The Queen B

Next Time, I'll Be Grateful For The Nothin'

There is a phrase that The Palace will not utter.

Are you ready for it?

Here goes: "It Cannot Get Any Worse".

It can.

And voicing those words means it usually does.

With that knowledge, we've chosen to no longer use those words in that particular sequence.

Well. After last night, we've banned another phrase.

Here it is: "I Don't Have Anything To Blog About".

Nope. I won't be speaking those again.

No way, no how.

Here's the story.

So our weekend was relatively uneventful. Nothing worthy of a post, you know? I was whining about it while I was in the bathtub.

Now, if your house is anything like my house...when mom is in the tub, the family feels a great desire to spend time with her.

Not so relaxing.

Anyhow. I'm in the tub and The Princess runs in saying, "Mom! There is something nasty on your computer!"

Well I had just placed my laptop on my bed before getting in the tub.

And I may or may not have eaten a little piece of Heath Bar.

So I was fairly certain it was a smudge of the Heath.

Not wanting to incriminate myself, I said, "Bring it in here and let me see."

So she carries my computer in and shows me a brown smear on the closed lid.

I took my thumb and wiped it off, just to show her it was no big deal.

Her freaking out was not going to salvage any bit of my psuedo-relaxing bath.

After I dried off and put on my jammies, I went into my bedroom and was shocked by what I saw.

Streaks of brown. On my sheets. My blanket. My quilt. The carpet.

"PRINCESS! Could you maybe have mentioned that it was ALL OVER MY BED!!!"

"I told you it was nasty."

Oh dear. I wiped it with my thumb. And what had I done with my thumb since? I couldn't recall.

So I immediately begin looking for a cat. And soon I find Oliver. And I lifted his tail.

B.A.R.F.

Smashed cat poop all over his rump. In his tail. Down his legs.

B.A.R.F.

I screamed at The King to come help me and I grab the cat wipes I had recently purchased.

The King carried him to the bathroom sink and I lifted his tail and began pulling out the poop with the wipe.

Not working.

I am afraid my fingers went where no fingers should have to go.

Pulling and wiping. Wiping and pulling.

I needed The Princess to hand me the wipes so I could go fast, but her dry heaving yielded her incapable.

Not working.

We made a quick decision to run with the cat downstairs to the kitchen sink to give him a bath.

It was about this time that Oliver began making a noise similar to labor breathing.

I warmed the water and we stuck the cat under the faucet.

Holy Cow. He freaked.

Note the bleeding on The King's arm.

While Oliver was hyperventilating, The King was yelling, "Cat! I am gonna win this! You can claw all you want but you are gonna get this crap off your butt!!"

Over and over.

Finally, I reminded him that Oliver is a cat. And he doesn't understand English. All he understands is that the combination of the yelling and the water are not cat-friendly.

More yelling. More wiping. More breathing. More yelling.

We eventually got the stupid cat clean.

Or at least his back half.

We wrapped him in a towel and he went back to the labor breathing.

Check out The King's hand...

We headed back upstairs and changed all of the bedding. We cleaned the spots on the carpet.

And The King decided he needed a relaxing bath after all that work.

As did Oliver.

I got out my computer to begin the blogging, and The King said, "Ask and ye shall receive".

I will not be doing that again.

Dog Days

Many of you have emailed me wondering how Heidi is feeling.

I appreciate that so much.

Really. I do. And so does Heidi.

She is incredibly high maintenance, and I apparently do not give her enough attention to stop the incessant whining.

So she is thankful for you.

She is going to be ok.

However.

Let's get past the dog's illness and focus on me us.

Um. She didn't have hepatitis as first thought.

Oh no.

Couldn't be that easy.

Not at The Palace.

She has Leptospirosis.

Which has its own page on the CDC website.

Let me point out a few of my most favorite part from the CDC page:

What is leptospirosis?

Leptospirosis is a bacterial disease that affects humans and animals. It is caused by bacteria of the genus Leptospira. In humans it causes a wide range of symptoms, and some infected persons may have no symptoms at all. Symptoms of leptospirosis include high fever, severe headache, chills, muscle aches, and vomiting, and may include jaundice (yellow skin and eyes), red eyes, abdominal pain, diarrhea, or a rash. If the disease is not treated, the patient could develop kidney damage, meningitis (inflammation of the membrane around the brain and spinal cord), liver failure, and respiratory distress. In rare cases death occurs.

Now that is comforting, isn 't it? Because those symptoms are not generic at all. Totally obvious and unusual.

