Fickle Feline

People tell you lots of things before you have kids that you don't believe. One of them was that I'd start to feel differently toward my cat. Now D and I are bit nutty about our cats. Before the other one died, I syringe-fed her for weeks because I didn't want to put her down. Even before that, I've spent a fortune on vet bills, including ultrasounds and feline antidepressants! We said hello to the cats before we said hello to each other. I have her on special food that requires a trip to the vet to purchase. And I've turned down apartments, roommates and dates because of their incompatibility with felines.

So why does everything she does now make me completely mental? She craves attention but when she gets on my lap all I can think about is the cat hair. I have turned over litter-cleaning duties to D permanently because I just can't deal with it. All her irritating habits - the occasional puke, her incessant meowing before mealtimes, the fact that no food can be left on the counter for more than three minutes without her attempting to consume it - all seem a thousand times more irritating.

She's been banished from the bedroom since LM was born and D is now pushing for her re-entry. But although I used to let her snuggle next to my head, now I'm thinking she should be out of the bedroom permanently, even once LM is no longer in with us. I told D that and he looked shocked and surprised.

Don't get me wrong - somewhere deep inside, I still harbour affection for the little rascal - at least enough to feel guilty about my change of heart. But she has moved from queen of the roost to distant third.

148

Thanks for all the kind thoughts about the kitty. I am adjusting well. But every now and then I see her out of the corner of my eye before I realise it's just a blanket or a piece of furniture, or nothing at all! But maybe it is her, just a little bit.

We had our second midwife meeting yesterday. D came again, which was surprising since I didn't think he would want to come to them regularly, but when he found out I was going, he was quite keen to be there. I don't think he'll come to them all, but it's nice for him to at least meet each of the midwives in the practice. The woman yesterday was older and very nice. She had a really calm presence. I liked the first one a lot since she was young and hip, and I knew I'd feel comfortable around her, but it was great to know that I think I will feel comfortable around this woman too - just for different reasons. She's been a midwife for 30 years and exudes experience.

The last visit was really just an intro where they did a health history, but this time we started doing the urine and weight checks that will keep happening. They ask you to test your own urine - so you take a little strip and then use that to check for glucose, protein etc. It's really easy since you just hold the strip up to a colour chart to make sure everything is the right colour, but it did strike me as kind of hilarious to be in there, assessing my pee. But I guess it makes sense, since unlike a doctor's office there's no nurse on staff.

In the waiting room, D and I found a retro '80s book with all sorts of tips on dressing stylishly during pregnancy. All of the suggested "looks" involved very large, baggy articles of clothing, many with shoulder pads. And preferably a vest.

After all of that, it was Doppler time - that anxiety inducing moment when they see if they can hear the heartbeat. They tell you they can't always hear it, but that they will refer you for an ultrasound if there isn't one. Which is code for, "if we don't hear it, there's a possibility something bad has happened."

The student midwife put the Doppler on - first we heard my blood flow, a slow lub-dub. She moved away from that, and then just for a moment we got the rapid pace of the baby's heart. It ducked away and they found it again, and we listened for a good minute. Such a wonderful sound - and nice and fast as it should be at 148 beats.

Bye Kitty

This is turning into depresso-blog, when it really shouldn't be, as so many of my days are happy. But today is a genuinely sad day, as we decided to put our cat down. People use the expression "putting to sleep" but I can't really say it was like that.

The cat, as you may recall, was diagnosed with pretty advanced GI-tract lymphoma a few weeks ago. The vet wasn't sure how long she had. She did last a while on her prednisone, and even seemed to get temporarily better. But in the past two weeks she stopped eating again, and got even more lethargic and thin. We had to forcefeed her with a syringe to get her to eat anything, yet she asked for her food every night and a.m. It was quite heartbreaking.

I thought about doing it last weekend and then postponed, and then when she seemed worse off this week I decided to do it today, when D could come with me. I called yesterday to make the appointment. She was actually relatively perky yesterday, which made me question things, and even worked up some enthusiasm to eat some cooked chicken on her own. We had a cuddle and she purred, but she spent the night lying on the bathroom floor, a place she usually avoids. In fact, she never lay on the floor before getting sick.

