My letter to the vet...

The liquids were worse than the pills. I need you to please prescribe Twitch's meds in transdermal form. He also needs some sort of gas medicine. His stomach is puffy from gas and I constantly hear noises from his belly. I think it makes him uncomfortable. I'm willing to accept any risks due to the meds being transdermal form.

Here are details if you want them. If you are willing to call in the scripts, there's no need to read further.

I gave Twitch the liquid forms of his medicines on Saturday.  He accepted them fine, but they foamed in his mouth. They combined with his saliva and formed a sticky slimy goo of much more volume than the medicine. He spent ten minutes spitting it up with much difficulty. I believe the experience upset him because he next shit on me, something he has never done before. I patiently gave us both a bath. Just as I finished putting all clean linen on the bed, which got soiled as well, he pissed all over my two down pillows, down comforter and sheets. I spent half an hour screaming at him, then intermittently for the next two hours. Now for first time in over ten years, he is not allowed in the bedroom, which has the effect of excluding my other cat as well. It has rather affected our relationship as well.

To summarize, I tried the liquid and it has had the worst possible results. 

Luckily, the Clorambucil has never been a problem, probably because it is a small round pill with a coating. I will continue it. I will not give him any other medicines again except in transdermal form. Consequently, he has missed his prednisolone today. 

Please call in the transdermal prescriptions as early as possible Monday so I can pick them up and resume his medications. It is a one hour drive to the pharmacy each way, by the way, traffic is dense and the pharmacist will have many orders ahead of us, so calling the scripts in as early as possible would help us greatly.

I am willing to accept whatever risks transdermal meds present. Send me a waiver form if you wish, but as you probably know, your liability extends only to the the value of Twitch as property. Although I am a lawyer, I'm not an expert on the value of cats.  I'll still venture o say that as a 13+  year, random bred stray cat with cancer, that now shits and misses all over, Twitch's market value is roundabout nothing. I love him though.

To conclude, before I started giving Twitch medicines every day we were loving best friends. Now he's been screamed at for the first time ever, my other cat is terrorized and my house is hardly fit for human habitation. It would be better to let nature take its course than to continue as we are. However, transdermal meds seem to present a way for me to avoid killing my cat. So I'd like to try them. I hope you agree.

Please call in the script for the four current meds and a gas medicine all in transdermal form. Thank you.

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The reunion part 15

A rough, rhythmic hacking sound filled the softly lit room where the really real Chris lay sleeping. It slowly filtered into her sleeping mind...

Suddenly her eyes dragged themselves open and she limped into sleepy and clumsy action. Stiff fingers reached for the plastic bag she kept by the bedside, but it was too late. A steaming brown stream of liquified and partially digested cat food splattered onto the bed. She groped for the bedside barf towel and waited for the customary "encore barf." Twitch always barfed the same way. He would start with a prelude of lip smacking and twitching (whence he earned his name). Next he would sit up straight and commence an overture of raucous, full-body retched. The finale soon followed in the form of a dancing fountain containing his last meal. And finally, the encore, being a lesser version of the finale. On special occasions there could two encores and once he even managed three.

Luckily this was a short performance. when it was over Chris, still mostly asleep, half sat up and wiped away the barf, while Twitch, boldly, deliberately and inexplicably peed on her pillow.

This woke her up. "Twitch, man, what the fuck are you doing?" she asked, rhetorically. She checked the pillow, as if not believing what she'd seen. There was indeed a small wet patch. Verifying this, Chis asked yet another question to which she expected no reply. "Holy fuck, Twitch, what is wrong with you?"

She sighed and checked the pee stain for signs of blood that might indicate a bladder infection. It was clear. The strange pee behavior itself could by a symptom of infection, but she hadn't seen him straining at the litterbox or visiting it frequently. She made a mental note to buy the replacement part for the second automatic cat box, buy some cat litter, watch for signs of bladder infection, update Twitch's medical log, pick up his prescription from the vet and "clean the fuck out this house" when she woke up.

