It's the Cat's House, We Just Pay the Mortgage

February to December, round trip

2010-12-23T11:17:00.000-08:00

As I sit here in a Vegas Hotel room, I reflect on how my life has made a hairpin-loop turn from last March.

Back at the end of February, we booked a trip to Las Vegas. I had been in pain for a couple of days, and the night before the trip, I decided I had enough and we went to the hospital, thinking it was my appendix. Turns out I had an ovarian "chocolate" cyst the size of a softball. After the cyst was drained, I got in touch with my OBGYN and found out there were three more cysts on my ovary. A surgery was scheduled, and in the process of removing the cysts and the right ovary, we found out that endometriosis had pretty much tied my tubes for me, so there would be no children "naturally" in my future (and it explained why there were none in my past.)

It was hard to swallow at first. I mean, I had been convinced I couldn't get pregnant, but until the surgery there was still a little hope in the back of my mind. So, I put on my strong face, said "I can deal with this", and with the help of my husband worked through all the emotions that result from this kind of news - it wasn't a one-day process, more like a few-months process.

There are a few things I've realized, and since we finally made it to Vegas 10 months later, I wanted to share - with myself, but if you're interested, I'll share with you, too:

1) I've had the same best friend since I was 8 and she was 10. She's the closest thing to a sister that I've ever had. The day after the surgery she came to the hospital. She and I were alone in the room, I told her about what they found, and she asked about having children. She cried for me. I teased her and said, "Why are you crying? It's not your ovary they removed..." but I have to say, the memory still warms my heart. Not that I like to see her cry, but only the best hand-picked family members would share news like that with the emotions you couldn't feel at the time because you were drugged and trying to be strong.

2) My husband is the most fantastic person I could ever find to marry. He has always had a "wait and see" approach to kids, and when we found out the news, he absorbed it with me and held my hand (both literally and figuratively) to walk through this maze of emotion and facts. There were days I couldn't stand to have him away from me, and he was there. There were days when he went to work and was mentally still at home with me. There were days that he interpreted what I was going through before I could, and knew exactly what to say to help me through it. This man is my miracle on earth, and my heart and soul. He's also very wise and has helped me to recognize that just because we don't have kids doesn't mean we'll cease to exist. He's helped me to understand it's about the relationships we have and the souls inside the body, not about where the sperm and egg came from.

3) There is a difference between "childless" and "child free." Being "childless" can leave someone with the feeling that they will never be complete. However, being child free can give you opportunities that you may not otherwise enjoy - and not just the "we-can-take-off-any-time-we-want-without-a-sitter" opportunities. Although those are nice, I have opportunities to build better relationships with members of my family than I would not have had the time otherwise. There are some pretty great kids inside (and outside) of my family, and I want to help them when I can and where I can.

4) My brother and sister-in-law are incredible, and I appreciate that they share their family with me. Jaiden's world revolves around Mom and Dad, but he's also his own independent little guy. Jodi has found the balance between being his mom and his buddy, and his world is fun at this age. The only pain he seems to know is when it's bedtime and he doesn't want to go to sleep (and maybe when he falls off his bike.) It gives me warm fuzzies to see Carl tease Jaiden the way dads do, and reminds me of the great dad I once had and enjoyed at that age. At four, Jaiden is fun, witty at times, and loves to play with anyone. I know that he can't stay four forever, but I appreciate that I get the opportunity to enjoy him at this age (and that he still thinks Aunt Jessi is cool....I know that won't last much longer...;-))

5) Anyone who is a mother or father, whether biologically or blessed in some other way, connects to that child's world - and it's not always easy. It may have fun times, but I watch some people have trouble feeding and clothing their kids, or struggle to find some way to balance work and family life. Still others struggle with the other parent of the child that they no longer want to be connected to, but the child needs. But, what I don't see is that anyone who struggles loves their children any less. When I was very young, my parents struggled with making ends meet, but we always had clothes and food. As I got older and my mother was widowed, I watched her struggle to balance us and work because we had financial needs that she understood, even if we didn't. I used to ask why she couldn't just go on welfare and stay home with us - and as an adult, I'm glad she didn't take my advice. You see, most kids don't know what "poor" is - they just know what their world exists of. As I think back to our double-wide trailer with hand-me-down furniture, I think of the bedroom that my parents wallpapered for me in pink and even now, my childhood memories make me feel like I was a five-year-old princess living in a palace.

6) My mom is the strongest person I know. Over this year, I found out even more about her struggles - with us, with my father, and with making a better life for her kids. After she was left alone with three kids, she found the strength to tell her parents she'd take care of us on her own and she didn't need to move in with them (maybe for her own sanity as well....) She went back to school, got an RN degree, and continued to work and raise us throughout all of this. There were days we'd spend at the pool or the park while she studied - we played, she worked, and as long as she was there we were happy. And through all of this, she still managed to take us on vacations to Disneyland and Washington, as well as camping trips. I only appreciate her more as I get older.

With a lot of help from my husband and family, I am able to take inventory about what my life holds, and I realize I'm not "missing" kids. My life is filled, but I have an infinite capacity to love, and I look forward to putting it to good use.

My Brain on...Sugar

2010-09-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

OK, so the thing about giving up sugar is that, well, it's everywhere. It's tradition when you have a meal with a guest that you end it with a dessert - a sugary, sweet, often chocolate, ooey, gooey dessert (and if it includes ice cream, even better!)

Last weekend, my mother's church had a a ladies' tea social. I had promised her I'd go over a month before the program started, so bailing was not an option. I arrived, figured that tea wasn't going to be bad for me - (I actually like unsweetened tea - no sugar, no sweetener), but then the food came out. A plate of delicious warm chicken salad (that was passable), a fruit cup (fruit is OK with a meal, right?) and then a blueberry muffin. I ate slow, took my break, and was doing pretty good, and only ate 1/2 the blueberry muffin. Then they brought out a slice of cake for everyone.

The moment I put the cake in my mouth, my brain went CRAZY. My taste buds sang. I'm not kidding - my brain interpreted a singing noise! I thought, heck - half of a 2 inch by one inch square won't hurt, right? I'll skip the frosting and just eat the cake.

And I did stop after 1/2 the slice. Portion control was in check.

Between the cake and blueberry muffin, the next half hour was STRANGE. I have never had this reaction to sugar, even when I was a kid. I sat, listening to the guest speaker, while my face felt flushed and my brain had a slight pounding sensation. I felt like someone who had dropped acid or something (not that I've ever done that, but if I could imagine it, this was it.)

About an hour later, the effect wore off, and I was back to being my regular self. That evening I went to dinner with my mom (we were celebrating her birthday as well), and then we went to a movie. It was so strange to go to the concession stand for two bottles of water and nothing more - no popcorn, no drinks, no licorice. But I didn't feel bad - it just felt different.

After our class on Monday, I swore off sugar. After the last "head trip", I didn't feel like it was a good idea. Then Friday came.

You see, Fridays we eat dinner with my in-laws, and that usually wraps up with ice cream, cookies, cake, pie, or something like that. My mother-in-law had just come from the local Mexican market where they have these fantastic Neapolitan-type sugar cookies - strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate in a triangle shape. She also had some "pan dulce", or sweet breads. I wasn't interested in the sweet breads, but when I saw those cookies after dinner, I had to get up and go outside - the urge to eat them was so strong, even though I was comfortably full from dinner. I reasoned with myself - I don't have to eat the whole thing, just one bite from each flavor, right? After all, a little sugar won't put me over the edge...

