Tripawd the Huntress

Sadie is now nine and a half days out from her amputation, and has shown signs of feeling better these last two days.  Periods of autonomous sleeping in lieu of constant snuggling, no indication of nerve pain, swatted Merus in the head when Merus got on her face, and getting a bit more aggressive when it comes to food time. 

Last night I woke to use the bathroom at 1:00am, noticing Sadie was not tucked up in our bed like other nights.  As I got to the other side of the house I heard her cone scraping a bit.  Maybe she was using the litter box again?  Turned on the light in the bathroom, both cats over by the shower. 

Merus caught my eye since she was frantically searching around the shower curtain, circling in and out, sniffing and looking. That only happens when she knows the presence of beans, avocado, asparagus, and mice.  

Sadie had already calmly tri-hopped into the next room.  Found her squatted down and facing away under my desk.  

Chewing. 

Turned on that light, and sure enough there was a tail hanging out of her mouth.  That mouse was toast.  And, impressively, Bad Cat's cone was intact.  

I can never tell if Merus first maimed the critter before Sadie pounced, since Merus only has her front teeth and three canines (no molars), or if Sadie did all the work herself.  Either way, it's clear Bat Cat is feeling better and getting back her game.  I guess this also helps her keep a high protein post-op diet.  Even now as I get ready for my morning waddle "run" she is sitting smug and satiated.  Cue purr-fest.  

Poop surprises

Yesterday I got home from work to Nathan exasperated at the table.  "I need your help.  Sadie stepping in poop earlier and I couldn't get it all off."  Miss Sadie was sitting prim and proper on the kitchen table atop the mail, calmly looking up from her cone at my entrance.

"I got what I could and left the cone off in hopes she'd get the rest.  She cleaned everything else but that foot."  

We'd removed the litter box lids so that Bad Cat could negotiate them with her plastic collar.  Apparently she still had trouble turning around.  Nathan held her while I wedged a sudsy washcloth between her toes.  

Last night I built a new fire and saw a credit card statement atop the burn pile unopened.  I asked if he meant to keep it.  "No, it's got poop on it.  Sadie sat on it before you got home."  The slightest tinge of tan on one corner of the envelope.  He didn't want the contents either.  He's thorough with disposal of poop cooties, it seems.  

An hou ago I heard Sadie kicking around the litter for a good minute.  Then Nathan.  "Whatcha doin' in there, Sadie?  Are ya... Oh, Sadie, don't do that!  Sadie, stop that!"  

When Nathan called her name she look up from inspecting her poop, but since the cone extends so far beyond her face she ended up hooking the poop on the edge.  Upon lifting her head the poop rolled down the inside to her neck. 

I walked over to check out the commotion, and Nathan walked out holding the cone with the tips of two fingers.  "I guess we should wash it, huh?"  The only evidence I saw were two little smudges on the collar's edge, but Nathan's face was priceless.  Sadie came out and sat before us, again all prim and proper but more relaxed without the cone.  

Just you wait until March, Nathan.  Just you wait.   

Tripawd

Sadie, aka Bad Cat, aka Toader, has gone through a big change. 

She had an amputation five days ago. She developed a tumor that spread to both her left humerus and scapula, but the more likely source was chondral or synovial. What felt firm and osseous from the outside ended up as a large fluid muck of a tumor big enough to dislocate her shoulder. 

Nicely, her lungs -- the next location of spread for synovial/chondral tumors -- was totally clear, as were all other lymph nodes in her neck and other three legs. 

The entire staff at Alpine Veterinary Hospital loved her, which figures.  She always makes others swoon.  The surgery went very well as dos her initial recovery.  Our DVM said she spent much of her second day there happily lounging under a heat lamp.  Back home the next night she was practically her usual self aside from one less arm. 

The scar is big but not heinous, but she can reach some stitches to lick.  So she has also ended up with a cone.  She's strong enough to move with it, but she quickly realized its sight and maneuverability limitations and so mostly sleeps.  We take it off when she eats and leave it off until she starts licking or until we have to leave home.  She has had a bit of nerve pain, but so far we have not had to administer meds as it is in small enough waves that are fairly well spread apart.  Apparently cats typically experience little to no pain after amputation, which is quite amazing when your job deals with human postoperative pain on a daily basis.  She has only managed to ditch the cone once. 