*WARNING - the paragraph below may be slightly disturbing for some. But I just feel I need to get it out of my head, and this might help.

We took her in - she did not like being put in her cage, and yowled. The vet said she had lost another kilo, or about a third of her already tiny body weight, bringing her to 2.4 kg, or just over 5 lb. The vet gave her a sedative, which made her drool, and lick her lips, but seemed to paralyse her. Her eyes were huge and looking at me. He had trouble finding a vein in her tiny paws, but when he did it was all over in seconds. Her tongue lolled out and she was completely, utterly still. D and I were just amazed at how dead she looked. Her eyes glossed over and she twitched a bit. The vet and his assistant left so we could weep over her. Well, so D could weep and I could sob. I don't think I've ever seen D cry before. She just looked so still, her paws curled unnaturally.

I don't think it was the wrong time - I think she probably could have lasted longer, but also, that she was in a lot of pain. She moved so slowly. I also don't think that cats are like us, that they long for just one more day, despite all the pain they're in. But the whole experience, despite a very kind vet, was a little more traumatic than I expected. We had assumed she would just look like she was sleeping, which was what my mum said happened to my dog. But she didn't.

Afterwards, I opened up the carrier and said, come on girl, get in. I think for one horrified moment D thought I might actually try to bring home her limp body, but I said, "No, it's just, her spirit might want to come home with us."

We'll pick up her ashes in a few days. At first it seemed a hokey thing to do, but then I realised, I think I need that closure. We'll probably scatter them somewhere eventually, but for now, I want to feel like she's home with us again.

The Break

Ah spring break. For some reason, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to paint our entire place in preparation for selling it. Since our place is essentially one room, (and our bathroom is still in disarray from recent renos) our place is a gigantic mess. So it isn't turning out to be a terribly relaxing break. And of course there's the little matter of school work - I am supposed to be doing some.

We have our first prenatal appointment later today, which is very exciting. I am hoping we can hear heartbeat on the doppler, but I guess they may not try it if I am still too early.

The cat is doing a little better. She purrs and jumps on the bed and moves around and doesn't appear to be in any pain. She is usually relatively recalcitrant and moody when anything is off in her little universe, so I think it will show when she is ready to go. She is taking steroids and this could shrink her tumour temporarily and give her a little more time. I am worried that her time will come when I am away next wee, but I hope she lasts until I get home again. D will have to pill her, which I know will be a challenge.

My moods are all over the place - happy, then tearful. But more happy than tearful.

The Good and the Bad

I had a wonderful Valentine's Day. We made dinner together (well, mostly I lay on the sofa feeling nauseous, but I did make the sauce). Then we watched a silly but amusing movie. And we lay in bed talking, which is always nice.

I am over the worst of my worries, I think. I realise that I can worry about miscarriage, and then in the second trimester I will worry about umbilical cord accidents, and then I will worry about labour, and then I will worry about Sudden Infant Death and then I will worry about leaving my kid with strangers at daycare and basically I will be worrying for the next 50 years. I remind myself that it's only productive to worry about things I can control. Easier said than done, but I'm working on it with some successs.

We had very sad, and shocking news this morning. I took my cat in yesterday as she hadn't eaten in a few days. Both my cats have a variety of weird health issues, but none of them ever turn out to be that serious, though they are often expensive. However, the vet did seem a bit grave and kept her overnight. I got the call this afternoon and there wasn't much detail, but when I called back he broke the news - cancer. She's a young cat, only six and half, so I was shocked. She has a tumour the size of golfball in her GI tract.

There are options of chemo and surgery but those would likely be very expensive and only give her a few more months since it is a lymphatic cancer. So we will do some steroids and she may last a few weeks, or maybe only days. I feel terrible that I didn't notice earlier - it's so obvious to me now when I feel her fragile spine - it's spiking up through her skin. She has lost 20% of her body weight since last April, but she is a fluffy cat and I admit, I didn't notice it. I don't know how I missed it, but I did.

My biggest worry is that I am going away in 10 days and will be gone for 5 days. I'm terrified something will happen while I'm gone. I hope that it happens after - or before, as terrible as that sounds.

She's a weird little cat, very shy and anxious, but she loves to cuddle at night and purrs like a champ. She's curled up now in her favourite spot in the bookshelf.