Can I Keep It?

Aida, Aida Velveeta. But that's just her stage name...

 

I had a recurring dream before I found Aida.  I phoned all of my friends and told them about my new kitten.  "Her name's Aida.  Aida Velveeta, but that's just her stage name..." I had searched for my cat for weeks.  On a trip to Knoxville to have my wedding dress fitted.  She wasn't there.  Nashville on the way home.  No her.  The pound in Collierville.  No Aida.  The Memphis/Shelby County Pound.  She wasn't there. And then, in a small cage at the Memphis Humane Society, I found her.  Tiny, shaky and newly operated on.  Someone had abused her.  Her tail had died and needed to be docked. "That's my cat," I stated to the lady at the counter.  "That one?  Are you sure?"she replied incredulousy.  "Yes,"I sighed, "I'd know her anywhere."

And I adopted her and brought her home where she could be safe. I promised her that no one would ever hurt her again.

You see, I needed that promise myself.  My father had committed suicide a few weeks before.  I figured maybe we could patch each other up.

Well, relatively safe anyway.  Carmen adored her.  The first in a long line of canines dispelling the myth that dogs and cats can't get along. At least dogs and Aida.

We often joked that they were so close that they had always traveled through lives together, trading which one got the short tail in each incarnation.  A border collie, Carmen had a long fluffy tail.  But the only black on Carmen was on that tail.  A thin line of it right where a docking would occur. This time it was Aida's turn apparently. 

The abuse always caused her trouble.  She leaked when she slept.  She had bowel problems. And she was terribly shy.  Fewer than twenty-five people had ever seen Aida in real life.  My brother stayed with me for a weekend once and declared that we were imagining her.  He swore the pictures were someone else's cat staged in our home. We started calling her the "Ghost Cat".

But Aida had many nicknames- The Big Cheese, Cheesy Poof, Fuzzy Bag of Bones, Stinky McStinkington. The list was endless.

My least favorite was "Bee Hive".  Aida liked to crawl into my hair in the wee morning hours and knead it like bread.  Only her claws nicked me.  Oh, it was painful!  Once we had a housesitter who had never met Aida, even though she had stayed here on many occassions. Late one night, as she slept, needy Aida over came her fears and perched on the housesitter's head.  The housesitter awakened to what she said felt like a hive of bees stinging her head!  She quickly realized that it was Aida.  She laid there, taking the abuse because she was relieved that Ghost Cat had finally come out for her.  Aida never hid from her again.

Aida was sweet, warm and friendly to us.  When Boudreaux came to live with us, he fell instantly in love with her.  She allowed him to mouth her head as she went about her business.  It was constanly a slobbery mess.  Aida didn't mind at all and sought out his company daily.

But Aida's health had been failing of late.

Yesterday, after contacting the vet who saw Zoe through her cancer, we took her to AngelCare and had Kathy Mitchener help us to take her home. Aida had lost more than half her body weight and was bleeding internally.  She was constanty leaking fluids. 

A fighter until the end, Kathy took little Aida back to put in the catheter in her arm. Aida started jumping up and down like a monkey.  Pop! Pop! Pop! Then Kathy quietly told her that she didn't have to fight anymore.  Aida stopped.  Laid down, stuck out her paw and allowed her to insert the needle without moving a muscle.

Kathy brought her back to me and Hud and laid her in my lap.

It was a sweet and peaceful ending for my sweet and peaceful friend.

I love you, Aida Velveeta.  Kiss Carmen and Zoe for me.  But stay away from Tee Tee.  She never really was a fan of yours. Well, of anyone for that matter.

Aida was sixteen.

* Thank you, Kathy Mitchener.  You are the kindest, dearest person.  You gave her the peace she deserved. Hud and I appreciate everything you did for the three of us.

May 14

Happy birthday, Daddy.  I've missed you all these fifteen years.  I've missed taking you out for lunch by myself on your special day and talking.  I miss your funny face.

And Carmen.  It's been a year today since you had to leave us.  I miss your funny face, too.

And Happy Birthday, Aida Velveeta!  Today you are sixteen, my fuzzy bag of bones.  Twice as long as the vet said you would live.