"Is it any wonder I write escapist fiction," she muttered as she turned the pillow over and flopped her head onto it. She put her CPAP mask back on and was thankful that it filtered away all smells. She dimly noted that regurgitated prescription canned cat food smell considerably better than it did fresh. "It's like opening up a can of shit!" had been her remark the previous evening.

Twitch cuddled up next to Chris. Mr. Kitten went over to the barfy towel on the floor and made a lot of noise scraping his paws on the carpet and trying to bury it until Chris pulled the mask away from her face and yelled at him. Chris petted Twitch lovingly, told him he was disgusting and went back to sleep. Pin It Now!

The reunion part 14

The real Chris Hugh and Rupert walked up to the gate of the small, million dollar Silicon Valley home. 

"Well, I'm going to go now," Rupert said.

Chris turned in surprise and disappointment. "Don't you want to go for a walk with me and Twitch?"

"No, I'll just go."

Chris knew that Rupert had important, world-changing things to do. Whether he was going to build a hospital  or use his fantastic intellect to invent a new method and apparatus to achieve some feat of electronicality about which Chris was clueless, the world needed him. Therefore, she limited her pouting and whining and thanked him for the lovely outing. He gallantly thanked her for the pleasure of her company, and left.

"Hello, sweethearts! Anyone want to go for a walk?" the real Chris called as she walked into the cathedral ceilinged living room. The real Mr. Kitten and Twitch greeted her in their usual way, which was to continue whatever they were doing as if she didn't exist.

"Hi, darling," she said, seeing Twitch lounging on the living room sofa. "Would you like to go for a walk in your stroller?"

Twitch stared at her with green eyes whose strange luminescence had baffled the specialists at UC Davis. All they could do was attribute it to aging and warn her that he might lose his vision completely. He already had difficulty seeing in dim light and Chris had begun keeping  some light on all the time in all rooms, even the bedroom.

"How have you been? Whatcha been doing?" Chris asked, completely unaware of the idiotic baby voice she was using. Being a real cat, Twitch did not reply.

"You are so handsome!" 

Chris sat next to the cat and petted his stomach. He had recently had the exploratory surgery that had found the cancer, so his abdomen had been shaved. The surgeon had taken the opportunity to remove a bladder stone, so all his little cat junk had also been shaved. Bare patches on his front legs showed where the intravenous lines had gone. Since he had recently begin insisting on sleeping on Chris' bare belly, and because he was not always fastidious about controlling his reflexes whn he lost traction, he wore vinyl caps on all his claws. Unfortunately, Chris had only been able to find the caps in pink sparkles. To top off his eccentric appearance, he was wearing a black and white striped ensemble Chris had sewed for him and dubbed "Jailhouse Rock."

Chris scooped up the impassive cat and held him like a baby. "Have you been a good boy? Who's handsome? Who's handsome? Wanna go for a walk?" She hugged him and kissed him and he drooled with pleasure. After a while, Twitch struggled a bit and Chris dropped him into his stroller. It looked like a baby stroller with a mesh box rather than a child's seat.

"Wanna go for a walk, Kitten?" Chris called as she gathered her keys. She knew he didn't. He never wanted to leave the house and viewed all Chris' ideas with deep suspicion. She only asked him to be polite.

Chris and Twitch walked under the stars and Chris told him all about her dinner with Rupert, her thoughts on the issues of the day, and various other topics, none of which Twitch cared about, but he enjoyed the sound of her voice. He sat up in his stroller, breathing in the night air and soaking up the sights and sounds.

He enjoyed their walk so much that even after they got home, he stayed in his stroller until Chris called to him.

"Ooh, Twitch, I forgot. We brought some goodies for you!" She opened the take-home box from Pampas and filled his food dish with samples from her and Rupert's dinner. Twitch sniffed at the little bits of roasted lamb, top sirloin, filet mignon and other good things.

Chris petted him while he ate, his favorite way of eating. "Come on, Twitch, what's up?"

Twitch finally relented. "Thanks a million, Chris. You're my BF!"

"That's my boy," Chris said. She relaxed and ruffled his fur. "But don't you mean BFF--Best Friends Forever?"