Nine more days until the stitches come out. Mice beware -- I doubt missing a limb will slow her down for very long!

Bad Cat

Exhibit A: Sunday morning

Exhibit B: Monday evening.  Pretending nothing happened.

Exhibit C:  One week ago.  This, after pulling her off about two dozen times previously that afternoon.

Headlamps and huntresses

I started work this week.  It took some fine tuning and a couple of frustrating days to figure out how to integrate running into my work week.  I'm used to full time meaning that therapists are at work for 8 hours total, with a half hour for lunch resulting in 7.5 hours on the clock per day.  Here therapists are scheduled 8-5 with a full hour for lunch, so that means getting 8 hours of pay but being at work for 9 hours total.  That, plus the 45 minute commute each way... makes for much longer than expected.  Its actually less time for the commute (and more consistent) than when I was in grad school either cycling or taking the subway.  Just means I have to get up between 4:15 and 4:30 - which, for those of you who don't already know, is okay by me.  Were I to try and run after work, I'd be a very unhappy trudge of a sloth with no motivation.

Thankfully my coworkers are great, the facility is informal but professional, and I actually enjoy being at work.  The patients are all nice people too.  I worried that they'd be nervous or upset by the change in therapist, but they are all good people.

So within this first week of trying out the new schedule I had a handful of other fun occurrences.

Monday morning, orientation day, I awoke to Merus meowing and jumping around in the bathroom by the washer and drier.  She never ignores when food is being prepped.  I turned the corner, threw on the light, and there she was sitting proudly with a mouse dangling from her mouth.  She looked up and meowed without letting go.  In my two and a half years with these worms Merus has only watched Sadie with interest as she hunts, never participated.  Apparently she was just waiting for the big game. 

I flipped into mama mode and worried about her chewing on it and hurting her poor gums (her wet food is always mashed with water into more of a liquid) and grabbed a bucket nearby.  She didn't want to let it go, but when she did it scurried under the drier and likely back to whence it came.  I wasn't fast enough to throw the bucket over the top like I had hoped.  No idea what Merus would have done with it had I not been around.  It has not returned since. 

Speaking of hunters, Sadie has entertained herself royally by hunting and eating countless flies each day.  We seriously do not know where the flies spontaneously come from, but I am getting very good with my fly swatter technique.  Merus just jumps and swats at them, enjoying the hunt now that she is a huntress.  Sadie probably eats at least a half dozen a day, sometimes three times that much.  On Tuesday I arrived home to Sadie sheepishly tucked up behind a chair, a nervous look on her face.  Looked across the room and found a puddle of puke.  Fluid was all clear, but there were probably two dozen fly bodies and innumerable separated wings all mushed together.  Doesn't slow her down from eating more.  She does not puke often (this was probably her seventh puke in two and a half years), but she always hits an easily cleanable floor away from any and all objects.  Figure that - the Bad Cat is neat when it comes to bodily functions.  Like the time she peed in the trash can after I stupidly removed one of their litter boxes. 

After two days of wanting to run but being denied by improperly judging my schedule, Wednesday I was bound and determined.  Tuesday evening I was so pissed off that I was yelling at the cats "Who cares about these big cats, anyways?  And when are they even actually in the area?  F*** it, I'm gonna do the loop in the morning with a headlamp and that's how its going to be."  A couple hours later I cooled off to some sense of reason and decided to look up info on mountain lions.  *Sigh*  Okay, cautiousness is good.  So I instead did repeats up and down the stretch of our road north of the Rio Grande bridge.  It's just about a mile long one way, so I did 3/4 mile intervals with the last 1/4 mile as recovery jog before turning around.

