bactrim and initiate ER IV anitbioitic treatments with a powerful cephalosporin used to treat bacterial meningitis. In theory, so I wouldn't have to be stuck each night for the next five nights was to leave the port in my arm. However, I ended up blowing every vein, so the result was a painful arm by day and a new stick each night.

On Monday night, after the last treatment, and as I was stepping out of the shower, I noticed a familiar-looking rash over my chest and shoulders. It was Day Five of the clindamycin. I called the ER (It was 10:30 at night), rattled off my dilemna, and mentioned my next dose was due in an hour. I was to resume the Bactrim in the morning.The nurse consulted with a doc and told me to stop the antibiotic and see my primary tomorrow.

I did, hoping I had enough germ-busting drugs in my system to skip choice number two from list number two, but I wasn't that lucky. She wrote a one-week prescription for Flagyl. From the very does, swallowed at home in a flurry of anxiety, and, within ten minutes, I felt a tightening of my body from head to toe.
\
Now, let me explain that I experienced a similar reaction to an abundance of epinephrine when I had the pheochromocytoma (an adrenal gland tumor; again, another long story), so I dismissed (sort of) the reaction to my anxiety. I also had the same reaction to H2 agonists last year when a doc prescribed them as a secondary drug for the hives, but that drug also produced a rapid heartbeat, which did not happen with the Flagyl.

Do you see why I have a drug phobia?

Sooooo, since tachycardia was absent, I chalked up the reaction to nerves. The next morning, I hardly felt the squeezing, but the following night, it was back. The following morning's dose was fine and so on, until Friday night when, five minutes after I swallowed my Flagyl, I experienced a pressure so strong, I had difficulty swallowing and typing; my muscles painfully ached. That's when I realized my morning reaction might be milder because I was full of all the antihistamines from the previous night.

Shaking all over, I called my doctor, and she told me to stop the medicine and complete the Bactrim. As a precaution, she suggested I add Benadryl to my anithistamine cocktail, but since I take so many and with "off label" dosees, I decided to monitor my symptoms and go to the ER, if necessary. I was fine.

I did, noticing the Bactrim also caused the same symptoms, just milder, so it's definitely a drug I will use with caution in the future.

So what does this all have with National Writing Month? Well, these allergic reactions and infection treatments took a huge bite (so to speak) out of my already tight schedule, as I frantically rushed to complete the assignments already on deadline.

I did, however, establish a habit of working on the prequel for one hour a day. Basically, I go through every chapter, flesh out the outline in place (not quite to the first draft stage yet), and make lists of the topics needing further research. I have worked my way through nearly a third of the prequel so far and that is one-third farther along than I was October 31.

I also, for the first time, had no assignments bleeding into the four-day Thanksgiving weekend. This meant I made a nice dent into the beginning editing of Visage, of which I am highly pleased.

Finally, I found some wonderful support and understanding in the person of Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, who recently appeared on Animal Planet's Extreme Animal Phobia series to treat his bat phobia.

Every day, he sent a nice Facebook, "How's the paw," message and encouraged me in my courageous facing of the medicines. While I'm not quite at the stage of saying, "Wow, I'm so glad this happened. Look at all the good that came from it," I'm certainly thankful and appreciative of those things, just the same.

And Faith? Well, she was a little shy the following morning, but we cuddled and made up. Seriously, if she would have slammed my hand in the drawer, I probably would've bitten her, too.

Harder.

Okay, Now it's Just Flat Out An Interesting Week

The fun began yesterday when I missed a a four o'clock interview.

I don't generally schedule phone interviews this late, because I'm usually engrossed in correcting homework (which is where I'm heading as soon as I post this blog). So after listening to Daniel's comments about why British comedy is better than American comedy (which it is), I ran upstairs to show him a Goodies commericial on YouTube and saw a Facebook message from the very nice vampire author I had stood up. Luckily, she was very understanding and still free for a conversation.

No sooner had I hung up the phone than Faith, the calico cat who bit me in October, appeared out of nowhere. Now Faith had had a mild stomach bug on Friday, so I had canceled my evening plans to take her to the vet, and she repaid the kindness by hiding in the attic cubbyholes (The mess in my attic office, which I haven't had to time to reorganize, still attests to how hard we tried to lure her out).

Meaning I went to the vet for the medication, and she stayed home where it was safe. After that, I went to THREE stores to find the best price on generic Pepcid and a non-flavored electrolyte solution that wasn't orange (which would taste really disgusting when mixed with cat food, even for a cat).

Now Faith gets these little bugs once a year, which fall into this predictable pattern: Faith gets sick, vomits a few times, then refuses to eat or drink for fear of vomiting. This means force dropping two medications into an willing mouth to soothe her stomach, then force-feeding her a special soft food mixed with electrolyte solution for nourishment and fluids, and then, in a couple of days, adding an appetite stimulant to coerce her to eat real food again.

Faith, knowing the routine, stayed pretty much in hiding since Friday, so when she appeared, she was noticeably dehydrated. I immediately snatched her up and called the vet, who told me to bring her in right away for IV fluids, which we did, on a car with the gas gauge in the red zone. On the way home, the back brakes failed.

Fortunately, my oldest son Christopher was home grillling chicken and had just sold a laptop that day (He owns a computer repair business). Proceeds went toward the brakes ($23.36), which he fixed that night (and added a quarter tank of gas so he could safely take a test drive) and a new phone for me, mainly so I can take credit cards at the mall show this weekend, but really because the kids are tired of sending text messages for me.

At eight o'clock, Midnight didn't show up for kitty suppertime, so we spent a hour combing the property looking for her, all to no avail. Finally, we gave it up for the night and, at ten-thirty, wrestled another meal into Faith. That's when Midnight nonchalantly strolled into the room.

Today, so far, has been rather low-key. I'm learning to work the new phone--I can send and receive calls, text messages, and, somewhat, manipulate the music player. I'm almost caught up on work (although I'm still woefully behind in editing Visage), but tomorrow I will either get a late start (which will make me cranky and behind) or be overly tired (which will just make me plain cranky), but either way I don't care.

Because tonight, from nine o'clock to midnight, the recording of Bryony the audio book begins. I, for one, can hardly wait!!!