After I left, she put the cookies away so they weren't in site. We watched TV for about 15 minutes, then my father-in-law suggested a walk. Since I knew the cookies were still in the house, I jumped at the chance to get out of the house again. My husband and mother-in-law joined us, and we spent 20 minutes walking around the neighborhood, talking to neighbors, and laughing and enjoying our time together.

As of this morning, I'm proud to say that I swore off the cookies. I'm on my way to one week without even a bite of sugar. And the time spent walking and talking with my family was far better than the three bites of a cookie ever would have been.

2010-05-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

My husband is the greatest person in the world to me. I know, every wife probably says that every once in a while, but I really, truly mean it.

I recently went though a second surgery - I had more cysts on my ovary, and my OBGYN was afraid that it would cause the ovary to twist. Since they were growing and I was put on "exercise restriction", we decided to get it done as soon as possible. Steve had some vacation time he could use but had to be used by the 20th of May.

I thought I had prepared myself very well - I cleaned the house, got the laundry wrapped up, and the day of the surgery I felt fine - I wasn't nervous or anxious, especially since my Mother-in-law and Father-in-law were with Steve (he didn't need his mommy and daddy, but I did - it made me feel better.)

The day of the surgery, I don't remember much - family came to visit, but I was so drugged up that I was floating in and out. I do remember when they wheeled me into my room, though, I saw Steve and I knew I was in the clear.

The next day, they told me they'd want me up and walking - since I had to get up to use the restroom, I figured I'd try to walk a bit. Steve was extremely encouraging all along the way. The first time we walked down the hall, he held my hand and I held onto the railing on the wall. As we were returning to my room, an employee walked by and said "You should take a picture." I was like, huh? I don't want a picture taken - I look like crap! Then he explained that he was a social worker, and to see a husband and wife walk down the hall, supporting and helping each other was a beautiful picture. He didn't see much of that in his line of work.

Steve was great - he'd set little goals for me, and let me know I was doing well when I reached them. His encouragement made the whole ordeal very pleasant.

As I got home, I was feeling OK for a day or so. Steve was there to help me, encouraged me, and then went through my emotional roller-coaster with me. You see, physically I felt I was on the mend, but mentally I felt like I might have been going nuts! Apparently when you have surgery, you can go through a post-traumatic stress disorder. I wasn't aware of it, and all I knew was that the slightest things made me cry - watching Glee made me break out in tears when they sang a couple of sad songs. I felt sad for no reason sometimes. I was kind of afraid of all of these moods, but he smiled at me, let me cry it out, held me when I needed him. He was full of love and compassion, and wisdom beyond his years - he's been through many surgeries himself, so he understood exactly what I was going through, even though I didn't.

He was going to go back to work on Monday - or so I had thought. On Sunday night, I felt sick and couldn't sleep. He told me he knew that I would need him one more day, and he already told them that he wouldn't be back until Tuesday. I was so happy I cried (yes, again, I cried) and he said "I got this!" I knew I didn't have to worry.

The morning he did have to go back to work was hard for both of us. His mind was at home with me, and I was feeling sick and throwing up. I was so scared that it might have been serious (even though he was sure it wasn't), I called the Dr's office. They had me come in to check my incision (since the throwing up caused it to drain a bit), and my OBGYN explained to me that surgery is very stressful emotionally, and what I was going through was perfectly normal. As soon as the appointment was over, I called Steve - and I felt really, really good knowing that everything was OK on all fronts. He and I were able to go on with our day (mine to the store for some anti-nausea medication and Gatorade, his at work.) He came home, made a delicious dinner and then we went for a drive. By the end of the day, I knew why I was afraid for him to go back to work, but I knew we made it through and it was fine.

As I'm writing this, I'm in tears. The amount of love I feel for my husband is unmatched by anything else on this planet. He has been my support, both physically and emotionally, not just through this process but throughout my life. Steve has made numerous sacrifices for me - his time, his patience, his body. I don't know of a way to give back to him for all that he has given me. He is the foundation of my efforts, the light at the end of the tunnel, the reason I get up in the morning and the reason I can sleep at night. My love for him runs so deep within me and grows stronger every moment we share together. I'm the person I am and the person I can be because of his love and support.

So, you see, he might not be the greatest person in the world to everyone, but to me, he is the greatest husband who could ever exist.

Goodbye Vegas Trip, Hello Morphine Drip!

2010-02-27T20:09:00.000-08:00

So, Steve and I had been planning a little Vegas excursion with part of our tax refund to celebrate our anniversary and my birthday. The rooms were booked, the tickets for shows bought, and the schedules had been set. I was looking forward to a little sun and some fun.

Turns out my body had other plans. After two and a half days of severe pain, I was worried I had appendicitis. I decided that we should probably go to the ER, because the sooner it was taken care of, the sooner we could go to Vegas without pain.

Well, it wasn't appendicitis. There were two endometriotic cysts - and one was so large that it was causing the pain. They said I would be in the hospital overnight, and maybe even through Monday. Needless to say, Vegas was canceled and we couldn't recoup the cost of our show tickets, but the Bellagio was nice to refund the amount of our room deposit, even without 24 hours notice. We'll go back there again, definitely.

When I think about how long the whole process took, I'm kind of shocked - it was a 2:30 in the morning when I checked in, and I had a diagnosis by 6:00 am. I had the cyst drained without having a scope or surgery (I love radiology!) around noon, and around 8:40 pm they determined there was no infection and no need for further surgery. Until that time I was on "NDO" (no food or drink), and I don't think I ever craved water so much in my life. By 9:00 pm, they gave me a percocet and authorized some food, and before I could finish my meal, I was falling asleep. Between the relief that everything was going to be OK, the sheer exhaustion, my sensitivity to narcotics (they work really, really well on me), and the sandwich I ate, everything hit me at once and I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I have to say I was very impressed with the staff at IMC. Every single person I had to work with was professional and very descriptive in every way. They must have some great training and skilled staff there, because they put me at ease every step of the way. They controlled my pain, took the right steps to make sure I was safe, and based on this hospital trip, I would recommend them to anyone!

My mom came to help us out so Steve could take a break. Her many years of nursing experience sure come in handy - but it seems that she felt she could never do enough. Just having my mommy there so my husband didn't have to bear the full burden was much more than I could ask for.

I also can't say how much I appreciate my husband. I know this is hard to believe, but a hospital trip can be a sick kind of romantic situation: every time he could be, he was right there with me. Getting back to my room after the drain, it was his face I looked for first - and was happy to see it. Any need I had, he was right there to help me. Sadly, I even needed help to use the restroom (they had me "wired for sound, cable, and satellite," he said,) so it was nice not to have to call a nurse every time.

The next morning was our anniversary. I woke up and said, "happy anniversary. Sorry we're stuck in a hospital." His response was "It doesn't matter that we're here. What matters is that we're together." Tonight we're planning pizza and a movie. After 14 years of marriage, that's what we both really want to do after this trip - just hang out in our own home, with each other.

Every year we're married, I think we have the best anniversary - then I realize it's not what we're doing, but who we're with that makes it special. I think this year is the best anniversary yet.