It is incredibly dark all around when there is absolutely no competing light.  I could have run easily using just the moonlight, but used my headlamp so I could sweep for glowing eyes.  The cattle drives are increasingly bringing the 500 cows and couple hundred yearlings back to lots on/next to the ranch, so the road is flanked by cows the entire stretch behind barbed wire fences. Only a few spots are there trees, otherwise it is basically open.  Still, I swept.  That first mile I probably looked like I was headbanging sideways (but without hair for effect).  Cow eyes are wide set, and they stay stock still and barely blink, curiously eying you yet not moving.  A skitter - I stopped to assess, though it was only a raccoon climbing a tree.  Those eyes bobble like a baby learning to keep its head up straight while sitting.  As the eyes became more of a pattern I swept more slowly, less frequently.  In my last mile I was a quarter mile from the bridge when I heard lots of splashing and saw eight pairs of eyes moving fast.  I froze.  So did the sloshing.  Then six of them leaped over the barbed wire fence and continued bounding across the road to the next grass lot.  The other two stayed still in the water.  Deer.  I turned back to give them time to cross and be with their herd.  No other trick eyes after that. 

This morning I decided one pretend daredevil run per week was enough for now, so I drove into town early to use the hospital's wellness center.  I figure that during January and February there will be plenty of opportunity for treadmill time when bad weather hits, so why not go ahead and see if treadmill running was as foul as I remembered.  I decided to use it for hill training, since that's what I miss most about mid-week runs are my hill repeats.  I dropped the speed to something that seemed logical compared to previous runs and considering the altitude, upped the incline to 12%.  Whoa, Nelly!  Dropped the speed some more.  A little more.  Toughed it out for half the time I expected, then dropped the incline to 7%.  Kept it a little more reasonable from then on out.  I decidedly miss downhill running, though.  Especially when I made such an effort to learn how to run downhill to avoid pain back in the days when my knees were cranky.  I take pride in that.  And I miss it.  If only treadmills could handle that (affordably).  But at least I got some energy out before the day started.

Bad cats

Merus has been eating like a fiend lately.  She is served oversized meals, and yet that doesn't seem enough.  She scavenges around the kitchen for about an hour after eating in hopes of finding something.  *Sigh*

Last night she decided that the dry food bags on top of the fridge, which have lived there since the cats and I moved in with Nathan, were suddenly fair game:

The bag now has a new home inside a drawer.  Not much later I heard metal scraping.  Turned around to see, and couldn't grab my camera fast enough:

Now, the kittens are nothing if not competitive.  This morning I found the rubber basting brush on the kitchen floor.  I left it in the sink after using it to spread olive oil on bread last night.  Sadie's rubber fetish struck again:

No evidence of any chewed off ends, no pile of orange dotted puke either.  *Sigh*

The half-aero ears indicate plotting.

Just another Sunday

Apparently I fall the same way every time.  Hit both knees, with the left ironically more affected than the right.  Also hit my right palm and the outside of my right elbow. 

Usually I am lucky enough to fall on open areas.  This time it was across a few moderately sized rocks just two steps shy of the concrete path at Alpine Lookout.  I had just been debating whether to go another half hour or full hour before turning around when *BAM* I hit the deck.  In no surprise to me, my left foot/leg was the culprit for not clearing the obstacles.  Took a few minutes to walk this one off.  Need to rest my brain a bit before Virgil Crest in two weeks....

While I was figuring out how to get a shot of myself, Miss Bad Cat helped herself to the watermelon left over from last night. 

Ice spike!

I normally don't drink iced coffee unless in something close to a heat wave.  We've had a lot of those lately.  Nathan's four little ice cube trays have seen more use in the last month than they ever have before.  In that time I have found an average of one ice spike per week.  It's such a random phenomenon that I get really excited about it.  I saw the first ice spike in summer of 2006, perhaps one or two since then.  So to have this many popping up in a row is totally awesome.  I had another one this morning:

Conversely, in winter I get super excited to show off the ice on my literally frozen ponytail after coming in from a run.  Nathan has learned respond to each situation with "That's cool" and a pat on the head.  He used to respond with "Okay...?" only to get my wide-eyed-speed-talk "Butit'ssoCOOLit'slikeanEXPLOSIONinyourfreezerbutcontainedtoanICECUBE!" 

Nerd.  Yes.  Proudly so.  Don't even need to carry a card because its so evident.  Put me in a social situation like a party and I clam up like you wouldn't believe.  Give me ice spikes in my freezer and I'm bouncing off the walls in excitement. 

I always hopied it was a more ballistic occurrence, where the still-liquid but expanding inner portion of the ice breaks through the frozen surface like a rocket.  Turns out its a much calmer process.  The surface ice forms from the perimeter towards the center.  The inner, still-liquid portion gets forced through a small remaining hole, though slowly.  Instead of running down the sides of the ice cube it freezes on the perimeter of the hole and produces a tube.  It continues to grow until the tube freezes over. 