Heidi's vet thought of testing for this lovely disease after our 3rd check-up. We are very thankful that it crossed his mind. After her test came back positive, the vet said that he had 4 dogs in the last 6 months that had leptospirosis, and Heidi is the only one that survived.

We are very thankful.

Oh. And he also said we might want to check with our doctor.

Because it is transferrable to humans.

Well, goody.

So I called our doctor expecting him to say, "no big deal".

Instead, he said, "let me do a little research".

Which led to antibiotics for each of us.

Well goody.

So I'd just like to briefly review...

1. Heidi's original emergency 3 day vet stay cost more money than I care to share. Let's just say that while we were vacationing, we were never asked how much we wanted to spend or what anything that already been done cost. Had we been consulted, our limit would have been much, much lower than what was actually spent.

And yes. I know we could've asked. But we didn't. Because we were shocked and worried. And stupid.

Don't leave ugly comments. I love my dog. The emergency 3 day vet stay cost a ridiculous amount of money, people.

2. Heidi has had 4 follow-up vet visits which included blood tests. After the initial investment of the emergency 3 day vet stay, we couldn't just stop the treatment.

The Princess almost passed out with the blood tests. We're talking nausea, spinning room, sweating...the works.

3. Heidi is on a very special prescription food. Very special = Very expensive.

4. Heidi is taking a 4 week course of amoxicillin which will be followed by a 4 week course of doxycycline.

5. The entire palace is on a 2 week course of doxycycline.

Which will no doubt lead to unfortunate consequences for me. I'm just sayin'.

The fact that we are on antibiotics is disturbing. Leptospirosis is transferred through urine. I understand that we need to be protected in case she licked her, um, self and then licked us. But? Ewwww. That is a place my mind did not need to go.

So that review was pretty much necessary to say: our vacation cost has just tripled.

However, I did get a call from our vet on Friday that was interesting.

Leptospirosis is on of the diseases that dogs are vaccinated against each year. In fact, Heidi received her shots the week before we left on vacation.

(And I asked if the shot could have caused it. Resounding no.)

Heidi has never been late on her shots. Her vet reviewed her medical history and called the major pharmaceutical company that makes the vaccination. He sent her records to the major pharmaceutical company and explained that they should be responsible for some of her medical bills because there is a guarantee of protection from this disease.

Which is cool. Probably pointless, but cool.

Sorta like this post.

Minus the cool.

This Is The Last Time I'll Mention The Vacation

Ok. Well. It probably isn't.

But it is the last time I plan on mentioning The Vacation.

Leaving The Palace is not the easiest thing to do because of the animals.

We board Heidi and Ruby at Dog Party USA. It costs a jillion dollars.

The cats are left to roam free around the house.

Which in itself is a reason to never travel.

I put away an antique vase that sits on a shelf. I also hid 2 breakable things that normally reside on end tables.

My dad came by a few times to check on the house feed the cats.

However, this trip it was not the cats that had troubles.

Heidi.

We got a call about Heidi.

Dog Party had to rush Heidi to her vet with rampant hurling.

Though I'm sure it didn't hold a candle to the amount of hurling I had to witness on Parasail Adventure #2.

So we called the vet to check and see what was going on and they said something about "her liver is failing".

LaLaLaLaLa....I can't hear you, vet. I can't hear you, vet.

We have just gotten over Chloe. We can't take more animal drama.

We didn't mention anything to The Princess. We wanted her to enjoy her vacation sans animal drama.

After a few days of not getting better, Heidi began to turn a corner.

Apparently she had pancreatitis and hepatitis.

And I'm saying had, but it may be has.

The vet sent her back to Dog Party on Friday. So I'm thinking that is a good sign.

We are currently giving her 3 medications and 5 small meals a day.

Which is not so easy.

We make a return trip to the vet today to check her blood and get the full diagnosis.

And I'm thinking to pay the vet bill.

It is probably a good thing that we are saving fuel money with the hybrid car because we will now be using that money for a ginormous dog hepatitis bill.

So that's it. I'm wrapping up the vacation posting.

Except the camera place sent my camera off to try and get it fixed.

And don't think there haven't been a multitude of picture opportunities since my camera cratered.

Oh, and my hideous random sunburn is to the itching and peeling stage. And it looks really lady-like to be scratching the tops of your thighs incessantly.

Ok. That was really it.

No more vacation posts.

The End.

The Destruction of The Palace

I am afraid that this may be Part 1 of a series.

So I'm getting ready yesterday morning and hear a horrific crash.