Grandpa

2009-10-26T12:37:00.001-07:00

My Grandpa Johnson passed away yesterday. I can't say it was unexpected, he was 87 years old, but I can say that it's an awe-inspiring moment to witness his graceful passing.

Mom had told us that he was in the hospital on Thursday, and on Saturday it was looking like he might be on his way out. However, overnight, things took a downward turn, and I received the call at 7:00 am on Sunday that he may not make it through the day and to come right away. Although Steve had been unable to sleep the night before, he and I were both awake right away, got dressed quickly, and were on our way to Heber.

When I arrived, Grandpa was still breathing but wasn't conscious. I sat beside him, touched his head and his chest and whispered that I was there. Within a few minutes he let out his last breath, a soft moan, and he was gracefully on his way to his next journey.

I'm sure that wherever he ends up in heaven, he'll be greeted by his family, his two poodle companions, and my own father. I'm sure after a few war stories and embraces, Grandpa will be on his way building the streets of heaven or whatever there is to build, since that's what he seemed to be made to do: build things with his two very capable hands.

My first memory of my Grandfather was when he and Grandma would come to visit while we lived in Roosevelt. Grandpa and Grandma had two little poodles named Missy and Squirt, and every morning, regardless of where they were, he would take the poodles on a walk. "They have to burn extra energy, because for every step you take they have to take four," he'd tell me. While he visited, he and my father would spend time winterizing the trailer or building whatever would be useful, and sometimes things that were not necessarily practical but brought a lot of joy, such as my playhouse. When I was 6 years old, he built me a one-room palace with a split entry door, real windows, and wooden soldiers to guard it. It had a real shingle roof, and even a utility table where I could spend hours making mud-pies and weed cakes (inedible, of course.)

When I was about 9 years old, we kids spent an entire summer with Grandma and Grandpa while Mom stayed at the Weber State dorm rooms to work on her RN degree. That summer, he was our constant guardian and would do whatever we asked. One day he'd sit next to the pool while we swam, the next day he'd take us for a walk over to the library, and the day after was a weekly trip to the Bean Museum, where we'd discover new things about animals and even get to hold a boa constrictor. He never seemed to mind when we ran all over, just as long as we didn't leave his sight. He never spoke harshly to us on our trips. We spent an entire summer exploring Provo, and sometimes even talked him into buying us ice-cream cones from Reams but not telling Grandma so we could have ice cream again that night. I certainly inherited his love of ice cream, and there was no one that seemed to enjoy it more than he did.

When I graduated from High School, I moved to Provo with Grandma and Grandpa to attend college. They let me have the room near the garage, which used to be his music room - it was the one room where he could hide away and listen to the country music he was fond of but that Grandma didn't care for. It must have been a bit of a sacrifice, now that I'm older and understand the concept of a "man-cave", that sacred place where a man can go to be with his thoughts. While I was studying, he would give me hugs and tell me how proud he was of me.

As an adult, I had an opportunity to stay with him when Grandma and Mom took a trip to Germany. He had fallen and broken his arm, and Grandma didn't want to leave him, even for a trip to her home country. I agreed to take 1/2 days from work to stay with him. During that week he and I spent time talking, listening to Johnny Cash, and he would tell me stories from his times in the war, his trips with work along the West Coast, and about some of the things he learned about other people. These were stories that were difficult to come by in a family setting, as he was often overshadowed by our own boisterous voices. I enjoyed every moment of staying with him and learning about him as an adult.

In my life, I have never known anyone who was filled with so much love or felt things as deeply as he did. When his beloved poodle companions passed on, he vowed to never have another animal because it was so tough to lose them. No matter how much prodding, he wouldn't consider another animal, but still showed love and tender care to the rest of our family's cats and dogs.

My Grandfather's passing isn't really a sad occasion - it's more of a celebration of the love he had for his family and all those he had around him, including his two great-grandchildren, which made him smile even bigger than the usual every day smile. He had lived a full, happy life, married to his wife for over half a century, and almost every day he had something he had to do - mostly for her. On the day he died, she said "It was such a pleasure to take care of him, because he spent his entire life taking care of me." He was surrounded by his family when he left this earth, and he will be waiting to meet us on our own journeys past this world.

2009-08-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

Well, this post used to be a link to Sammy's page on Petfinder. We went to Shop-ko today and before we got out of the truck, Steve gave me $85.00 and said, “Urf (Obi) has saved up his allowance for a little brother. We need to even out the numbers. We need another boy, and Urf needs a kitty who doesn’t yell at him. I think we need to keep Sammy for Urf.” ($85.00 is the normal adoption fee for a kitten from CAWS.)

So, apparently Sammy isn’t going to be a foster kitty anymore.

Welcome our new kitty, Sammy.

Bad Hotel Art

2009-04-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

While Steve and I were in San Francisco, we had the opportunity to stay at the Hyatt at Fisherman's Wharf. Although the hotel itself was very nice, and had some spa-ish qualities to the rooms and lobby, I just can't explain this hotel art. Steve walked by this picture, and said "Stomach:"

OK, Granted, it's a cow's stomach, plus one, but I thought it was interesting that's what he saw. Then we got to this one:

And this is an X-ray of Steve's hip, after replacement:

Do you see the comparison here? (Apparenly I need to make it known that the "white" area between his leg bones is not his family blessing. It is his tailbone. Sickos!)

Whoever picks this stuff out needs to have a head check. Or maybe the person who came up with the designs needs to have a head check.

Around the corner, we have this beauty:

Well, I won't go into details about the symbolism of the three holes, but Steve said, "Edamame."

Then, before we enter the room, we have this:

Um, an X-ray of a woman in a corset? Shoulder blades and a spine?

Last, but not least, we have the piece de resistance:

"Alka Seltzer." (Can you tell that Steve might have had heartburn one night?)

I suppose it would have been more exciting to tell you all about the trip we took, but I started thinking about vacation pictures - they never really mean as much to the people looking at them as they do to the person who was there and took the picture. So, I'll just leave you with this:

The Evolution of Cat Names

2009-04-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

I've heard somewhere that a cat has three names: There's the name they're first given, the name you give them, and the name they call themselves. I started to think about my cats, and how their names have evolved:

Cat #1:

Given name: Aisha. She was our first cat, and we were her first humans. The name came from my nephew, who loved cats. Aisha was supposed to be his cat, and he wasn't even two years old yet. He called cats "ay-yah," but I just couldn't name a cat "ay-yah." I knew someone named Aisha when I was a kid, and I heard the name meant princess, so Aisha it was.

Abby, my mother-in-law (who's nickname is Lady-yes, humans have evolved names, too!) found her under some boxes and shopping carts at the Reams store around State and 2700 S. She was fierce and full of fight. There was a three-month period where we lived with my in-laws while we put together the down-payment for our house. The day she was brought home, I came home from work and Jesse, my father-in-law was outside, and told me there was an attack cat inside. I thought, "Wow. Wonder what that means."

Sure enough, I walked in, and a small kitten scampered up the couch to jump on me to attack me. If she were bigger than the frozen burrito size she was, I might have actually been a little afraid. Steve trained her for hours to keep attacking - she'd keep coming back at him, and finally, when she was about to give up, he'd give in to her. She was his baby first, and as we added cat #3, her responsibility has grown to keep the house and her "mommy" in line.

