Paperback Writer

I was going to blog this morning about something nice and happy because it’s a day for nice and happy things.  The sun is shining, the snow is melting (more on that in a minute) and my latest book order from Amazon is at the post office, just waiting for me to come and claim it.  Oh, and it’s my sister-in-law’s birthday and I was going to write her a special birthday blog.  But now I’m mad and so blindingly so that I need to vent all over this blog because venting all over the person at whom I am so very mad at would be inappropriate and would cause The Man to give me that whole what am I going to do with you look of which I am so very fond (That was sarcasm by the way.).

I am so mad.  I don’t know if I made that clear earlier.  Let me say it again, just to be sure.

I am so mad.

I am so mad that mad doesn’t even begin to describe how very mad I am.  Irate.  Furious.  Incensed.  Frakking Pissed Off.  Those come closer.

Here’s what happened:

I decided to go running this morning.  A stupid thing to do, I know, when in the grips of some superflu/mono hybrid mystery disease (bonus points to anyone who doesn’t point out that it wouldn’t be a mystery disease if I would just go see a damn doctor already) but I was tired of sitting around feeling crappy.  Also, the Gator Girl was in desperate need of an honest to goodness workout because if she didn’t get one soon, someone was going to kill her (she may have inadvertently broken The Man’s laptop this week.  That caused The Man to give me another look, one that possibly suggested that the next time the Gator Girl and I leave the house together, the locks might be changed while we’re away).  Plus, there’s the whole revelation that we’ll be receiving a major snow storm this Friday (the forecasted accumulation starts in inches and ends in feet).  Add that all together and I needed to get outside and run a little.

The Gator Girl is an excellent jogging companion.  She stays in the heel position without being told to.  Our theory is that she does this because we’re finally moving at her pace.  A lot of the time, when we jog around the neighborhood, I don’t even have her on a leash because she doesn’t need it.  Today, however, I did.  And it turned out to be a very good thing.

Because some of my neighbors were home.

I love my neighborhood.  I do.  The road is a loop that’s perfect for walking/running, the views are pretty nice and we have beach down on the river that the dogs love to visit.  I would just love the neighborhood more if I didn’t have the current crop of neighbors that I have (I’m pretty sure they feel the same way about me.).  A lot of them have dogs and while I am a dog person I am not a fan of people who just let their dogs roam and run wherever their little legs will carry them.  My neighbors have an unfortunate tendency to do this.

It makes me angry.  It makes me angry when, before I take my own dogs outside in my own yard,  I have to check every window in every room of my house to make sure that one of the neighborhood dogs isn’t taking a crap on my lawn or pissing on my foundation.  It makes me angry that I can only walk my dogs around the neighborhood at certain times during the day because otherwise, the entire walk would be spent warding off all the neighborhood dogs who think its great fun to come running out and whoever is walking past.  Their reasoning for this is that their dogs love other dogs.  Well, here’s the thing, you jackwagons, not every dog is going to love your dog.  Some dogs do not appreciate it when another dog invades his or her personal space.  Some people don’t appreciate it either.

I am a dog person.  I just can’t stand their people.

So I’ve worked out a schedule of safe walking/running times.  But today, one of my neighbors was home when she normally isn’t.  And not only was she home but she was outside her home with her four dogs.  Two German Shepherds, one chihuahua and one pekingese.  None of the dogs were on a leash.  And every single one of them came charging the Gator Girl and I when they saw us coming.  To be fair, the pekingese only made it as far as the end of their driveway.

But the other three came barking and running straight at us, left the yard and crossed the road where they forced us off the pavement and into the snowbank (and consequently a pile of dog shit…so happy!) so they could bark and snarl and snap at both me and my dog.

I.  Was.  Not.  Amused.

I’m not afraid of dogs. I’m not afraid of German shepherds or Dobermans or Rotties or pit bulls. Nor am I afraid of being bitten by dogs. It’s happened enough that it doesn’t much faze me anymore. But this situation was scary because while I have waded into the midst of more than one dog fight into order to break it up, I know all the dogs involved. I know the owners involved.

Nor am I suddenly in the middle of it.

I didn’t know these dogs. I didn’t know what they were going to do but every damn time I saw one of them try to bite the Gator Girl, I- well, all right, I first put myself in between them and my dog- I found it harder and harder to breathe. It was not a good feeling. And the swarming didn’t seem to be ending.