Horrific, I tell you.

I ran down the stairs and found this.

It struck me as a little unusual, but Chester is a little odd.

I just thought maybe he had discovered the sink.

Then I saw this.

Totally odd. Oliver is usually spread across the couch on his back.

I got the distinct impression that he was purposely avoiding me.

I began doing a room by room search.

See if you can tell what is wrong with this picture.

Yep. Something is missing.

And I found it.

Not only is my plate broken, but a chunk of my tile is gone.

I've heard that the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.

MmmHmm.

Want to see how he did it?

Yep. CATapulted from the chair.

You might remember that he began casing the joint about 4 months ago. I'm not sure what about yesterday morning made the jump seem like a good idea.

Maybe he is getting his groove back after the haircut.

I think that he has no comment.

And may be playing dead.

Bad, Bad Kitty.

Since You Asked...

Ok. So nobody asked.

But I'm going to show you anyway.

You need to see some new pictures of Chester.

Because he is the cutest cat in the history of man. Or cat. Maybe it should be in the history of cat.

Whatever.

He is the sweetest cat in the history of man cat, too.

Quit rolling your eyes and look at the pictures.

Thank you.

I won't make you do that again.

For a few weeks.

Because We Are Appropriately Handling Our Grief

I've heard there are steps for grieving.

I don't know what they are.

Obviously.

Meet Chester.

The entire Palace was overwhelmed by all of your sweet comments yesterday. I laughed at some, I cried at some. Mostly, I was just so humbled that you took the time to send thoughts our way.

If you know any of our cat history, you know that Chloe was never very welcoming to Oliver.

And you know that is an understatement. For which I am not generally known.

However, it is now apparent that Oliver had no idea he was not liked.

He has been mourning, y'all. Out of his poor, shaved body comes this deep, sad, guttural cry.

Which is really funny.

But it is mostly sad.

And though he may be missing his hair just a little bit, I am pretty sure he is missing Chloe more.

Oliver has been searching every nook and cranny of our home. And making that noise.

Imagine if Chloe had been nice to him?

The Princess has cried a lot, too. And neither The King nor I can take that.

So, being the practical and responsible parents that we are, we have been relentlessly searching for a new kitten.

Our parameters were clear: we wanted another female Himalayan cat.

For about 30 minutes.

If the gas prices are getting to you and the economy is dragging you down, I have a suggestion...

Himalayan Breeding.

There is some serious coin to be made breeding the Himalayans.

Plus, they were either sold or in the womb.

So we looked for another kind of cat. And let me just tell you that there are some ugly cats in the world.

Rather quickly our new parameters became a cat that wasn't ugly and wouldn't require a loan.

So we found Chester in Oklahoma. He was the last of his litter and was kind of a bargain because he is supposed to have curly hair but doesn't.

(My dad is calling him "Discount".)

Oliver isn't happy about it just yet. He is now treating Chester just like Chloe treated him.

(But I'm sure he's embarrassed by his hair. Or lack thereof. So maybe it is just a defense mechanism thing. Don't you think Chester is wondering what the heck kind of cat Oliver is?)

Chester hasn't come downstairs yet. He has just been hanging out under our beds.

We're not sure if anything is going in him or coming out of him.

We're still really sad about Chloe. We are not even close to being over it. We won't be for a long time, I'm sure. No doubt we've rushed the replacement kitty thing.

But I just went in to check on The Princess, and I'm thinking we're gonna be ok...

Chloe

The cats always get the last word.

It was a lot of fun laughing at Oliver last week. I mean, come on.

Who can resist making fun of that?

However, as the cat haters' dream post was being read, some bad stuff was going down.

(I wrote this on Friday evening.)

Our other cat, Chloe, went in for her haircut today. Our vet ran several pre-op tests to be sure that she could handle being anesthetized for a few minutes while they cleaned her teeth and shaved her. Her tests looked great and the vet said she was good to go.

The King got a call early this afternoon that Chloe was having some trouble. Our vet said that she showed no indications of anything being wrong during the procedures, but she was having some difficulty waking up.

I had run into the post office and The King and The Princess were in the car. When I opened the car door, both of my peeps were in tears.

They gave me the news and we waited for the vet to call us back.

Our vet called back in an hour. She was crying. Chloe didn't make it.

The King gave me Chloe and her brother, Murphy for my birthday...one month after we married. We had a new home, a new life and 2 new cats. They were so cute.

The King was so proud of himself. He had planned all of this without any help. He had bought this kitty jungle gym thing, too: The Cat Condo. It was, like, the primary piece of furniture in our living room.