Names we gave her: Aishie, Kit-Kat, Queen Aisha, Princess Aisha (which doesn't fit anymore- see Princess Beezy below), Aishe-Aish, (pronounced i-she-eish), Little Girl.

Name she calls herself: Aisha. You see, she's not a cat. She has told us time and time again that she is our director, and must keep us in line. Bedtime is exactly when she says it is, and I must obey her. I am her charge. She sleeps on the corner of the bed to protect me and keep an eye on me. Therefore, she is not a cat: She calls herself Aisha. And by the way, she owns this house - hence the title of this blog.

Cat #2:

Name given: Brady.

Name we gave her: Bailey. OK, that's the name I gave her. She's a girl! Brady is a boy's name! Bailey-Boo, Boo-Boo, Bailey-bugga-boo, Cuddle Kitty, Bailey-big-eyes, Bailey-baby.

Bailey was adopted from Wasatch Humane (which is now Utah Animal Adoption Center.) She was a replacement for the baby-hunger I was feeling at the time. My sister-in-law just had her second baby, and I was feeling pretty down in the dumps that I didn't have a baby yet.

Bailey's homecoming was filled with noises I hadn't heard Aisha make yet. Growls, spits, and "Ffffff-ffff-fff!@#!@@@#" (cat cusswords.) However, Bailey was not intimidated. She was too dumb to be intimidated.

Dumb cats really are good cats - they cuddle with you, and do just about everything else the other cat does. Case in point: We got a drinking fountain for Aisha and Bailey. When Aisha was a kitten, Steve used to pour water out of a bottle, and Aisha would catch the stream in her mouth (again, proof that she's not a cat.) When we got the drinking fountain, Aisha figured the stream was there for her to drink from - not from the moving water in the bowl. Since this is what Aisha did, Bailey had to do it too. And still does - she can't take a drink without getting the entire side of her face wet.

Name she calls herself: Unknown. Bailey doesn't seem to be quite aware that she should call herself anything. She's never referred to herself - only to her external world. If you could speak cat, and ask her what her name is, she'd say "Huuuuuhhhh?"

Cat #3:

Given name: Shiloh. I think Lady gave her this name, or the people Lady got her from gave her this name.

When we first got Beezy (pronounced Beeshey - see below as to how this name evolved) it was on a day that I got a raise at work. Cats have always been good omens for me, and Lady rescued her from some people who thought she was "too mean." She was like Aisha-full of fire, and she growled at anything that got near her food. Steve put her up on his shoulder, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and gav her a piece of steak. She sat on his shoulder, ate her steak, and growled any time his hand got near her. (It took her months to stop growling over her food.) There was a little doubt at first, then Steve brought her home. He put her down on the floor in our bedroom, she walked around a little bit, and Aisha came over to check her out. Aisha sniffed at her, and jumped back when she hissed. The look on Aisha' face said "Holy $h!t! A Peruvian Ninja Hissing Rat!"

Names we gave her: Chasquido (I thought we should have an A-kitty, a B-kitty, and she would be our C-kitty. Chasquido means "snap" in spanish - like "Oh, Snap!" "Oh, Chasquido!" But as she played, Steve nicknamed her Beezy - she was "beezy" over here, "beezy" over there, and just plain "beezy" playing. Bear (she looked like a baby bear when she was a kitten.), Baby-bear, Bear-bear, Bizh-Whizh, Princess Beezy, the Cutest Cat in the World (according to Steve,) Baby-Cat, Baby-girl, Peruvian-Ninja-Hissing-Rat.

Name she calls herself: Unknown. It's not that she doesn't refer to herself, but that she thinks so highly of herself and is so secure in her care under "daddy" that she has no need to converse with the other cats unless she fees like it. Yes folks, she's a spoiled brat, and he likes it that way!

Cat #4

Name given: Unknown. Obi was a stray, however, Steve thinks it was Clyde.

Name we gave him: O.B. - he looked like Beezy, but he was an outdoor cat, so we named him O.B. for Outdoor Beezy - and when he had his tail degloved (see my first post,) the vet wrote down Obi. When you touch him and he's really relaxed, or if he wants something, he'll "Urf", so it evolved to Urf, Sir-Urfs-A-Lot, Urf-a-durf, Obi-wan, Baby Boy.

Name he calls himself: Rarn (like yarn with an "r".) I have no idea how Steve knows this, but he swears he calls himself Rarn. See, when Obi was an outdoor cat, he had to socialize with other cats. Therefore, he had to give himself a name - and he could pronounce Rarn.

So there you have it: the introduction to my four fur babies.

It's like riding a bike, right?

2009-03-15T07:05:00.000-07:00

You know the saying, "It's like riding a bike." You learn when you're a kid, and even though you haven't done it for many, many years, you instinctively know how. Well, I know I told almost everyone I bought a bike. I was so happy to get it - and it wasn't cheap. It wasn't the most expensive bike out there, but it was over the price range Steve and I had set. It was exactly what I wanted - no shocks, SPD clip pedals, and it can go extremely fast. And it's blue (I wanted the blue one! Blue, Blue Blue!)

Yesterday, we picked up the bike, and Steve decided to take surface streets for a while - we weren't in any hurry. I mentioned that I was hungry (Ok, more like kept mentioning it), so we hit the drive-through of one of our favorite places and then stopped in Murray Park for lunch. After we ate, we got my bike out.

I've been taking spin classes, and riding a bike is so easy there! I kind of forgot two things:

1) I haven't been on a bike in over ten years, and there's this little thing called balance that's required, and
2) I don't have much experience with the clip shoes on bikes yet - even the ones in spin class are a little bit tricky.

I tried clipping in and clipping out a couple of times, thought I had that all down, and then off I went. The tires are skinny tires - made for road biking, so you don't even have to turn - you just lean. Using the methods I learned in spin class, I went extremely fast - so fast that when I hit the brakes, it scared me a little - like I was going to go over the handlebars (they were good brakes.) I got back to where Steve was standing, and he said "OK, now try to unclip fast." I tried, and me and the bike ended up on the ground, my feet still attached to the pedals.

I scraped my knee pretty good (I was wearing pants, so that was OK), but I think Steve hurt more than I hurt myself. It hurt his feelings that he knew this would happen, but that I didn't listen to him. But I know in my mind that even if he told me a million times, I had to try it for myself. Like a kid, some lessons you just have to learn by falling down.

Off came the clip shoes (I have pedals that work with both SPD and street shoes), and on went the street shoes. I spent the next half hour just getting used to the bike.

It's going to take a while to learn how to ride a bike again - so I guess it's really not like "riding a bike." And this speaks volumes for Steve's character (and love for me) - to see me go down and let me do it, even though he knew it would hurt both of us.

The scraped knee was the only injury. I'll practice for a while before putting the SPD shoes back on again....

Big Birthday...

2009-03-07T22:08:00.001-08:00

So, last weekend I turned 32. Reaching this age has always scared the hell out of me - my father passed away when he was 32. I seemed to think that by this age, I'm no longer a kid, I should have all the answers, I should have it all figured out. So, starting in November, I started feeling a little freaked out knowing that this age was coming - and quick.