Apparently this mostly works with distilled water, since usually the particulate present in tap water is enough to sustain the surface shape and disallow the expansion of a tube.  But lo!  For whatever reason, our tap water and freezer temperature and ice cube tray size is perfect to grow a little stalagmite once a week.  Hazzah!

For those of you who are not blatant nerds but do like silly cats, here are the worms as they tolerate the heat:

Merus, whose nickname has recently progressed to Ru Bear.  (This is always followed with a ba-dum-dum in my head, as a pun for rubor (latin for redness, used as a descriptor for inflammation.  Yes, I am easily entertained.)

Sadie.

For the record, the drawer was pushed back about 4 inches and Merus went in on her own.

 

On a side note, this is how Nathan usually sleeps.  "Why does my neck hurt?"  Hmmm...

Merus could teach Olympic divers a thing or two about their tuck. 

Kitteh Bourdain

The list of foods edible according to Sadie continues to grow.  Currently she eagerly eats avocado, whole beans/legumes, refried beans, arugula, spinach, kale, alfalfa sprouts, watermelon, carrot, brussel sprouts, cheese, and meat.  Most veggies she will eat if dressed (salad stuff) or cooked (carrots, brussel sprouts).  Raw veggies are not her thing.  What a foodie.

We also already know that her tastes are far less civilized than what the aforementioned list implies.  Anything that has rubber, foam, or adhesive draws her like a moth to a flame.  Rubber bands, packaging tape, yoga blocks, shoes, ear plugs... you know, yummy stuff. 

The other night we returned home to find two tiny puddles of frothy liquid just inside the apartment door.  In my year of caring for these worms I have only witnessed or found evidence of Sadie puking.  In all cases was a precipitating cause -- avocado rind, purple foam pellets (formerly from my yoga block), sea foam green cylinders (former ear plug bit in half), that kind of thing.  So when I saw the two empty puddles of puke I new the hunt was on for the real pile.

Nathan found it on the bathroom floor.  It was a whole cockroach.  Bleh.  (For those grossed out by the idea of cockroaches in NYC apartments, this is only the second roach I've found in the 10 months I have lived here and the previous year and a half of visiting here on a regular basis.)

To top that off it was basically the shell, including the head.  It was also about two inches long, exoskeleton as straight as ever, most legs and antennae still attached.  How the hell did that thing fit down (and back up) the throat of a tiny 7-lbs kitteh??  And how were the innards so nicely separated and missing?  Maybe let's not think about that last one.  Bleh.  She could probably compete with the most bizarre of Anthony Bourdain's food escapades. 

Then I realized that I gave her a kiss on the nose before the puke piles were found.  Gross gross gross gross gross....



In the first many upcoming logical segues, here's a shameless reminder:

Help support Nathan's ride from Boston to NYC as a fundraiser for homeless people with AIDS.  Donating is speedy and secure via online here.  So far he's at 8% of the goal.  Remember, every small donation helps more than you think.

If only my confidence matched the complement

Joint Commissions is gone.  We can now breath again at work.

I received an email from my mom (love you!) today who, as one might expect, gives me much more credit than I deserve:

"So the big Bear Mountain looms next week.  You've done this before so I'd think it would be a calm anticipation.  But, you've done this before and know exactly what you're getting into, so I guess it's an antsy anticipation!"

I read this just after getting home from my long run in which my mind was in full ohmyohmyohmy what-have-I-got-myself-into?!?! mode.  It is SOOOOOO not a calm ancitipation.  Hah!  It is the hurry up and wait version of Joint Commissions, only this time all I have is myself to exorcise the demons. 

I remember from my first ultra (Bear Mtn last year) being consciously aware of the invisible line that, when crossed, meant I was then heading into mileage territory never before experienced.  At that point it meant I had crossed 26 miles and had another five or so to go.  Five is a relatively calm number.  What is five more when you have already done five times as much? 

This year, I will cross that invisible line at mile 31.  Remaining, for my *ahem* pleasure, will be another 20 miles.  Twenty.  TWENTY MORE!  The statement is no longer calming -- what is 20 more miles when you have already done 1.5 as much?  