What did this woman do?  She stood in her driveway calling her dogs.  Her dogs who obviously weren’t listening because they were too busy trying to eat my dog (who, by the way, was still pretty well behaved).  It took a few minutes (yes, actual minutes) before she came out to get them.  The Gator Girl and I in the meantime were doing some intricate avoid getting bitten dance.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said as she dragged her two German shepherds off me and my dog.  “I didn’t even see you coming.”

I said nothing.  I stood there, looking at the fattest chihuahua I’ve ever seen as he continued to charge and bark at us.  I may have briefly considered punting him like a football but you can’t prove it.

“I’m really sorry,” she said in between failed attempts to call her chihuahua to heel.  “I really didn’t see you.”

I still said nothing.  But here’s what I wanted to scream say (and yeah…I’m going to use all caps.  Because I’m that mad.):

No, despite the title of this blog and the use of the picture, I will not be writing about the Keanu Reeves/Patrick Swayze cimematic masterpiece.  Although I am now inspired to have a Keanu Reeves moviefest, starting with Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, followed by Point Break and Speed, then finishing with The Matrix (only the first one though because I think the other two suck).  I’ll make the whole thing into a drinking game to include the following: take a drink/shot every time Keanu says “Whoa.”

Maybe next weekend.  Who’s with me?  Heather?

But that’s another blog for another time.  Tonight’s entry is inspired by me having finally reached the breaking point where my cats are concerned.  And not really both cats (although MEGA CAT is still on the shit list and will be for the rest of her life.  Or my life since I am sure she’ll continue to live forever, just to spite me…), just Vader.

Poor Vader.  It’s not even really her fault.

It started this morning when I came downstairs, feeling good, feeling happy and actually looking forward to working out.  That ended about two minutes later when I discovered the trail of cat shit leading into the laundry room and the fairly fresh pile sitting in the corner of my office.

I said some not nice words.  I said a lot of not nice words, causing The Man and the dogs to make themselves scarce and seek shelter from Hurricane M.J. in a dark corner at the far ends of the house.

As it turns out, one of the side effects of the antibiotic Vader’s been on for the snotty nose thing is diarrhea.  And a lot of it.  But it means I can’t justify being pissed off about the lapses in litter box etiquette because she can’t help it.  I mean, this next bit is going to be disgusting, I mean really really disgusting, but she doesn’t have much, if any, control over it.  I know this because it’s happened while she’s been sleeping.  Just kind of slips on out and all over whatever she happens to be napping on.

I just can’t catch a break.

But I did experience a break today.  I lost it.  I’ve tried to be very zen about this whole thing with Vader and I think, for the most part, I’ve done that.  I’ve tried being cool, I’ve tried having a sense of humor about it, I’ve tried everything.  I made a commitment to this cat and I’ve tried my absolute best to do right by her (I mean, come on, I’ve taken her to four different vets in two different states for crying out loud) but I just can’t get ahead.  I don’t know what’s wrong with her, no one knows what’s wrong with her (she’s seen four different vets now who have had four different conclusions and NONE of them seem to have panned out) and we can’t fix it.  Every damn medication we try ends up screwing up something else.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

Today I answered the question by yelling at everything and nothing and being an all around grump while I made the rounds around the house cleaning up all the things that needed cleaning up.  I even made rude, snarky comments to my Wii instructor every time he tried to tell me to relax during yoga.  After yoga, strength training and a thirty minute run, I felt less angry.

Still frustrated though.

I stopped the latest antibiotic to see if the face swelling would go down because that’s what we did with the last antibiotic to which she was allergic.  So far, it hasn’t worked.  As far as I know, she hasn’t had any more diarrhea incidents which is nice but her nose is still oozing snot and her eyes are starting to fill up again with crud.

And the craziest thing is that even though Vader is afflicted with all these stupid nameless infections, the Mega Cat is afflicted with nothing but malevolence.

Just can’t win.  I’m completely at a loss as to what I should do now.  I feel like I’m just bailing out a sinking boat but the other choices available are just not good enough.

Now I am sad.  Sad and mad and definitely not rad.

How about some good news, then?