"I dunno," Twitch said, stepping on his baby scale. "That rotten brat called Warrior Cat 'BF' and said it stood for 'Best Friend.'"

Chris gently moved Twitch off the scale so she could turn it on and zero it. Once it was ready, she guided him onto it again. "Hmm," she said, writing down his weight. "Maybe she's calling him by his initials. His name is Bananas Foster."

Twitch looked up at her, his eyes wide and dilated. "Bananas Foster?" he asked.

Kitten poked his head around a corner. 

"Well, yes." Chris said. "I know he's kind of a tough guy, but with that creamy yellow fur of his--oh, hey, are you okay?"

Twitch had fallen off the scale, screaming with laughter. "Bananas Foster?" He clutched his bare belly. Mr. Kitten collapsed on the floor, flopped onto his back and choked out, "Bananas Foster?" Twitch rolled off the counter and onto the floor. He buried his giggles in Mr. Kitten's fluffy stomach. Kitten waggled his legs in the air and barked. Twitch nipped Kitten's tail, Kitten jumped in the air. They hugged each other. They chased each other. They shrieked with laughter. "Bananas Foster! Bananas Foster!"

Later on that night, Chris spot cleaned the carpet. The cats had literally laughed until they were sick.

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The Reunion Part 13

"It means he's my best friend, silly cat." Stacey replied with a prideful smile. Ting Ting covered her mouth, trying not to laugh...as she anticipated what would happen next.

Twitch looked at Stacey very thoughtfully, his mouth forming soundless words as he concentrated on something. Then he borrowed a pen and wrote something on his hand. At last, referring to his hand, he said, "Do you know what SSGYASYRLB stands for?"

"No," Stacey said. Her voice was richly expressive. It conveyed contempt for anyone who would have to ask what "BF" stood for, preemptive boredom with anything Twitch might say, and the certain knowledge that she was doing him a grand favor by even deigning to talk to him. It also gave the impression that she was watching, hawklike, for anything Twitch might say or do that would give her the chance to mock him. Derision, scorn, skepticism, arrogance, callousness and cruelty formed a nuanced tapestry of sound that she augmented by rolling her eyes, sticking out her tongue, and kicking Twitch in the shins.

"It means," Twitch said, "Someone Should Give You A Spanking, You Rotten Little Brat." 

A moment later, the restaurant was filled with the sounds of Stacey's whiny, petulant, drama queen screams.  Mr. Kitten ran up. He was in human form, a handsome, heavily built man with dark chocolate skin and mutton chops. "What's the problem?" he roared, looking from Twitch to Stacey. "He hasn't even touched you, you spoiled, rude, nasty little--" Stacey kicked him in the shins and ran away. Ting Ting's merry laughter rang out and several characters applauded.

Twitch laughed too. "Someday, somebody really should spank that girl."

Kitten chuckled. "Kids," he said, shaking his head.

Chris was the only one unamused. "If that brat mouths off to Twitch again, I'm going to change her into a ferret."

The Anchorite interrupted. "A ferret? Didn't a mouthy, spoiled kid get changed into ferret in Harry Pot--"

"She hardly has a monopoly on changed brats into ferrets!" Chris snapped. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You should be," the Anchorite said, a smile in his voice. "With all these cats here, we should..."

"...change her into a mouse!" they concluded together.

***

A few minutes later, the Anchorite and Chris had gathered their most important and intelligent characters at a quiet table to plan their defense strategy. Claire, one of the the Anchorite's author avatars was there with her girlfriend Heather. Faber, a super intelligent human-chimpanzee from a long abandoned ("On hiatus," Faber corrected) thriller was there with his boyfriend Brian. And Stanley was there, missing Blondhilda and wondering why there were so many gays.