I love you, my little sous chef.  I hope we have many more years with your funny face.

May fourteenth is an auspicious day at Schyterbolle. So many comings and goings on this day.

 

Life's a Box of Chocolates

And I just got the icky maple cream one.

It's official.  Zoe has cancer.

A couple of weeks ago, we took her to Park Avenue Animal Hospital for a bone biopsy.  Carolyn McCutcheon has been taking care of my mongrel hoard for many, many years.  I trust her and respect her.  She's a bit of a House character in that she can diagnose anything on instinct.  But without the freaky addiction and angry bedside manner.

The pathology came back Monday.  Carolyn rushed it because when she got in there, she said it wasn't pretty.  The news is not good.  Zoe has a particularly aggressive form of sarcoma.  This particular kind sets up the mother ship in the bone somewhere.  In this case, it's the extreme upper femur next to the ball joint. A bad place for breakage.  After it sets up camp, it immediately sends out ninjas to the various organs of the body.  And they wait.  Quietly.  The mother ship is a selfish sarcoma.  It likes to eat its fill of bone first.  If it is removed, a chemical it sends out to the ninjas telling them to stay put, will be removed also.  And they will know it's time to attack. 

My friend, Kathy Mitchener, is one of the best veterinary oncologists in the well, just about anywhere.  She works at Angelcare.  Kathy has a new drug with high results for prolonging life, bone strength and pain management.

So that's where Zoe and I went on Tuesday.  She was so frightened, they had to sedate her.  While my big sweet dog napped peacefully to the drip of her IV, I sat on the floor with her heavy head on my lap, reading Cesar Milan and Cat Fancy magazines for two hours.

But Zoe does feel better.  So much so, I can't keep her from running.  Although at this point it's more of a hop/skip!  We're going to keep her comfortable.  Give her all the lacrosse balls she wants to tear up.  Take her out for ice cream and give her the Carmen Cone.

When Carmen was alive, Hud and I would take her out for ice cream on a hot summer day.  When one of us got to the bottom, about a four inch cone, we'd give it to her.  Whenever we go out for ice cream at The Michoacana, we still call who gets the Carmen Cone.

Only now beautiful Zoe will get the Carmen Cone. And all of the empty peanut butter jars, too.

His One True Love

One day, before our wedding, Hud and I decided to take a walk in Overton Park.  As we approached, we saw a trio of runners trying to corral a fluffy yellow dog, without success.  As one of them reached for the dog, it looked up, spotted me and came running swiftly through the traffic.  Cars were squealing tires to avoid her.  She ran straight to me.  The runners yelled, "Put your dog on a leash!"  I, stunned, said, "But I don't have a dog!"  I looked down at the smiling face just as the little liar reared up on its hind legs.  Both front paws offered to me. 'Yeah, right!" They scoffed.

She followed us on our trek around the old forest.  Back across the busy streets.  Up the long staircase of our duplex.  Right into the  kitchen.  I had a friendly free-range dwarf lop bunny who roamed the rooms of the apartment.  "Arnie!" I screamed.  He bopped right over to her.  I held my breath.  She bent her head and kissed him.  "Oh, no!" I turned to Hud, "What about Tee Tee?" at the very moment she rounded the corner of the bedroom door.  Her ears flattened.  She sauntered over to the new beast.  I sucked in my breath. 

And that's when it happened.  Terrible Tootsie LeRoux, the Shining Path, reached up her face and head butted the dog. Rubbed herself along the length of its body and slinked away into the dining room.

"Oh, dear God, we HAVE to keep her.  The dog is Jesus!" exclaimed Hud.

And so we did.

Carmen got along famously with all sorts.  When we finally found Aida, it was as if we had gotten her as a gift.

One time, while roofing the house, a nest of baby mice was unearthed in the attic.  One got into the house.  Hud and I found Aida and Carmen in the living room after they trapped it.  Carmen had her dainty paws cradled around the teeny mouse, licking it like a lolly pop.  She never even tried to hurt it.