If you just shook your head in amazement at the executive functioning "skills" that got me into this situation then, well, I second your sentiments.  If you nearly wet yourself out of fear for me, I third your sentiments.  

Today I was testing what carrying my hydration bag sans-bladder for the purpose of gear (Clif Mojo bars, extra socks, Aquafore, head lamp, etc) since the aid stations are just close enough to use a bottle.  I ran in slightly more clothes than I normally would have so as to better prep for what may be 60 degrees or may be 75 degrees.  (Weather.com: figure it out!)  I was breaking in a new pair of shoes (same as two previous pairs) so they'd be good to go.  All the while my mind had a fully schizophrenic time with itself.  The calm, planning, rational part of me said: This feels okay, no problems with anything, this could work for another 8 hours.  The cynical part of me said: What, are you crazy?! Of COURSE it'll blow up by mile 40.  EVERYTHING will chafe during a 10+ hour day.  Of COURSE the bag will get uncomfortable despite carrying less of a load.  Of COURSE you won't want the extra pair of shoes from your drop bag until you are already beyond that aid station. 


I had to stop the mental clamor often.  The mediator: Just remember: eat, drink, pick up your feet, just keep moving.  I'm not so sure that either voice was convinced.

Thankfully, this year I have kittehs to distract me throughout the week.  Merus is being followed by the vet for long-standing gingivitis she acquired before I adopted them, and Sadie was due for a check up.  After the initial rundown with the tech, this is what ensued while waiting for the Dr. O:

Sadie went up and down of her own accord, happy to explore and happy to return for more attention.  She made everyone swoon in her usual Little Princess of Wormness ways.  Merus went up to follow Sadie, remained hunkered in a tightly tucked ball throughout Sadie's examination, gave an occasional meow to remind us she was there and not happy about knowing what was to come.  Merus came down via the vet tech, claws and arms splayed.  I swear her tail sprouted its own paw to hang on for dear life.  They both survived, including the rides on the subway. 

Now what to do -- start my next book?  Clean?  Ideate an itinerary for the week my family visits NYC for graduation?  Attempt to plan and coordinate my gear and plan A/B/C/D... for a race bigger than my know-how (see above)?  Study another section of my licensure review book (what I probably should be doing)?  Research intervention ideas or background info on a few patients that are more difficult (another more acceptable choice)?  Eat some Nutella?  Nap with the kittehs? 

May not be duct tape, but it works

Last week I came home from a run only to find this:

From what I can best put together, the blame goes to Sadie and her sprinting drills.  The tear is a 90 degree angle, each arm about two inches long.  My small needle and thread sewing kit was nearby but I needed a patch of some sort, plus I hadn't the energy and I needed to head back out soon for something else.  So I patched it with the quickest way accessible: scotch tape.

I pointed out the patch to Nathan so his just about 6 foot long self wouldn't tear the patch off while rearranging in his sleep.  He laughed at me for a good ten minutes straight.  I swear I could hear Red Green joining in with the laughter from far away.  Nathan: "Seriously??"  Another minutes of solid laughter.  "That's so ghetto.  You have to document that."  *Sigh*  Don't worry, I already did.

With the race last weekend and my hobbling recovery while working nine to ten hours a day, the patch has not yet been replaced.  But!  It has also held for a week now.  Hazzah!  Today I have off since I will be working this Saturday and so will play a little Suzie Homemaker for a handful of things.

Animal behavioral psychology fail

I got the bright idea that maybe my two cats didn't need two litter boxes, considering that for the last 10 months they have only used one box while completely ignoring the other.  Only once that litter was changed (after one week) and the box no longer smelled like their territory would they change to the second box, and even then they'd used the second box exclusively until it was cleaned out, and... rinse and repeat.  Seemed logical that their preference for shared commode space needs not a second box, right? 

Two mornings after downsizing to one box I awoke to the usual meow-fest of breakfast expectations.  Sadie, in her supposed food-deprived inner-brat-unleashing mood, went sniffing at the trash can.  I pulled her away.  Three minutes later she hops into the trash.  I lift her up from under her armpits and find her peeing.  Yes, peeing.  And the fact that she is dangling from my hands above the trash can makes no difference in the outflow.  She even looked up at me with a mmrrrrp.