The Big Ass Bulletin Board is on the wall.  The Man came through for me Friday evening.  I’m looking forward to being able to spend some time this week getting everything in place.  I will post pictures soon.

And I have some truly excellent selfless friends.  I want to give a big shout out to Carl and Linda and Julia for spending some time on Saturday afternoon with me at my mother’s house shoveling out a much needed path to the oil fill.  You three went above and beyond the call of friendship and I shall soon shower you with baked goods (Don’t worry.  I’m not doing the baking.  Just the buying.  That’s a gift for all involved…) to thank you further.  I heart my friends.

And last, but not least, I want to thank all my new followers.  I hit the 100 followers mark some time today and I’m floored.  I remember when I was excited to have reached 10 followers.  I could never imagine what it would be like to have ten times that many.  I really wish I could do a giveaway or reward you with something other than a sob story about my disease ridden cat.  I shall try to do better in the future.  But a big, BIG shout out to Rachel Harrie for spearheading the Writers’ Crusade experience.

So, if you choose to comment on this blog, tell me something good, something happy or give props to someone to whom you are grateful.  Lord knows we need more of that in our lives…

Until next time.

Vader (Sick Cat) went to the vet this week for her yearly shots (just one, rabies) and for a check on her various diseases.  No one really know what’s going on with her and it seems every time we see the doctor, we come home with a new diagnosis and a new prescription.  If you’re new to this blog, these diseases have run from cat herpes to cat asthma to cat chlamydia (yes, it would appear Vader is a wheezing cat slut) to some mystery disease no one can diagnose (Does House take on veterinary cases?).  The treatments for these various diseases has been a veritable pharmacy of antibiotics and steroids and I don’t even know what else.  There’s been a lot of them as we’ve tried (and failed) to find something that would knock the mystery disease out of poor Vader’s poor beleaguered system.

Three antibiotics ago, we had pretty much scarred Vader for life (more so, even, that the introduction of canines into the household).  The antibiotic made her foam at the mouth like she was a miniature version of Cujo.  The replacement antibiotic made her lose her appetite and, consequently, most of her body mass.  We had an eye ointment for approximately two days before it made her face swell so badly she couldn’t open her eyes enough for me to get any ointment in there.  This was apparently an allergic reaction.  So we had to lose the ointment and substitute yet another appetite robbing antibiotic.

(Vader weighed in at seven pounds on visit this week.  Six of that, I’m pretty sure, is fur.  She really needs to be shaved because her fur has become horrible matted in some spots but it’s just so damn cold, I can’t justify doing it.  She’s going to have to deal with it until it gets warmer.)

But, through all that, we somehow managed to maybe, just maybe cure some of these infections (the Mega Cat, by the way, is not at all sick.  At least physically.  There are definitely some mental issues going on in that thick cat skull of hers.).  The vet was very pleased with Vader’s progress…until he noticed her snot filled nose.  Cue nasal swab and Vader looking at me like she was planning my slow and painful death.  Fast forward a few minutes while the nasal swab was examined under a microscope, followed by the doc offering me a latin-eqsue tongue twister (English translation: snotty nose) and prescribing the latest in our revolving cat pharmacy.

She’s been on the new meds for a few days now and, just like with the ointment, the left side of her face is swelling up like a balloon.

Can anyone say ‘allergic reaction’?

Looks like we’re going back to the drawing board, kids.

So, in other news, the MEGA CAT and GATOR GIRL Battle Royale came to a screeching halt yesterday when their endless antagonizing of one another bleed into civilian territory.  Me.  During a viewing of The Vampire Diaries (I heart Damon Salvatore) of all things.  Definitely not a good time to interrupt me.  It ended with MEGA CAT thinking her best and only escape route from the GATOR GIRL was to run up my face.

We.  Were.  Not.  Amused.

And after I finished applying all the necessary neosporin and gauze and band aids, I put an end to the Battle Royale.  And no, I did not drop kick either animal into a snowbank no matter how tempting that idea was.  They made the very wise decision to call a truce that lasted a full twenty four hours (but mostly, I suspect, because the Gator Girl was out of the house most of the day today) and are currently bitch slapping each other up and down the living room.

Ah, the joys of pet parenthood.