But whomever had Carmen before she came to us had abused her.  And it must have been a man, because try as he might, Carmen wanted nothing to do with Hud.  So I devised a plan.  He had to tend to her every need.  And I ignored her.  Didn't even look at her for two weeks.  Which was really hard.  When Carmen wanted your attention, she would wedge her nose under your hand and pop it up on her head to be petted.

It worked.Two weeks was all it took for her to fall madly in love with Hud.  And he lost his heart to her as well.

They were inseperable.  She rode shotgun in his old Chevy pick up.  The went for runs in the park.  She was ever at his side.  So much so, that for Valentine's Day of the next year, I painted her portrait.  I gave it to him with a card that said, "I thought you should have a portrait of your one true love."

She had come to us at one of the most turblent times of our lives.  The world was constantly crushing us in 1997.  We lost my grandmother, his father, my grandfather, we sold our photography studio, my cat Myshkin died.  She died a mere ten days before my father took his life.

The first real turn in the year was Carmen joing our family.  Then, we got married, found Aida and bought the Hudarosa.

It's been a great ride.  Carmen had the sweetest, kindest soul of any dog I ever met.  She was gentle, smart, loving and beautiful.  Her smile could make your whole day turn around.  But every living being must age.  And Carmen has been leaking away for a year now.

Eight months ago or so, Carmen stopped being able to navigate the stairs.  We moved her bed down to the den.  And carried her out several times a day to wander the backyard.  She was happy and eating well.  I was honored to help her through her day.  As long as she wanted to stay, we wanted her to be here.

Last Monday, I went to take her out.  Her back legs refused to hold her weight.  I tried and tried to get her to stand. Hud called me to come in.  I left her in some tall monkey grass and went in to tell him I thought it was time.  But he had other news.  His retina in his good eye had detatched.  I retreived Carmen and attended to Hud.  While he was in surgery, I came home and helped her as best I could.  I couldn't tell him about her condition.  It's quite possibly the only secret I've ever kept from him.  I kept it the rest of the week so he could heal. Saturday, he was well enough to come outside with me as I tried to get her to stand.

The look on his face drew me to tears.

She was a year old when she came to me, pleading to be my dog.  And fifteen years later, on my father's birthday, Hud and I bundled her up and took her to the vet one last time.

We will miss you every single day, Carmen.  Every. Single. Day.

And On the Next Episode of Hoarders...

Hud and I spent the gorgeous Sunday afternoon doing an event called Paws for a Cause at the Shops of Saddlecreek.  There were pet bakers, pet stores, pet accupuncturists, pet photographers, pet painters and of course, the rescue groups.

We were immediately to the right of the Greyhound Rescue Group.  Only they're aren't really rescues, more of a second chance group. 

All of these beauties were there with their parents.  The greyhounds are not well socialized when they are up for adoption.  They've spent a lot of time alone in a pen waiting to go to work, instead of romping in backyards with twelve year old boys.  The group brings only the adopted ones to show how they blossom when they get to know people.

Good Dog Rescue was there as well.  Oh! The small funny faces!

This little girl had me at hello.  But I resisted the temptation.

They told me this was the laziest terrier in the country.  He wouldn't even get up for dinner if he was napping.

You know, as the Furry Godmother, people love to talk to me about their animal friends.  And there were some real stories yesterday.  Tales of the worst and the best in people.

This is Gus, a six month old St. Bernard puppy.  He was ginormous.  And fluffy as a chick.  And sweet as candy.  And spent four months locked in a wooden crate in a garage.  An unwanted birthday gift, ignored and treated so badly, when Sam got him, he couldn't walk.  He crawled on his belly to her.

But she has nursed him back to health.  He seems to bear no scars from his ordeal.

Unlike Honeysuckle.

She was found after someone set her on fire.  She had been bred, but probably failed to produce winning fighters.  The pups probably all inherited her gentle nature. That's her girlfriend, Feather, being fed a cookie by their mom from Three Dog Bakery. 

I had run up to the restroom and on my return, I spotted a new pen at the Good Dog Rescue.  It was so much larger than the others. 

And then I saw his face.

I asked the young attractive woman why she had my dog in a cage. 

