My big eyed beauty Tabby girl

Where the heck does the time go? How is it possible the little kitten I saw get run over in the middle of the road that cold Friday February afternoon and stopped to help has already been with us four years?

I was thinking it was only three. Even that seems impossible. But she had to have come into our lives in 2007. In 2008 I started dealing with other dramas. I know she was here for those, so that means we got her the year before. Which makes her four.

Ah, my little Lady Tabitha, Tabernathy, Tabberkins Pryor. (I gave her Wayne’s last name because it flows better when I say her whole name.) What a disaster she was when we first got her!

Talk about one wild kitten…who was still just a kitten really, not even a year old, but unbeknownst to us she was preggers. Likely she was lying dazed and confused in the middle of the road like she’d been because she’d just finished doing the deed. (Or getting the deed done to her. I’m not sure she was old enough to look for nookie without nookie being introduced to her.)

Anyway, when she started acting nuts towards Mr. Meow to the point of unrelentingly harassing him and not letting him go anywhere in the house, we took her to the vet. Maybe being spayed would help. That’s when they discovered the babies.

So she had an abortion, got fixed, and came home and got an infection that nearly killed her. After being rushed back to the vet and staying there two days, she was free to come home and start tormenting Mr. Meow again the moment she started feeling better.

Poor Mr. Meow…he spent the first six months of her arrival cowering behind the chair in our living room. He had to sneak to his litter box. If she knew he had to go, Tab would often sprawl out in front of the nearest one, forcing Meow to go to the other, farther away one. And then she’d lay in wait until he was done and chase him back to his hidey hole.

Oh man, she was ruthless! Mr. Meow hated her!

But now? They still fight. Especially over who gets to lay in my lap on the couch or who’s turn it is to snuggle with me in bed. But they’re also buds and play pals.

They've learned to share!

And she still loves her Murphy as much, if not more, than the first moment she saw him. Murph is definitely her favorite brother and the love of her life.

She's purrfectly content sharing with Murph. Always has been.

"What are you two doing up there? Stay out of trouble!"

Except for maybe her Papa. If his lap’s available she’ll gladly relinquish mine to Mr. Meow to perch in Pop’s lap. She is definitely a Daddy’s Girl!

Nappin' with Papa is Tab's favorite thing!

Tab, I know you can’t read but I’m writing this for you anyway. I love you. I knew the moment I swooped you into my arms and rushed you to my car that you were my baby girl. You were the one that made me understand how moms who have just given birth and get to hold their babies in their arms for the first time must feel. Such a rush of warmth and unconditional love.

Thank you for being such a special girl. Thank you for all the love and laughter you bring into our lives. Happy birthday, baby! We love you!

Perched atop her scratcher I got her for her 3rd bday with a toy she got at Christmas

Sunbaking beauty girl

Lounging around in the sun room...sunbaking of course!

"MY hoop!"

Part of her toy collection

Lady Tabitha, Tabernathy, Tabberkins Pryor - my baby sweetie girl!

Hallelujah!

They were able to remove it right then and there. Later today I can take his bandage off. (He pretty much was ready to have it come off last night. He shredded it pretty good. I think only the tape part is left. I believe he managed to unravel all of the gauze and pull it out on his own.)

I’m a little hesitant to see the hole in the side of his neck for the first time. I’m just SOOOOO immensely thankful we had an option like the feeding tube to try and that Dr. Stumb didn’t automatically write him off as having cancer and being a goner. She at least tried to treat his for the Tri-itisis, and it seems that was a good gamble as it must’ve been what he had. If he had cancer he should’ve kept on deteriorating.

I can’t thank her or the staff at Southside Animal Hospital enough. All the vets are great there. Dr. Singleton saved Tabby’s life back when she got an infection after her spay surgery. She became our go to vet after that. Both Murph and Tab love her, but not Mr. Meow. (Except that’s not unusual. He really doesn’t like anyone.)

But when Dr. Singleton was out over Thanksgiving and Dr. Stumb was on duty, that’s who we rushed Mr. Meow in to see. He didn’t fuss as much with her. I wrote it off that it was just how sick he was.

But during this feeding tube trial (which has called for multiple vet trips), it’s become apparent of all the vets he’s ever seen, he fusses least with Dr. Stumb.

So…since she can manage him she’ll be his vet. Murph and Tab will still see Dr. Singleton.

