Kitchen Dream 1

Growing up I had a cat named Kitters (I was ten when I named her, don't judge.) Kitters was my everything. She was a grey, stripe-y, kitty with a short tail (when she was a tiny kitten, the end of her tail got infected and had to be amputated.) She was fat and sweet and I loved her with my whole heart.

For as long as I can remember, Kitters had a pretty delicate stomach, and, as a result, would regularly leave me little vomit presents all over the house. Being a good mommy, I cleaned them up and never complained. (Well... maybe I complained a bit.)

When Kitters was 10 (and I was away in my Sophomore or Junior year of college) she got sick. I drove home to be with her, but it was pretty clear that her time had come and that it would be the last time I saw her. She was scrawny, and her fur had turned dingy and almost had a yellow tint to it. She refused to eat or drink. It was awful to see her like that. When I left to go back to school I kissed her goodbye and told her I loved her. She died a few days later.

A few months went by and before I knew it I was back home for the summer. One night, I had a dream. I was sitting in the den and Kitters came in, as she always did, through kitchen window. I went into the kitchen to greet her and swelled with happiness when I saw her. Her coat was shiny, and she was big and fat again, and she looked as happy and healthy as I had ever seen her. Her short tail stuck straight up as stroked her head and scratched behind her ears. She purred and rubbed her face on me and all was right in the world.

I woke up the next morning and could not get over the vividness of my dream. It was SO REAL. I was sad that it had only been a figment of my imagination, but felt confident that wherever Kitters was, she was happy.

I got out of bed and stumbled through the house, still wiping the sleep from my eyes. I stopped short when I got to kitchen. There, in the middle of the floor, was a little pile of cat vomit.


***
Now, it should be noted that we DID have another cat at the time (Kitters' brother, Sparky) so the vomit probably came from him (even though I don't think he'd ever thrown up a day in his life). But, still...

It Really Does Work

I took my kitty, Gus, to the vet today. He recently shed 4 pounds - which is pretty significant when you're a cat. (Heck, it's pretty significant when you're a human moving full steam ahead towards bathing suit season.) He used to be a chubby 18 pounds, and now he's a lean mean 14 - my roommate didn't even recognize him! I noticed that he hasn't been eating much lately. But, strangely enough, he's also had a ton of energy and has been playing with his sister, Abby, all the time. So basically, he's been eating less and exercising more.

Naturally I was concerned, because, really, who just DOES that?

The vet poked, and prodded, and stuck thermometers in places where Gus did *not* think thermometers should go. And then she took some blood for tests.

I spent the whole day nervous for my formerly fat little man.

Well, she just called and gave Gus a completely clean bill of health. YAY! It seems all that hype about "eat less, move more" really does work. Who'd of thunk?

Make It All Better

Tossing and turning.
Can’t sleep.
Mind racing.
So much to do.
Must sleep.
1 2 3… Sleep!
Sleeeeeeep.
Stressing.
Stressing.
Stressing.
Open my eyes.
Pitch black room.
Reach out my hand.
Kitty.
He starts to purr.
Steady and comforting.
My own little diesel engine.
The bed hums as I snuggle my face into his fur.
I drift off...

Shameless

Shameless post to show off how adorable my cat, Gus, is...



Ok, I'm done now.

:)