The Anchorite stood and spoke solemnly from within his dark cowl. "My friends," he said, "we are in great danger. We must each use all the intelligence and creativity we have to address--"

Suddenly, a tall, muscular man walked into the restaurant and all eyes turned to him. Wisdom and intelligence shone in his handsome face and strength lay in his hands. Some men felt insecure in the sweeping wave of clean masculinity that emanated from him. They began to posture, but immediately gave it up a pointless. No one could compete, and the man's good humored dignity made them feel foolish. The women stared at him with naked admiration and a few swooned. He walked past the potted ferns and flowers bloomed in them. Wood floors installed, leveled and varnished themselves as his manly boots stepped on them. Stanley Chester Brown took one look at him and threw away his thick glasses.

The man came up to Chris. "Hi, Rupert," she said. "Rupert, may I present my characters. Everyone, say hello to my husband, Rupert."

They greeted him with friendly awe and restrained the impulse to beg for an autograph. The Anchorite was stunned, overwhelmed in the presense of the man he had heard so much about.  "What the Anchorite was saying," Chris continued for him, "is that we need absolute concentration to meet this challenge. 100% effort, no distractions. We need to focus like lasers. Nothing matters as much as this. This planning session is our number one and only priority. Got it?"

"Chrissy?" Rupert said.

"Yes, dear?"

"We're having dinner at the real Pampas restaurant in 45 minutes."

Chris grabbed her purse. "Gotta go, everybody. See ya later."

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The Reunion part 12

By the Anchorite

Warrior Cat shifted into his professional mode, with his expression only slightly betraying the dismay he felt at having to abruptly end his fun while the assembled partygoers continued their revelry. As Anton Fitzgibbon’s right-hand cat tasked with his security, the Warrior Cat had to be ready to drop whatever he was doing at a moment’s notice for the good of felinekind. He was not about to let any villains ruin the Chaircat’s party and they would serve as convenient, cathartic outlets for his frustration.

“Ladies and gentle cats,” he addressed the group “we’ve been invaded. That vile man Grease is set on sabotaging this soiree and that simply will not happen under my watch. I already foiled his initial attempt, but he’s one tough customer. He can take any punishment I can dish out and come back for more. With his powers of regeneration, he won’t stay down and it’s next to impossible to permanently defeat him. He shrugs off death like most of us do colds and while I tore him to shreds on our last encounter, he’s re-assembling himself as we speak and he will return.

“Even worse, he’s gathered a group of villains to assist him so he’ll be back with reinforcements. I may be the biggest, baddest warrior in all of catdom, but even I cannot do this alone and need your help. Normally, I would gather my tried and true crew but some cat took them out.”

The Warrior Cat glared at Twitch, who nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders in response.

“I’ve thus assembled a new team to take the battle to Grease. Ting Ting’s human Regia kindly volunteered. Where have you been keeping her, Ting? Regia’s combat skills are impressive and I had no idea that you had such an attractive human.”

“Keep your claws sheathed, Warrior Cat,” replied Ting Ting, “and don’t even think about it. I know your real name.”

“Just saying, is all. Chris Hugh and Stanley Chester Brown offered me the services of their most formidable warriors three. I present:  Blondhilda, Grimgudrun, and Hello Sailor. The four of you ladies are not the crew I usually run with, but I’ll admit you’re a lot easier on the eyes. Together, we will take down Grease’s thugs and the assembled party guests will not notice anything amiss. Why, Grimgudrun, we’ll even have time to grab some Caipirinhas afterwards. I haven’t seen you in your battle gear until now, but I have to say: those are some killer tats.”

Ting Ting rolled her eyes while Grimgudrun looked bemused by the compliment. The Warrior Cat felt a tug on his trouser leg and looked down to see his human Stacey clutching his leg. He gently scooped her up in a massive arm and lifted her to his eye level. She moved her embrace to his neck and said,

“You be careful out there, BF.”

Warrior Cat kissed her on the forehead and replied,

“Don’t worry, Stacey. I have this one. I have a party to save and I’ll be back before you know it.” 

He rubbed noses with his young human and set her back on the floor. She waved them goodbye as the Warrior Cat led his deputized squad to their mission. After they left Twitch asked out loud,

“What does BF mean?”

“It means he’s my best friend, silly cat.” Stacey replied with a prideful smile. Ting Ting covered her mouth, trying not to laugh...  

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