But I have to wonder…is it a Courtney thing? Dr. Stumb’s first name is also Courtney. Sort of funny.

I’m just glad he’s still allive and kicking. The feeding tube was sure an adventure, but…it worked! I’m very thankful we had both the time and money to pursue that route. Even if Mr. Meow lives to be 25 (WOW! That’d be some kind of miracle wouldn’t it?), it’s going to be way too soon to say goodbye to him.

Others only get to see his cranky, ornery side. But he’s my little kitty soul mate. He’s definitely left his paw prints all over my heart. So glad he’s still around!

This past week has seen HUGE strides in his health. He’s been pooping again. (Sort of messy/runny poos, but he hadn’t really been going before so we’re glad to see him stinking up his potty box.)

He’s also been a LOT more playful. He’s been wrestling with me again, and tormenting both Murph and Tab by chasing after them.

He’s back to jumping on the kitchen counter and asking for sink water. (He loves drinking from the faucet.) And he’s been my shower buddy again. (He waits outside the shower until I’m done and then wants to drink from the shower head. Did I mention his affinity for water?)

But at his check up this week he had his biggest improvements yet. He gained a half a pound AND all of his blood work came back 100% normal! Dr. Stumb couldn’t even believe it. She had figured to see it had dropped some, but not like the results that came in.

For instance, one of his most impressive numbers involved something to do with his liver. When we’d first took him in that particular level was 1,000. Normal should be between 40-130. He was right on 130 yesterday.

Dr. Stumb tried to credit the victory to me saying if I hadn’t been willing to take on the task of caring for him via his feeding tube and making sure he got all his meds he never would’ve bounced back like this.

But if she hadn’t of checked him in and given us the feeding tube option and just looked at him like an old cat whose time had probably come and not helped treat him, he’d be gone.

So I credit it to the both of us. It was a tag team effort to get him back on track.

But Mr. Meow is the real miracle. He was the day he followed me up the steps and marched right in his home like he knew he was meant to be there (which, of course, he was), and he is now that he responded so well to the treatments.

So it looks like it’s not cancer after all. PHEW! Again, so grateful to the marvels of modern medicine. It saved my baby’s life!

Mr. Meow right when we brought him home from the vet Saturday 11/27

Poor Mr. Meow…He got to come home Saturday but they had to put a feeding tube in him first.

They also loaded him up on all kinds of drugs. If it’s the triWHATCMACALLITitis (I still can’t get the name of it, but it’s basically an inflammation/infection of his liver, pancreas and gallbladder) the antibiotics should treat that.

If that doesn’t work, then it’s likely cancer and it’s only a matter of time. How much time they can’t say. Depends on how fast the cancer progresses.

It was awesome to get him home. The feeding tube has been quite the adventure, but today I got a better hang of it. I still ended up squirting a bunch on him, but a lot less than my first few tries.

He seems to be very happy to be home. He slept with me the whole night through Saturday. He always falls asleep with me, but usually moves to one of his other comfy spots during the night.

Last night he slept on my head like he used to do the first several years we had him. And during the times I’m on the couch… he’s been right there with me, his back leg thrown over my arm in that way he does to “hug” me.

I’m very grateful for this time with him. I hope it’s going to be a healing time, but if it turns out it’s the beginning of the end then I’m thankful we’ve had these last moments to say goodbye and show each other in the ways we’ve developed over the years that we love each other.

Mr. Meow in his crate after his follow-up visit today to check his tube and get a new bandage

He hadn’t been eating back then too good. It made sense, though. His mouth was in pain and he had an infection so he couldn’t have been feeling too good.

But then he never really bounced back after that. The last month he’s been really bad. He hasn’t been eating hardly anything and has continued losing weight.

Last week I took him in for some reason. At the moment I can’t even remember why. Was it a check-up for his thyroid meds? Or was it something else? Maybe to get the results from his ultrasound? No, I think she called to talk to me about those. Maybe it was to get another steroid injection for the itches he’s had lately.

I can’t remember. My mind’s not functioning as I write this. All I know is the last few days he’s really been bad about eating. Yesterday I called and made an appointment for him today because all he’d had was a few treats. Something told me I better get him back in, so…I did.

Our regular vet is off this week, but all the vets where we go are good. Today’s vet gave us some options, one of which was to hospitalize him and see if fluids and antibiotics will help at all.