I know that this may all seem a bit unrealistic, and it is. But even though your head says something, your "subconscious" carries those old beliefs from years of conditioning. It was as if my mind said, "You better make it count and do it all before you reach 32." And boy, did I believe it. I found the person I wanted to spend my life with before I even graduated high school, got a full-time job, went to school, finished a degree, finished another degree, finished a master's degree, traveled around the country for work, landed the job I always wanted, bought a house, and settled down. I was done before I was 30.

I had thoughts of going to Disneyland for my 32nd birthday - I thought that this birthday should be big, as if I were going to leave the earth in the next year for whatever reason. However, the funds, and the timing, didn't work out.

My mom called me in January and asked me, "If you were going to go to Chicago, when would you go?" (I had been to Chicago for a business trip in May, on Mother's day. I went to the Shedd Aquarium and spent all day missing my mom, because she would have loved it.) She said, "I want to offer you a trip to Chicago. You pick the dates. It's for your Birthday." (I took my mom to Disneyland for her birthday a few years ago so she could see Tinkerbell fly. She will always have a part of her that never grows up.) This gift was one of the best gifts anyone could give me. It was as if she said, "You still have a lot of living to do, and we're going to start in Chicago."

I was also challenged in November to do things I enjoy. I froze - what do I really enjoy? I mean, there's playing video games, but that gets kind of mind-numbing after a while. There had to be more, right? I thought long and hard about what I'd like to try. This year, I'm going to try it.

So, here's my short list of things I plan to do this year.

Go to Chicago: Thanks to Mom, this is planned.
Find a book club: I think I might have this one in the bag - we'll find out at the end of the month.
Go to San Francisco with my husband: Steve has been awarded a trip to San Francisco for his sales record (in other words, busting his butt for years and pulling the highest sales out of his group.) I am very excited to join him on this trip.
Volunteer at the Pet Super-Adoption with CAWS: I love this organization - it's been a great adventure to volunteer with them, and have I mentioned I love the animals?
Go to Fish Lake with my in-laws: This is one vacation that I would like to make a tradition. We don't get to spend much time with Steve's parents outside of our weekly dinners.
Ride my bike: I just got a bike for my birthday (Thank you Honey!) I've been taking spin classes for a year and would love to feel the freedom I used to feel when I was a kid, with the added benefit of extra calories burned. This needs to be an ongoing commitment to myself.
Become healthier than I am now: I've lost 20 lbs over a year and have improved my heath. 20 lbs isn't a lot considering my current weight, but it's better than nothing. Instead of saying I"m going to loose X number of lbs, I just want to be healthier than I am now - to find one or two things that I can do better than I can do right now.
Go to one afternoon matinee at the Babcock Theather: I went to one as a college course requirement, and rather enjoyed the discussion with the directors that comes after the Saturday matinee. I want to do this one more time.
Cuddle with Steve: OK, so this is something I already do - but there's no place I'd rather be than in his arms. Not even Disneyland beats that.

OK, so it's not a short list. But hopefully by next year, I can look at this and say, "Yes, I did."

My kingdom has been secured.

2009-02-25T14:08:00.001-08:00

So, yesterday Steve and I went to the doctor. Everything is OK at the moment (no need to worry) but he asked us how long we'd been together. I realized we've been together 15 years, of which we've been married for 13 of them. (Ask Steve, he'll say we've been married for 30 years at least...)

Anyways, on the way out, the doctor put his arm around Steve and said "Don't worry. Your kingdom in heaven has been secured - you picked a good guy."

Whoa. That was the most LDS thing I've heard, right next to "I'd like to turn the time over to..."

Now, we're not LDS. My mom pulled me out of the church when I was 7, but I continued to go off and on as a teenager, and my grandparents on both sides were LDS. (Yes, Grandpa B. was LDS, despite the fact he owned a bar, cussed up a storm, drank and smoked up until 10 years before his death. However, the offset to this is that he was a very knowledgeable man with great advice, he demanded respect with his presence, and I miss him.) My parents were also sealed in the LDS temple when I was 5 or 6. I understand that the LDS believe that the husband is to secure the wife's place in heaven, and they're married for all eternity.

My husband, on the other hand, was raised Catholic. He's read the book of Mormon and has his own understanding of the LDS religion. But, most of our recent discussions about the LDS religion and their beliefs usually take place after watching Big Love. We both know that this show doesn't correspond with what the LDS church currently teaches, but it's still funny to us since we live in the middle of the "Zion Bubble" yet we aren't LDS. For me, it's being an outsider watching the outsiders from the far extreme of where we sit, while in the middle is the LDS culture.

So, after the doctor leaves, Steve and I both look at each other and laugh a little. It was the most LDS thing someone has ever said to me. And that's pretty good since I live here in Utah.

My value as a person should not be based on my reproductive decision (or lack thereof.)

2009-02-22T18:22:00.001-08:00

So, every once in a while, I get on a bitter streak about not having kids. It's not that I want them, or that I don't. To be quite honest, I haven't made up my mind permanently. Steve and I have always taken a "wait and see" approach. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't, it doesn't.

But the thing I struggle with is the desire to feel like a responsible human being who contributes to society when I don't have kids. I find it difficult that women my age put value on themselves as a person based on their children. And therefore, since I have none, do I not count?

Don't get me wrong - I think kids are great. I know that raising a kid is not easy. I've witnessed and assisted with raising two myself. I've also been told it can be very rewarding. I'll keep an open mind about that. My brothers turned out to be great guys, but I don't deserve any credit for that. There were many others involved, including my mother, and they had great personality traits as well.

It also seems that no matter how bitter I am, someone else is more bitter. I found an entire website dedicated to the "voluntary human extinction movement." (Google it if you want to learn more. I don't want to appear biased - I don't completely agree, but I don't disagree, either - my opinions tend to change on this subject daily.)

On this site was a link to another essay by Corey S. Powell. It's called "20 Ways the World Could End Swept Away." Since I was old enough to understand global tragedy, I understood that entire masses of people, entire cultures, are often wiped off the face of the earth - Biblical stories that involve a global flood, the Mayans, the Minoans, etc. The earth seems to "clean" itself. And, if you've seen Wall-E (I know, the world according to a Disney Cartoon may not count as philosophical research, but follow along anyways), our planet is destined for failure based on our over-consumption. Therefore, this article may have a hint of truth at some point.

Speaking with a coworker, he commented that by not having kids, if the world ended, I could take a sideline seat to the show since I'm not invested. (I'm not saying he's bitter, but his point was very ironic. He also doesn't have kids - yet.)

So please, don't feel sorry for me that I don't have any kids, or tell me that I should have some. Please don't think I'm selfish for not having any. My decision to have kids will be between my husband and I, and my value as a person shouldn't depend on that decision.

Valentine's Dinosaurs

2009-02-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

While we were in Vernal, we saw the strangest Dinosaurs. I know the people who live here are used to this, but it's still very strange to me.

Come on now - there's really no scientific proof that Dinosaurs were not pink, is there? Maybe they figured this would be their version of a pink flamingo.

This one has been domesticated to sit and hold a sign, like a good dog. Unfortunately, my picture of a dinosaur wearing a bikini didn't turn out, but I'm not lying - a hotel across the street has one!

I'm ferocious, I'm the king of all dinosaurs, I'm.....dressed as cupid. Yeah.