We had so much fun with them. We would put a shoelace over the top of the door and Chloe would jump up and grab it. That is some kind of newlywed entertainment, let me tell you.

My dad would look at her and say, "Chloe, can you talk?" And she would meow LOUDLY.

And she did that A LOT. FOR THE NEXT 13 YEARS.

Murphy had kidney disease and died when he was 5. We knew he was sick, so we had him put to sleep because he was suffering.

Chloe turned 13 last October.

When she was a few months old, she somehow fell into her water bowl and water got in her ear. It gave her vertigo and she never recovered. Her head was always tilted. But she thought she was right side up. When she jumped off of things her entire body did a flip.

Once she ate a bunch of laundry detergent and puked blue bubbles. She had to have her little stomach pumped.

She (& Murphy) had some kind of crazy reaction to their vaccinations and both almost died. They were unable to get any kind of shots after that. In fact, some veterinarian school in Colorado wanted us to ship both cats to their school so they could study them.

At that point, we were pretty sure their plane would go down. And we just couldn't be responsible for that.

She was sort of an accident waiting to happen. But through all of it she hung in there.

Maybe that is why this has caught me by such surprise.

Chloe loved us a lot. She was a cat, though. She could only show us on her terms.

She didn't like to be held. EVER.

Anytime someone was in the bathtub, though, Chloe was right there. She sat on the side of the tub and meowed. (A lot.)

Bedtime was her favorite time. She would plant herself on my pillow. Right by my head. If I nudged her to move...she dug in. She was not budging.

When we returned home after being gone overnight, we would have to close her in the laundry room the first night back. She would chew us out. For the entire night. Non-stop.

I didn't expect Chloe to die today. I knew she would die someday. Sooner than later. But I didn't expect it to be today.

I was telling Lisa that this is why I'll never have plastic surgery. Because I would die. And people would always speak of me like this: "Oh, Queen B. She died while getting her fat sucked out. How unfortunate".

Chloe died getting her hair done. She survived vertigo, poison, anaphylactic shock...but not a hair cut?

I tease about it, but it breaks my heart.

She didn't sleep by my head last night. I commented that it was weird. We checked to make sure she wasn't locked in a closet or something. She was fine. Just hanging out downstairs.

The King took her to the vet early this morning, so I didn't see her at all today.

That makes me sad.

I know that this was the best way for her to go. She just went to sleep.

And it's much better than if she had died on my pillow...I'm just sayin'.

I know this post doesn't really mean much to you. Sorry about that. I never want to post things that are totally irrelevant to you. (just somewhat irrelevant....) I kind of thought about not posting it today. But...

I'm thinking that maybe we can learn a lesson or two.

The first one is to remind you to go love on your pet a little bit. They may be annoying and messy and loud and expensive, but they are family.

It is also a good reminder that life can sometimes throw you a major curveball. Things we expect to be insignificant sometimes aren't.

One other lesson? Cat Karma. Don't be making fun of the cats.

Chloe October 28, 1994 - March 7, 2008

No Animals Were Harmed For The Posting Of This Blog

I don't believe we've met. The name's Oliver.

I live here at The Palace. Oh, it's a Palace all right.

If you are a person.

Not so much for the felines.

They took off my claws. They "helped control the pet population".

Funny, since they won't let me outside.

I share a water bowl with 3 other animals.

I share a litter box with the oldest cat in the animal kingdom.

She must be working on, like, her 12th life.

"The King" calls me The Terrorist. He ain't seen nothin' yet.

"The Princess" calls me Fatty McFat-Fat. I am not fat. I am big boned.

"The Queen" feeds me. I had a plan to be really nice to her. But now....

...things have changed.

I am 9 months old. I am big and strong. I weigh 11 pounds.

Last week, I made a decision. I got sick and tired of licking myself. The bathing was driving me nuts.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep this gorgeous coat? I had a choice...if I was going to be beautiful I would have to commit to non-stop grooming. OR I could go back to mistreating the old hag and aggravating the canines. And I love aggravating the canines.

So I quit the upkeep. Just stopped. And something terrible happened.

I became one giant hairball.

It was horrible. The agony. I couldn't scratch them out. I couldn't lick them out--that made me throw up on The King & Queen's bedroom floor. So I did all I knew to do: I pulled my hair out with my teeth.

Apparently that "freaked out" The Queen. She thought it was "creepy".

I don't really see how it is any different from her pulling out the hair over her eyes.