So, as much as I hated to do it, I left him there. I want him home, and I know he wants to be home, but if they can do anything to help him not starve to death I want to try.

Complicating treatment options is that no definitive results are turning up. His ultrasound turned up a variety of possible causes for a different things.  His last blood work didn’t indicate anything specific.

But it’s not normal for him to have lost so much weight and not eat. They know something’s going on, they just can’t pinpoint what.

I just hope he comes home from the hospital. I know he’s getting older, and I know we may end up having to make a hard decision here shortly. But I sure don’t want to. He’s been such a good cat. He wandered into our lives 11 years ago this month and has done nothing except totally enriched it.

Coming home to a Mr. Meow-less house right now and sitting here expecting to see him perched in his usual spots has me thinking, “The day may be coming sooner than I want that he won’t be here anymore.”

That just makes my heart hurt more than mere words can describe.

I’m hoping with all my might that it’s an infection and he responds to antibiotics and starts feeling better again. Even without eating he’s still been snuggling and playing. If it was cancer I don’t know if he’d do that.

Although, he’s always been one tough and ornery cat. I hope that helps him beat whatever is ailing him now so he can come home and live to be a really old, fiesty Gata Bato. One who dies years from now peacefully in his sleep.

Although, it’s been a while since I saw the movie I don’t remember if the grate scene from the book was in it –or if it was as potently scary as what was written in the book.

I was a sophomore in college when I first tried to read IT. I made it through maybe the first 100 pages before I had to put it down. It just got to me too much.

And for the longest time I wouldn’t walk anywhere near a grate. They just creeped me out! (Thank heavens King didn’t write a Psycho-like shower scene in any of his books. I would have been one stinky girl!)

Anyway, I eventually got over my fear of skirting grates. Which is a good thing because the last two neighborhoods we’ve lived in have had grates galore. And what’s among my dog’s top fave things to do? Inspect them!

But usually it’s just a curious sniff. Poke the ol’ nose down the drain to get a whiff of what’s what.

Last night, however, he was captivated by one of the grates up the street. He rushed down a neighbor’s lawn to poke his nose all over it. And I couldn’t get him to move on. Then he started whimpering.

That’s when I thought of IT and that freaky flipping clown.

Then I thought of a post Autumnforest recently wrote about what would you do in certain horror movie situations. I had left a comment about certain movies I’d thought about what I’d do in. IT wasn’t one of them.

But standing at that grate watching Murph whine and cock his head, my heart started pounding.

Hopefully, I asked him, “What is it, pup? Something stuck down there?”

But in the back of my mind I was thinking, “Please don’t let it be a clown! Please don’t let it be a clown!”

Anyway, he finally let me pull him away from the grate. But only a few houses up he got his leash all tangled around a fire hydrant –and then somehow stuck in one of the chain links on the side of it.

Of course it’s dark and cold. I’m juggling his leash, the flashlight, and the poop sack. I finally wised up and dropped the poop sack because I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be a matter of simply yanking the leash back out. Oh no, it was all tangled and twisted and snagged in the chain link.

So he’s standing there waiting for me to unsnag him, but it’s taking me forever, and he starts whining –as he’s looking in the direction of the grate I had such a hard time prying him away from.

So I start thinking what I’d do if something came out of that grate. I have nothing to cut Murph’s leash loose with. I’d have to unhook him and hope he’d run with me.

But then I started thinking, “What if something came up out of the drain and grabbed him?”

My very first thought was, clown or not, I’d come at it with the fight of a rabid wildcat.

Sadly, our other dog, Budly, was attacked once. So was my first dog, Mackie. (But not by clowns!) It was just other dogs, but I never hesitated putting myself between the attacking dogs and my own.

And when a weirdo homeless guy tried to steal people’s keys and wallets at the Hooters where we play volleyball one day? My first reaction was to jump up and yell at him, “No! Uh huh. Put that shit down, pal!” as I got in his face.

So that’s what I did. It was instinctive. I didn’t even think. I just acted.

It always surprises people when they see my healthy fight or flight instinct in action. I can certainly be uncannily bold at times.

But get me near a haunted house with masks and chainsaws? Fuggedaboudit! That’s all flight reaction, baby. Then people can’t even believe how fast I can haul butt and leave them in my dust!

So I guess the moral of this story is poor Murph would’ve been doomed if anything came out of the grate with a chainsaw!