Disclaimer:  I love my pets.  I feel the need to start off this post by saying that because what I’m going to write after this disclaimer might lead people to think otherwise.  But I do love my pets.  Otherwise there would be no reason to not drop kick them into a snowbank.  You’ll see what I mean.

Good afternoon and welcome, all of you, to the Mount Washington Valley Battle Royale where two seemingly normal household pets (well, normal to anyone who hasn’t actually met them) will enter to fight it out for household supremacy and the bragging rights to being the biggest pain in my ass.

Let’s meet our contenders:

IN THIS CORNER, we have MEGA CAT, the cat previously known as Fat.  She’s a ten year old alley cat weighing in at 13 pounds.  Her hobbies include sleeping, eating, biting veterinary staff and terrorizing house guests with her ear splitting never ending meows and her Touch Me And Die attitude.  (Somewhere in the world, my former co-worker and still good friend Cindy is having a good laugh over having dodged that bullet.)  Please welcome MEGA CAT.

AND IN THIS CORNER, we have the Gator Girl, a five year old sixty pound Belgian Malinois (not a German Shepherd).  Her hobbies include running, jumping, leaping, devising ways to steal cookies out of locked cupboards (I am not even kidding a little), dominating a German Shepherd more than twice her size and running.  She’s the alternative energy solution to which we have all been looking, she’s the GATOR GIRL.

Let’s see what our contenders have been up to this week, shall we?

MEGA CAT has been busy extracting vengeance for her Wednesday trip to the vet’s.  Apparently, she overheard me making her appointment on Monday because Tuesday morning, I entered my office, my sacred writing space, to find that not only had she scattered all  my carefully organized notes on the floor, but that she had also pissed all over the dog bed.  While I was cleaning that up, she was in the bathroom, shredding a roll of toilet paper, dumping out the trash can and taking a dump in my bathtub.  While I was cleaning that up, she was in the kitchen, dumping out her water dish and then vomiting on my dining room table.  Twice.  And then she wondered why I didn’t react well to her trying to get in my lap to cuddle that evening (Move on, MEGA CAT.  Or out, even.).  Wednesday, she terrorized the vet and the vet tech and then bit me that night when I had the audacity to lift her off the mantle upon which she was trying to place her fat ass.  It can’t support your weight, MEGA CAT.  Nothing can.  This morning, she mistook (Ha!  Mistook, my ass!) the newly cleaned dog bed for her litter box before she sat on the counter meowing and systematically knocking things off it into the dog’s water dish below because I hadn’t yet gotten her breakfast.

IlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypets…

Wow.  That is quite a list of transgressions for a three day time span.  I don’t know if the Gator Girl is up for this challenge.  Wait a minute.  What am I talking about?  This is the Gator Girl.  You’ll find that with the exception of sitting still, there is no challenge she’s not prepared to face.

The GATOR GIRL got her week off to a strong start when she jumped up on the dining room table to polish off the dish of cat food left there for the ailing Sick Cat (the cat formerly known as Vader).  This was followed by a sneak attack on the kitchen trash because she saw me put some spoiled corn bread in there earlier.  While I was in the shower, she mounted an assault on the litter box which involved the defeat of the considerable anti-Gator Girl security system surrounding the litter box.  And because she hadn’t yet been disgusting enough, she later broke into the kitchen trash yet again, this time to go after the nice fresh Mega Cat vomit.  She chased Sick Cat around mercilessly (you want to chase a cat, Gator Girl?  Go after Mega Cat.  Please, go after Mega Cat) and made Big cry (Although, to be fair, some days it doesn’t take much to make Big cry.).  She got into the hamper so she could chew up some socks and underwear (would it have killed you to start a load while you were at it, Gator Girl?) and followed it by vomiting.  A lot.  (Gee, I’m not sure why she’d feel the urge to purge.)  While I was cleaning that up, she worked her way past the intricate child locks on the cookie cupboard doors so she could load up again, this time at least on dog cookies.  Of course they were fruit cookies which then led to diarrhea.

IlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypetsIlovemypets…

So now you’re up to date.  Today’s round of MEGA CAT Vs. GATOR GIRL has gotten much more personal.  They haven’t been able to leave each other alone all day.  But you know what?  So long as they’re leaving Big, Sick Cat and me alone, I don’t think I care.

Two pets enter…one pet leaves.

Who will it be?