So I lowered her back down into the trash to finish her business.  And sighed.

Once she hopped out of the trash I swept her up and deposited her in front of the litter box.  It is of note that the location of this box was unchanged from prior.  Sadie gave it one eighth of a passing glance and skipped away.  A peek inside the box indicates that it had not been touched in the last couple days.  I grab Merus, and we went through the same routine of deposit, semi-glance, and depart.  *Sigh*  Okay, you win.

I grab the second box, fill 'er up, leave it in the middle room and place both cats directly in front of it.  Here you go, ya' little worms.  Ignore it at your leisure.  Mutter mutter mutter.  Sadie uses the opportunity to attack Merus from behind -- a regular occurrence separate from the litter box issue.  So Sadie got to cool off in the next room with the door shut.  Merus uses the newly restored litter box, rearranging the fill to her little heart's content.  A few meows from Sadie were audible through the door, then the sound of her pawing at the open bag of litter which is stored in there.  Aw, crap.  [Pun unintended.]

I'm a little fearful that Sadie needs/wants to go again.  I pull her out of the room and away from the extra litter, lickety split.  Merus is still finishing up her time in the sandbox.  So I place Sadie next to the old box, and again she ignores it.  Merus finally takes leave, and I throw Sadie in front of the new box.  It smells like cat piss, so Sadie's interested.  She heads on in and voids something -- I don't care what it is so long as it is deposited where it needs to go.  Sadie spends a good five minutes making her own rearrangements.  Sadie exits the box.  Merus returns again to the new box, goes inside and voids the opposite of whatever she left just a moment ago.  (The only reason I know this is their rearrangement/scratching patterns are audibly different when it comes to pee and poop.  Aren't I lucky gal to know such things?)  Merus exits.  Sadie enters AGAIN.  I'm thinking, You only weigh 6 or 7 pounds!  How could you hold so much??  Regardless, apparently she does.

The kittehs finally relax, and all seems restored to normal.  Another five minutes later and Merus starts sniffing at the trash can, probably wondering why it smells like Sadie's rear end.  And so a layer of balsamic vinegar is spread across the top of the trash to mask any remaining feline scent.  At least I buy the $3.99 vinegar instead of the $10.99 vinegar.  And at least Sadie was polite enough to go into a contained space for waste instead of, say, on a piece of clothing on the floor.  Yet I will never forget that image of Sadie dangling in space, looking up with a chirp while a solid stream flowed strong.

Kitteh mama fail.  Lesson learned.

Who, me?  Silly human.

T-minus two months

In exactly two months from today I will have graduated.  That's 8.7 weeks.  Sixty-one days. 

I'll spare you the minutes and seconds....

Now instead of rolling my eyes when asked how school is going I get to yell "ALMOST DONE" and slap the table for emphasis.  I'm smelling the barn, people!

To celebrate, a much overdue kitteh video:

The first week of my last (last!) affiliation went well.  The whole outpatient TBI (traumatic brain injury) thing turned out to be acute inpatient rehab for stroke and TBI.  Fine by me.  I did not get an actual rehab experience, so this will really round out my abilities.  For those unfamiliar, acute rehab means patients are just medically stabilized, needing lots of therapy, and able to tolerate three hours of therapy every day.

What is also means is that my first day consisted of aphasias (inability to interpret and/or say words), emotional lability (spontaneous crying or anger that was inappropriate to the context), missed therapy due to code brown (i.e. poop), suctioning (cleaning mucous out of a tracheotomy), craniectomies (a portion of the skull removed due to excessive brain swelling so patients must wear a helmet at all times when out of bed), and pushers syndrome (a patient with stroke whose brain, for unknown reasons, very strongly pushes with the non-affected arm and leg, causing the patient to constantly lean toward their affected and often flaccid arm and leg).

And I couldn't be happier. 

Well, maybe if I were already graduated, but let's not dwell on those details.

16 days and counting

That is, 16 days if you count any and all days between now and our last didactic final exam of graduate school.  If you count only those days requiring an appearance at school, this drops to nine remaining days.