Kristi took him out and I fell like a rock.  All the discussions swirled around my brain.  Four dogs is plenty.  We'll wait until Carmen is gone.  No. More. Male. Dogs.  I told Kristi that I would send my husband up to meet him.  Explained about Carmen.  Tried to talk myself out of it.

Kristi pleaded her case.  Someone she knew had owned Ace and had to move.  She could not take him with her.  ( I hope it wasn't that, "Arizona doesn't take dogs" excuse the Humane Society gets all the time.)  So Kristi, who fosters for Good Dog, told her that she would take him and find him a good home. She had him for a while, though now and she was two weeks from delivering her second child.  She was desperate to find that place.  She felt guilty because he was so very loving and they had been trying not to bond with him. 

I wandered back to my booth, wondering how I could get Hud to agree with all the wrongheadedness of it.

I told him that the dog was a Catahoula/Shepard mix.

He jumped up and said, "Well, let's have a look at him then..."

I waited, biting my lip.  Wringing my hands.  Waited. Minutes passed and out of the corner of my eye, I see Hud, walking with Ace back to me. 

"We need to change his name.  I'm calling him Boudreaux."

So it is official.  We are animal hoarders.

He fit in seamlessly.  Zali has only groused a few times to push his weight around.  Bou was cool with that. After the initial alarmed barking by Simone, accepts him.  Zoe took to him right off and shared a toy with Bou. Carmen finds him fascinating. The only things we're working on are the cat and the birds.  Boudreaux simply does not understand have wild animals in the house.  Aida is not amused.

But I am!  He's already revealed some of the quirky bits of his personality.  He likes music. It makes him do the RCA dog head.  Loves to watch TV to the point of needing to tell him to sit down when he finds some particular piece of dialogue riveting.  And himself.  He could spend hours watching himself in the mirror.

He was only agitated for an hour or two.  Then he jumped down fromthe ottoman Zoe shared with him.  Nosed through the toy basket until he found the perfect one. Then he hopped back up.  Settled in beside Zoe again and squeaked peacefully.

Welcome home, Boudreaux. We're all glad you're here.

 

 

 

Good Days

The whole pack has been spending as much time as possible with Carmen.  She's been having lucid, steady days lately.  We've seen less of Carkeys and that is a blessing.

She goes on teetering walks about the backyard.  Eats heartily for breakfast and dinner.  But mostly?  She sleeps on her bed in the den.

She sleeps more soundly when we cover her with several layers of beach towels.  And yes, give her one as a pillow for her head.  Good thing she isn't spoiled or anything. 

Zoe has been spending a lot more time with her.  Instead of snoozing in the bar, she's been napping on her ottoman with Carmen.

Even the little kids are sticking close.

Well, admittantly, Zali may be sticking around like a remora.  He hovers like a vulture when Carmen eats her meals, waiting to snatch goodies from her plate.  That dog is a weasel sometimes.

So we're lazing happily along, relishing the good days.  And counting all of our blessings.

Turn that thing off!  Can't a girl get some rest around here?

Hanging in There

Last week, we almost put Carmen down.

I know.

But she could hardly walk.  Looked dazed.  She kept wetting herself.  It was heartbreaking.  But Monday morning, she had gotten up by herself and waited for me to let her outside.  She was terribly unsteady.  I stood beside her so she could lean on me.

I told Hud. Neither of us are willing to let her go, it seems.  So that night we trimmed her once luxurious fur and gave her a warm bath.  I didn't want to do it by myself.  She'd never been in the tub and I was afraid it might frighten her.

Was I ever wrong.  She loved it! Carmen laid in the tub and let me massage her stiff legs.  After, we dried her and Hud placed her on her bed in the den.  I covered her with two thick towels to keep her warm.  She slept the whole night for the first time in months.

And in the morning, got up on her own.  A little wobbly, she hopped down the stairs to go outside completely unassisted. The water changed her.  She practically ran to me when I called for her to come back inside.

So, like our other old lady, Aida, she's still hanging in there.

Only far less cranky about the aging process.

