totally aside from/in addition to the seizure. Milk didn't sleep very well. He was up half a dozen times grooming and licking and making noises that I woke up thinking were pre-seizure. And then he got up at 5:30 and started pacing around. And gnawing on stuff. Back when he first started having seizures, I was convinced that he must have chewed on something with lead in it - he used to gnaw things then, too, but it had slowed down over the last few months. Now it's back again, I guess. He went from the window-opening-crank knobs to my yarn-winder handle to the plug for the lamp. He chewed on the edge of the table beside my chair, and on the drawer shelf of my desk. At the point at which he started endlessly licking the yarn in my afghan, I couldn't stand it any more, and put him on the floor. Maybe he's got pica. Too bad he'll eat all sorts of inanimate objects, but give him a bowl of FF, and he tries to bury it. I have given him two additional 1/4 phenobarb pills so far. Now to watch and see if he starts falling off the furniture again. And I have to call and beg for liquid valium for him today, too.
Then Burble had what must have been a massive hairball about an hour after the seizure, and I CAN'T FIND IT. He woke me up getting rid of it, and I know it's here somewhere...... A couple of weeks ago, he had a moderate sized hairball that he kindly left on the back of the couch. And I heard him throw up, and I actually saw it, but I got distracted and forgot about it. Until Andy and Michelle came to visit, Andy sat down on the sofa, and when he went to lay his arm along the back of it, Michelle jumped up and shrieked, "Oh, don't do that!" She thought it was poop, which is actually not a whole lot more repulsive than a dried up hairball. The whole episode speaks volumes about my housekeeping skills, or lack of them.
Busy spent more than a half hour during the night banging the doors of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. That's where the bin of dry food for the ferals is, and I've got a pair of twisted gumbands on the knobs so he can't open the doors all the way. But unfortunately, he can get his foot in between the doors and get them open just enough to SLAM after they get to a certain point. He knows he can't get in there, but he just keeps trying. Thank goodness he doesn't have opposable thumbs. He'd rule the world.
And my sweet Scruffy - well, suffice it to say, he was 146 this morning. I know he's going to drop, but how much I hate those numbers when he was so beautifully under 100 virtually all the time with Levemir. And no one who's still giving shots twice a day is interested in commiserating with someone whining about their cat's being OTJ. I wrote to Cindy and Tritone and said, I never expected him to be off insulin, and now that it's happened, I thought it would be a whole lot more FUN.
And the damned turkeys - they start gobbling at the bird feeder at 5:30. Not that there's any reason for them to expect that there will be seed for them at that hour. Not that there's ever BEEN seed for them at that hour. Hope springs eternal, I suppose, even if you're a big dumb clucking turkey. Which they are. And male-stupid beside - there's one that keeps "displaying" - that thing they do with all the feathers on their backs that makes you think about Thanksgiving and Pilgrims - every time a car comes down the road. He apparently thinks that he's so attractive that even vehicles will succumb to his featheriness. Geez.
I'd like to go off by myself for about a week and do only things that I want to do, when I want to do them. The ultrasound lab report said yesterday that I have - according to the receptionist at my doctor's office (who won't be my doctor much longer, since the company is changing from Blue Cross to UPMC - another whole set of crises) - "just a little bit of fat in your liver." I said, "Fatty liver disease?" No, just a "little bit of fat." It isn't able to show fibrosis anyway. Probably just a wasted 12 hour fast and insurance money. I still have to have the blood work.
I am whiny.