Happy Valentine's day!

This used to be my playground....

2009-02-02T20:25:00.000-08:00

From the time I was two years old until I was 11, I used to live in Roosevelt. Now, keep in mind that my parents weren't exactly rich. But the double-wide trailer I lived in was owned, not rented, like some of the other trailers in the area. This is the house I used to live in:

Yes, it was always that ugly yellow-green color. But the porch used to have an awning-cover on top, and the fence wasn't there. Funny, it seemed bigger when I was a kid. And my parents took very good care of it. (Not sure who lives there now, but if it's your house, let me know if you mind that I posted the picture.)

This was my best friend's house. She had five brothers and sisters, which means eight people lived in this three-bedroom home. They always kept it clean, and I hung out here a lot:

Now one sister is a doctor, another is married to a doctor, a third is married to a lawyer, she's a social worker, not quite sure where her brothers live, but her Mom and Dad own a beautiful home in Draper. Good things come to those who wait - and work very, very hard.

When I was about 9 and my best friend was about 11, my mom used to drop us off at Marion's (far left). We would have a hamburger, chips, and a drink for $2.00, and could get an ice cream for $1.00. The people who owned this place knew my parents. On the other side of the theater in the picture is a bar. One time, a drunk Ute (think Indian tribe, not football) tried to come in. To protect us, the owner locked the door until the guy left. They were great people.

When I was six, I was in a school program. After the program, Mom brought me here for a sundae. While I was eating it, plaster fell from the ceiling and fell right into my sundae. The owner dished me up a new one so fast, I hardly had time to figure out where the plaster came from. If you wonder why plaster fell from the ceiling, well, have a look. This picture was taken in 1956, from the opposite angle of my shot. It's the place that says "Lunch":

Mom used to drop us off at Marion's, we'd spend an hour here and then around the corner to the brand new bowling alley:

Like my house, it was much more impressive when I was younger. It used to be brand new back in the mid 80's.

This used to be a Pepsi distribution center. In front of it was our bus stop.

In the summer we would ride our bikes over here and buy a can of soda for a quarter from their machine. We thought we were so grown up, buying our own sodas. My dad worked here for a little while, too. We used to joke that they fired him because he drank Coke.

A half hour away from Roosevelt is Vernal. They had this really cool water slide called the Aquanoodle:

It's called something else now, and doesn't look like it's still in business. There's a UPS distribution center right next to it. Steve thinks that they air-drop the packages, and use the old water slide to slide them on over to the distribution center. The one and only time I wore a bikini over the age of 3 was here - I was 9, and we went on a school field trip. It was so much fun, since we didn't even have cable TV in Roosevelt yet.

And last, and still in Vernal, is Tyrannosaurus Rex. He's been moved to a new museum, across the street and down a ways from the old museum:

When I was about 4, my mom and dad took me to the museum. When we walked past Rex, my dad would say that if I wasn't a good kid, he'd feed me to Rex. I'd end up in his belly for the rest of my life. And I'd believe him, and cry. Believe it or not, it was a good memory of my dad.

Coming soon: The Vernal Dinosaurs.

A perfect picture.

2009-01-28T17:45:00.000-08:00

This is a picture of my niece, Enorah. It was taken on Christmas Day. I couldn't witness this moment, but in this moment is the moment that every little girl should know: That her dad, whoever he may be, loves her. He holds her up. His hands are rough from hard work, his nails are ragged because he uses his hands for fixing cars. Yet, at this moment, they are the most soft, gentle hands that she will ever know.

I lost my father when I was 7. He was so much like my brother - he had a tender heart, and his children were his world. He used his hands to drive trucks, to fix cars, to fix things around the house. In this moment, this is every little girl, and every father.

Somewhere is a picture of my father holding me at this age. It's not the same pose, but it feels like the same moment. Every daughter should have a picture like this to last a lifetime.

Volunteering

2008-12-23T15:44:00.001-08:00

So, it was recommended to me to volunteer - to do something. Although I could see the opportunity for growth, I had such a hard time deciding what to volunteer for. I always thought of volunteering as feeding the homeless people, or talking to the elderly. Old people can be kind of grumpy, and I'm not very compassionate about poor people, I guess. I feel that a lot of people make a lot of bad choices and then feel victims to their own circumstances, when they could make better choices and avoid the situations they're in.

So, Steve suggested I do something with animals. Animals don't judge you, don't yell at you when they're having a bad day, and don't really say anything bad to you. In fact, some of them actually like you, and like it when you touch them. They even give hugs.

While trying to decide what to do with Obi, I contacted Stormy at Titanic's Toy Hilton. Stormy runs a bording and grooming shop for cats and dogs. She's the cat person, her husband's the dog person, and she's always taken good care of Beezy when we go on vacation. In fact, Beezy seems to think it's like summer camp when she gets to stay with Stormy.

I asked Stormy what she thought I should do with Obi. She suggested that I contact CAWS (Community Animal Welfare Society) and see if they could take him. She gave me a phone number for Janita, who asked me to send her information about Obi. I wrote a beautiful email - pretty poetic for a cat, to describe him.

And the response from CAWS was that there was no one to foster him, but they would list him if I could foster him. I ran this by Steve, and he said that could take months or even longer. In the meantime, Obi had issues we needed to get him through - the tail issue, plus parasites and bacteria from a bad diet. I told Janita I'd discuss it with Steve and get back to her.

Well, two weeks later, we decided to try to introduce Obi to our three girls. The girls still don't like him. Last night Steve said he went from being the Outdoor Beezy (OB), to being the hurt, tailless kitty, to being the stinky kitty, to being "Shatz the cat", and now he's just a cluless male: Always getting yelled at, but not understanding why. Poor little guy.

Obi gets to stay, and I let Janita know that we've decided to keep him. She said that was great. I also asked if they could use any volunteers, and she was so excited. I agreed to volunteer on the last Saturday of the month.

When I arrived, I met Amy - she was so welcoming, and put me to work right away filling water dishes. She then suggested I help Holly clean out the cages. All the time I worked, Holly asked me about how I got involved, and I got to talk about my four "kids." It was great to have something in common with people I've never met before!

It was a busy day - one dog and one kitten were adopted. I got to talk to some girls who were very excited to be taking home the kitten, and then I ran the dogs out to potty for the rest of the day. Had it not of been for a sprained ankle, I would have stuck around.

Last Saturday, I helped them set up the cages, get the cages ready for the kitties, and put up signs, take food, then I helped sort through the list of name tags and papers. By the end of the day, I was bushed, and happy to be home, with my own four babies who get me, and I get to hold them.

I really like this Volunteer thing.

Update on Obi

2008-11-18T07:29:00.001-08:00

I guess I should mention that we found out Obi's a boy...so the name fits better, anyways. Our tailless wonder is happily hanging out in one of our rooms, with no intentions of leaving any time soon. Looks like Obi found a home. So, yes, we're up to four cats. I know, we're one cat above marginally strange.

On Saturday, we went to get a new cat tree. As we in the parking lot, sliding it into the bed of the truck, a lady came by with a cart full of dog food. She said, "I have one of those - my cats love it." We just smiled. As we got into the truck, Steve said, "We're the crazy cat people, and that lady knows it - she recognizes one of her own."