 

Lunatics Running the Asylum

Yesterday, Hud and I returned from our annual trip to Slidell, LA to walk withthe Krewe of Mona Lisa and Moon Pies.  Again, a fabulous time was had by one and all.

However, while the cat was away, the mice were at play.

Phhhhtttt. I was here the whole time, Mother.  Pooping on the puppy pads.  Whatever do you meeeeeeen?

It was a metaphor for us, Aida.  Not you.  Nevermind.

After many kisses and hugs, we all trudged up the stairs with ten bajillion pieces of luggage.  Seriously.  I wish I were the girl who could toss a lip gloss and a an extra t-shirt in a bag and go jetting off for the weekend.  So, if you saw what we carried in the Mustang to Slidell, you'd understand that ten bajillion is not hyperbole.  We stopped when there was only room for our bodies to squeeze into the seats.

I dragged my make-up case into the bedroom and saw this:

Someone had been sleeping in our bed.

It'sMyBedToo,Asshole.IMadeItPerfect.YourWaySucks.

Simone immediately jumped in and scooted her face on the covers to show me how she got the perfect fold to snuggle against.

On her dad's side of the bed she sleeps on the covers with her head gently resting on a pillow.  On my side, she sleeps on the pillows.  They were a jumbled I-240 pile up of a car wreck on my side.

It couldn't have been Carmen.  Her days of coming upstairs are over.  She was passed out in her food dish in the den.

Zoe can't drag all of her muscles up that far. The bed is thirty-four inches tall.

It had to be Simone.  She's the only one who can get on the bed.  Pauvre Zali is too, um, portly to scale the massive height.  He has to sleep on a dog GOD bed when we travel.  He was whining to get up.  Who could blame him?  I lifted him up.

Sooooo very tired, Muzher.  NotMe,Dammit!I'mWeddyToWumble!

She had even pulled over my hoodie to nap and roll around in.  I went down the hall to the dressing room only to discover more carnage from Simone Buhler's Day Off.

Simone had gotten in the laundry and spread it all over the room.  I found panties in my shoes.

Daddee!Dad!Dad!DADDEE!DidYouSeeIDidTheLaundry,Dammit?DidYouSee?

ItStunkedLikeYouSoISpweadItAllOverToPweetendYouWereHere!ItGame!MeSmart,Wight?

Sigh. 

I wish I could teach her to pick up the house while I'm gone.  A maid I could use.  This? Not so much.

No One Was Stirring

This has been an exceptionally quiet Christmas.  A much needed respite from all of the drama last year.  Zali thinks he getting a car.  Simone wants some cheese. Zoe wants a bone.  Carmen wants a brain.  And Aida wants to sit in my lap for a month.

The two of us?  It looks like we will want for nothing!

That many presents for two people is an embarrassment, huh? 

Merry Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Festivus, Sunday or whatever you celebrate!  We hope you get whatever your heart desires!

Lately I feel as it I'm made up of spare parts.  I'm all extra elbows, knocking knees and pigeon toes.  Clumsily knocking into corners. Dropping glasses.  Tripping over rugs.  You can tell where I am in the house by the CRASH! TUMBLE! DAMMIT! sounds.

Perhaps I'm channelling my inner Carkeys.  She is slipping further into the rabbit hole.  The stairs have become harder for her to navigate down.  I get her up twice a day on good days.  The days when she isn't having a Groundhog's Day.  On those days, she'll get up, precariously maneuver the stairs, go out to do her business, come in to eat, dance, go upstairs (which seems to be less of an obstacle), forget why she's there and come back down again.

*Yes, she has taken the occasional spill on those toys, but I pick them up every morning.  Zoe and Zali drag them all out by days end.  It's their job* 

 

In the past few weeks, however, I have to coax my sweet girl a few steps at a time as she hippity hops down. She's always been a stubborn, independent little missy.  She won't allow us to pick her up despite her feather weight. So as she makes her way to the top of the staircase, I put my hands lightly on her chest to steady her.  A few times, I have softened her fall when she missed a tread.  But she does not complain.  I gently brace her rear and she rises, smiles and shakes it all off.  No whining.

So I will do the same. 

Well, maybe just a few tears.