Stupid humans.

The night before last I went to get my sixth helping of kibble and the food was gone. Nowhere to be found. The water was gone, too.

And then, yesterday morning The King put me in his truck. And he took me to the prison camp where they stole my claws and my manhood. (I howled at the top of my lungs. Let me tell you...I was not going to make it easy for him to be a Crackberry.)

The next thing I know...the prison guards had stolen my hair! My beautiful hair!

I repulse myself.

This is so humiliating.

Now go back to whatever stupid human stuff you were doing.

Guess What I Got To Do?

Don't you just love it when you have to get to set an example for your kids?

My Bible Study on Tuesday was great as usual. We are reading The Power of a Positive Woman by Karol Ladd. Our chapter was about hope. Our sweet leader talked a lot about our attitude.

Mine's great, don't ya think?

Our leader mentioned that when her daughters were young, she would have to remind them to change their words. When they would say, "I have to do my homework." She would tell them, "No. You get to do your homework."

I thought that sounded like a super idea. My Princess struggles a bit with her glass being half empty. It drives me nuts. I know right where she gets it, though.

The King.

Oh, I kid. It comes straight from her mama. My tendency is to immediately focus on why I can't do something...why it won't work...why it might wear me out, etc.

You know, there's nothing like seeing your bad habits in mini version to help you to see how ugly they are. (The habits, not the kids.)

I have to work really hard every single day at keeping my glass half full.

But I've learned that, for me, it is a choice. I can choose how I look at the events of my day.

A few years ago I decided that I would look at my mundane chores a little differently. Rather than whine about every load of laundry that I fold, I would be grateful. Not that I had clothes (though I am) or that I had a washer & dryer (glad for those, too), but that I had a husband and daughter whose clothes I could clean. I wouldn't fuss about unloading the dishwasher...I would be thankful for the little hands that ate off of that plate.

It sounds a little dorky, but it works.

In the blink of an eye I could be without either of my peeps. I'd say I can suffer through cleaning the bathtub for them.

So after thinking about all of that, I decided that The Princess could use a dose of happy.

Yesterday morning I decided that I was going to be very careful and deliberate with the words that I used throughout the day. I was going to try to look at each situation through my rose colored glasses. (They were HARD to find. I had apparently put them away quite some time ago.) I wanted The Princess to see how to turn her lemons to lemonade.

(If you can think of any more positive thinking cliches let me know, I'm about out...)

So, here's a snapshot of our Wednesday:

We woke up late. I had to get the dogs to the groomer and The Princess started on her school work. This one wasn't too hard. "Aren't you glad we got a little bit of extra rest?"

I was out of my favorite breakfast: The Luscious and Fabulous Chocoate Caramel Cluster Zone Bar. Ok. I can do this..."This is fun! I can try something new for breakfast!!"

We received an email reminder of the school's mandatory Latin spelling bee tonight. Of which we had no idea. And it is tonight. "Won't that be exciting! You don't even have time to be nervous!!"

This is where it really became fun.

Oliver, my cat, had the runs in the night. And apparently sat in them. His beautiful, white, fluffy, coat, um, wasn't. So I tried to laugh about it. "Hahaha. Isn't it funny that, um, Oliver, um has, um..." Struggling.

And then I saw that I wasn't going to be able to cut the nasty out. I was going to have to wash it out. (gulp) The problem with this (besides the embedded cat poop) is that Oliver bites hard when you try to wash him. Like, draws serious blood. So. I couldn't let The Princess help.

Not that she was offering.

I had to hold him by his scruff to keep him from mutilating me. (Let's not forget that cat poop smells worse than any other documented smell in the known world.) I had to run the water, rub the shampoo and (gag reflex kicking in) scrape. out. the. poop. with. my. fingers. of. the. other. hand.

In my rose colored glasses.

"Isn't it so great for Daddy that he's out of town? Isn't that so funny that this happened while he's on vacation working?"

(Ok. If you want some serious joy, click on that picture.)

Throw in trash night and the cat (who is apparently ill) throwing up in my bedroom and you can imagine the joy spewing from my lips.

Oh, and thank you very much, Kelly... the Chick-Fil-A nuggets that I had been craving ALL STINKIN' DAY were ice cold.

But at least I'm the one that gets to teach The Princess all about this nutty life.

If she can learn how to find joy in each day (you don't know how bad I wanted to say, "...if she can learn to turn her frown upside down..") her life will be so much more fulfilling.

That's a reminder that I needed, too.

(Perhaps without the object lesson involving the cat.)