Velvet Goldmine

2008-11-18T06:54:00.000-08:00

So, if you thought I was just going to talk about cats on this blog, well, then you think I'm out of my mind. And maybe I am, but anyways....

One of my favorite movies of all time is Velvet Goldmine. Now, what makes this different than other movies I like is that I found this one all by myself, thoroughly enjoy it all by myself, and no one's told me that they like it. Most people haven't seen it. So I know my opinion of this film is not biased by wanting to align my feelings with anyone else's opinions.

So, why do I like it so much?

Well, to start, I've always wanted to like David Bowie. Since I was a kid and watched Labyrinth, I've been intrigued as to how a man can look so fanciful in eyeshadow. I have no idea how he pulled it off, but I could look at him and not think, "This guy's a raging fairy." It was intriguing, without being freaky. But, I could never get into his music. Ziggy Stardust was just a name of an album that I never listened to.

Now, this film isn't about David Bowie, but is rumored to be loosely based on his story. But that's only a little, tiny, tiny bit of why I like this movie. It was my introduction to understanding what "Glam Rock" was. It's not disco, it's not metal, and it's, well, on a varying scale of gayness. This movie helped me understand the spirit that Ziggy Stardust can be interpreted into, making the music much more enjoyable - I like a little back story, even if it's fiction.

And, I'm a sucker for a movie with great dialogue. Take, for instance, this entire argument when the wife of the main character files for divorce. She confronts her "husband" while he's sitting in bed, snorting coke off the rear end of one of his groupies (yes, that image in itself is slightly disturbing, but plays well into this movie in showing how far the star has fallen:)

MANDY
Your problem is: ‘You get what you want and do what you will.’

BRIAN
‘Worlds,’ Mandy, ‘are built out of suffering. There is suffering at the birth of a child as at the birth of a star.’

MANDY
‘You live in terror of not being misunderstood.’

BRIAN
‘Women defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack by sudden and strange surrenders.’

MANDY
(more to herself)
‘I lost my girlhood, true. But it was for you.’

Now, these quotes are not original - by that, I mean not written by the screenwriters themselves. But how you take these quotes and make dialogue for a few short minutes to make the audience feel the ending of the relationship is genius.

Another one of my favorite scenes is towards the end, when another one of the main characters is looking back on the wild relationship he had:

CURT
Listen – a real artist creates beautiful things and...puts nothing of his won life into them. Okay?

ARTHUR
Is that what you did?

CURT
No.
We set out to change the world and ended up...just changing ourselves.

ARTHUR
What’s wrong with that?

CURT
Nothing.
If you don’t look at the world.

I guess, when you look at it, it's a story that's been done before - a star rises, a star falls in love, a star falls. Except the star falls in love with another male star. It's not Brokeback - it's better. None of the uncomfortable scenes with the indication of what's going on - you know, but you don't have to watch it. And none of the guys cry.

But I guess this narration at the beginning sums up the feeling of the whole movie:

"For once there was an unknown land, full of strange flowers and subtle perfumes, a land of which it is joy of all joys to dream, a land where all things are perfect and poisonous..."

Perfect and poisonous. It's fun to live vicariously through others for a couple of hours, seeing as I'm a conservative white female from Utah who will never be a male bisexual rock star. And I'm completely OK with that - but the costumes were fabulous!

The kitty that stole Christmas

2008-11-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

Bailey is my cat - all mine. Everything about her is like me - she's "fluffy" (one step away from "DAMN....."), she's a little shy at first, she loves to cuddle, and she's needy sometimes. She may even have self-esteem issues. Steve brought her home from a Petsmart adoption in place of a child. I know - some people don't understand how they can compare.

The week that Steve brought Bailey home, my husband's brother's wife had her second child. Her first, Jonathan, was about two years old. I wanted to have Jonathan stay the night with me, but apparently I misunderstood that he was coming with me, and her parents took him home right after I arrived at the hospital. I was upset because I wanted to be part of his life, and concerned about what the impact of the new baby would have on him. I came home in tears, heartbroken that I couldn't bring Jonathan for a visit. In reality, I have no say in what the parents decide to do with their children, and Steve explained this to me.

A few days later, I hear our one and only baby, Aisha, growling right after Steve got home. I thought, "That's a little unusual." Aisha had always been Steve's cat and lived to please him. I looked over the railing to see what was going on, and saw that Steve was holding a carrier. And inside was a beautiful black, gray, and white tabby with big, green eyes. And HUGE paws - I mean big! Her name was "Brady" - and I told Steve a few days later over dinner that I was going to name her Bailey. Since she was my cat, he had to agree - although he liked the name Brady.

I heard the other day that a cat has three names - the one their mother gives them, the one you give them, and the one they call themselves. I'm not sure what Bailey calls herself, but she answers to Bailey-Boo.

About 9 months later, we heard Bailey gasping and wheezing off and on. She would have coughing fits and be out of breath. I know that a cat shouldn't be panting hard in the middle of winter. Unsure of what to do, but positive something was wrong, we took her to Banfield, inside of Petsmart. There, the vet on duty checked her lungs and suggested she either had pneumonia or asthma. Not knowing everything about Bailey's history, I couldn't say which I thought it was - and can cats have asthma?

And this is how the stealing of Christmas began.

The vet sent us home with an antibiotic. The bill came to about $100 for the visit and the antibiotic. However, a week passed, and Bailey had no change. She was still wheezing and hacking every four hours or so.

So, back to the vet she went. Another office visit fee, and a discussion that she may have asthma. Cat asthma is treated with steroids in the form of shots, and a bronchiodialator in the form of a pill.

In order to put a cat on steroids, which weaken the immune system, a test needs to be done to make sure the cat truly doesn't have pneumonia. This test involves flushing the lungs and testing the fluid for bacteria or viruses. This test must be done while the cat is under anesthesia, otherwise the cat will be in pain and drown. If you choose to forgo this test, the steroids will weaken the immune system and could result in death of the cat has pneumonia.

The decision to go forward with the test was a tough one for me, until Steve said, "They're our kids right now. If we had kids, and they needed this treatment, we wouldn't question it. We'd just do it."

So, we agreed to the test. The estimate? About $300 to put her out and have her tested. So what do you do?

The test came back negative, and Bailey was given the shot, while I was given a bag of pills to put down her throat. There was no hiding pills in her food - for being such a fat cat, she only eats dry cat food. We started the treatment, and it went fine.

The bill totaled about $700 for all the office visits and medications. Here's where I should mention that since this time, we have all our cats on pet insurance that covers office visits, vaccinations, and a discount on medicines and procedures. If it wasn't for this insurance, the costs may have been much higher. Ironically, two years after purchasing the insurance, we found that Bailey's asthma has been under control. But you can never be so sure.

Since it was so close to Christmas and Bailey's health issues cost us so much money, we decided to pass up on the gifts to each other and spend less on other family members. Steve's parents lent us some cash to get by for a little while until we could make up the difference. And this is how Bailey stole Christmas.

In hindsight, I still would have paid the money. She sleeps above my head every night, asthma free, and cuddles like no other. She's the only cat that purrs the moment I touch her, unless she's upset about something. (The others could take it or leave it - mostly leave it.)

A few months later, Bailey's asthma returned. Back to the vet we go (the office visit now free), and the vet goes down the same path of logic: it could be pneumonia, or it could be asthma. I know this time it's asthma - exact same cough/hack noise, no production of phlegm. However, just to be sure, the vet recommends we do the same test. At this point, I draw the line. I know what it is - just give her the damn shot and let's get on with it!

"But what if she does have pneumonia? If I give her the shot, the pneumonia could take over her body and she would die," the vet says. (Pack my bags, I'm going on a guilt trip!).

"It's a risk I'm willing to take. I know the sounds, I know my cat," I respond. She finally gives in and gives us the treatment.

Eight months later, Bailey starts up with the asthma attacks again. However, this time, Steve and I were armed with information about feline asthma. It can be treated like human asthma - with inhalers, instead of shots and pills. We found the Aerokat (http://www.aerokat.com/), an adapter made to give cats inhalers.

Instead of going to the same vet, I meet with one at another location. I suggest this treatment, and she says she's heard of it, but has never used it before. She spends a few hours researching the medications. She writes the prescription for the bronchiodialator and Flovent. I take it to Wal-mart to get it filled, which cost us about $100.

We begin treatments that evening - whenever she had an attack, we used the bronchiodialator, and twice a day we gave her the Flovent.

Over time, her asthma slowed down, and then stopped. We still have the adaptor, but the inhalers expired and were tossed out. She hasn't had an asthma attack since.

Flovent cured my cat's asthma. Or the pet insurance did. I'm putting my faith in Flovent.

This year, it may be Obi stealing Christmas.

Obi-Wan

2008-11-09T07:27:00.000-08:00

So, last night, I told Steve I didn't want to put food out for the outdoor stray we had been feeding until she came by. She started letting us get close about 3 weeks ago, and now she prefers a little bit of cuddle before her meal.

We named her O.B. for Outdoor Beezy because she looks just like Beezy - she's all black. In fact, one day I came home and saw her in front of the rosebushes in my yard and freaked out, thinking that somehow Beezy got out of the house.

So, I asked Steve if I could name her Obi-Wan instead, and he said only if "O.B." 2 comes along - then it would be "O.B. 1" Well, if you put food out, the cats will come, and eventually we had a second cat - our O.B. 2. Steve named her Ari, and I called O.B. Obi-Wan.

But I digress.

Obi finally came around last night, and I grabbed the usual amount of food to put out - I told Steve I wanted some cuddle time with her. When I went to put the food out, I saw what I first thought was a straw stuck to her tail. On closer look, I saw the red straw was her tail - it had been stripped of its fur.

I ran back inside - Steve was about to crawl in bed. I yelled his name and said "Obi's tail is missing." He said it's OK, she's an outdoor cat, and she'll survive a missing tail. I said "No, it's not just missing - there's a lot of blood." I burst into tears, and I couldn't feed her. I asked him if he would feed her, then.

He grabbed some roast beef (a treat for Obi), and looked for his flashlight. I ran to the bedroom and grabbed it off of the dresser. He looked at it, and I said, "What do we do?" He looked, and he told me to call a vet office that our normal vet's office recommended for after hours. We looked for one that was close, but couldn't find it, so I just called the number that our vet's message gave for after hours emergencies.

They said it would be $75 to see her. I hesitated for a moment because she's not really our cat. I explained what happened, and they explained that most likely her tail would need to be amputated. Got the address, and then hung up and looked at Steve. He grabbed the computer while I called the Humane Society, who's message said to call the local law enforcement for animal control - that would be certain death for Obi. Steve thought for about 30 seconds, and told me to get the cat carrier.

We wrangled the cat into the carrier with a towel to give her some protection. I put her in the back seat and buckled her in (something both Steve and I firmly believe in.) I grabbed the GPS out of the center console to put the address in, but I wasn't successful the first time. Steve asked if I would like him to do it, so I handed it over. He got the address, and we headed on our way.

I could not stop crying. I had all sorts of thoughts going through my head. As we pulled out of the neighborhood, an ambulance went by with flashing lights. I thought, "It could be much worse - it could be a person close to me. Or even one of my own babies." A little bit further down the road, I said, "Well, I guess she's ours, now." Steve teased "If you wanted her that badly, you could have just said something - you didn't have to strip her tail." I said that if she had humans, I wanted to kick the crap out of them for letting her go outdoors. We both firmly believe in keeping cats indoors unless you live in a very rural area - there are a lot of sickos out here. He said, "We messed up when we gave her a name." I said "No, it was when we started feeding her. We're never feeding another stray cat."

More tears came as we drove on, and thoughts were racing through my head:

At what point did we endanger her life? Was it when we started feeding her?

What kind of a price limit could I put on this cat's life?

How could someone do this to her? If it was a human (which I couldn't see anything not human related doing this to her) how could they just let her go?

Are we losing this money that we are going to pay because I'm too compassionate? Am I doing the right thing?

Does my husband know how much I love him - for being so compassionate, for being a "cat person" like me, for loving animals for all that they are?

Can I continue to watch Ghost Whisperer after Jim dies? (I know - what does this have to do with the cat? Nothing - it's about my fear of losing my husband - one I don't want to face and can't seem to get over recently.)

Then a song came on the radio - I know it's silly, but it seemed to fit. It was the Killer's song, "Human." Are we Human, or are we Dancer/Denser - there's still debate on the lyrics. But anyways, it made me think: I am human. I was put on this earth for some purpose, even if I don't know what it is. And I have control over whether this animal is taken care of. Obi got silent, and Steve started meowing at her to get her to respond. He explained that the injury was called a "degloving", and that as long as she was meowing, she wasn't in shock.

When we got to the vet's office, Steve filled out the paperwork. A lady asked what was wrong with our kitty, and I explained that she's not even ours, but what had happened - and then I burst into tears again. She told the lady at the front desk that we could go first. Although her room was already set up, it meant so much that she would let us go first. It put a little faith back into humanity.

As we got into the room, I put my hand in to touch Obi's head. She started purring, which was a good sign, I kind of think - trying to comfort herself. I started singing that song, softly - and completely out of tune. I was a comfort to me, I guess - I am human, and I am doing the right thing.

The technician came in, and said that he'd like to get a weight and temperature - I said, "Good luck" - there was no way we were going to be able to stick a thermometer in her hind end when she was using it to to protect her tail. We got her weight, and waited a few more minutes (not long at all) for the Vet. He estimated the cost to be about $400. Steve said OK, and they took Obi in back.

Steve paid all $400 right there - he figured if that's the cost, we'll pay it. He said he would have been limited at $500 - for me, $300 was about where I was going to draw the line, but then that line came up way too soon.

As we got into the car, more tears came. I asked "Are we doing the right thing?" He responded "How can you even question that?" Good point. I realize that I question everything about myself lately. But that's another post.

Then he said, "It's one hell of a Karma deposit."

This morning, we got the call from the Vet's office that Obi was fine and ready to go home. And that she's a he. I think. We'll find out later.

In the meantime, Steve is getting some much needed sleep. I'll get dressed and clean out the downstairs room for Obi in a few minutes so she'll have someplace to recooperate. If it's a "he", we'll probably release him back to the outdoors and create a shelter for him. If he's been outdoors that long, then I'm sure he'll be a sprayer. If it's a she, I'll call my mom and see if she'll take her.

Steve asked Bailey if she told Obi the story of the kitty who ruined Christmas.