I'm definitely feeling it; simultaneously looking forward to the coming summer's life changes, and yet nervous over the need to make decisions (including financially locking myself into those decisions) for a time frame in which I don't know what to expect.  The good news is that there is light at the end of the tunnel, one way or the other.  Supposedly our last two affiliations will finally be posted "by the end of this week."  For us that means tomorrow.  For the prof in charge of assigning us that may mean Friday.  I am lucky that I already know my fourth and final affil (Tejas with little kiddos!), but I would love to know where I am going for January-March (and when I start)....

Lots of studying, project completion, research smatterings, etc, are left to do.  Last night I was studying for today's exam.  Merus has become an intermittent lap cat now that the temperature has dropped.  Sadie, on the other hand, still prefers in-your-face attention.  She'll sit at the edge of your notes, then do a little wiggle-creep maneuver to sit on the corner, then another wiggle-creep to sit smack in the middle of the page.  I pick her up and set her across the table.  She sits on the paper.  I pick her up, move her off.  She sits on the paper.  I move her off, onto the floor.  She sits on the paper....  Intrepid, that one.  So much so that it yielded this:

Digression of worms

It's 8:45 on a Friday night, and I am researching ulnar radiculopathy (spine pathology causing pain that travels the course of a nerve, here along the pinkie side of the arm down to the pinkie and ring fingertips) for a paper.  I lead an amazingly exciting life....

Luckily, I have two little worms to break up the seriousness.  Worms, you ask?  Worms, kittehs, seals -- in this house they are one in the same.  I mean, really, with someone who names their cats Palisades and Brontomerus would you expect anything less? 

Sadie often lays at the back of my chair those times that I feel like perching on the front half.  Today Merus decided she wanted to be there too, but the only way that would work is to lay on top of Sadie.

Exhibit A: Sadie sandwich.

Pay no mind the super fancy Chiefs pajama pants.  I thought silly had peaked for the moment, only for Merus to then rearrange in the opposite direction.

Exhibit B: Stinky butt.

Sadie tolerated head to head, but booty-in-the-face was too much.  I managed to catch both these shots with my phone's horribly crude camera just before the moment disappeared.  For the latter photo, that meant Merus got a might bite to the butt to tell her to get off.

The story of how worm became a nickname is probably rather meaningless to everyone else, but it is absolutely hysterical for me.  Sadie was in her nightly sprinting mood.  For those of you lucky enough to know what the Pit Scoot looks like (the boot-scoot goofiness that pitbulls alone have), Sadie has her own version.  At one point picked her up and held her on my lap.  Nathan leaned in to call her a crazy worm for all her goofy springing, but accidentally bonked heads with me.  He apologized, saying he got excited.  Then, with a British accent of all things and with the closest he has ever come to dancing in my presence, he sang "I got excited.  I got excited.  You're a little worm!  You're a little worm!"

I was redder than my classy Chiefs pants for a full five minutes from laughing so hard.  Oh my....

A lovely shade of green

Long and slow aerobic exercise is a better expectorant than guaifenesin (aka Mucinex) any day of the week.  Kept Sunday's mileage to 12.5.  Was much easier to pull over and hack out a glob or two in the woods of the Palisades than to do the same in Central Park.  Usually I need to bend over to facilitate the process, or at least get level with my hands on my knees, but I've been able to clear things while staying vertical the last two days.  Not the prettiest sound, but whatever.  It works.  The green globs pair well with the light blue shirt I had on today.

Two and a half weeks until until the next big race.  That's 18 days, to be exact.  With the work hours of my affiliation and my morning preference I've grown accustomed to 75 to 80 degree weather with a decent amount of humidity.  Struck me today as I set out at 8am, rather than my usual 6am, that my race estimates place me as finishing at 11am.  And, I'm wondering what the shade situation is going to be.  My mom found out that a PTA colleague is running the half marathon while her husband is also running the 50k.  Apparently they drove the route, said it was very scenic and would hopefully help the mental portions of the race.  But what about shade?  How far back are the trees?  How often does the sun travel straight down the road?  This is the map according to the participant guide from the North Face race website:

TNF Endurance Challenge Kansas City 50k route

50k elevation profile

North-south and east-west travel look much more similar than I originally thought.  The elevation is not much worry.  I'm actually glad that it varies, as truly flat courses give me the worst cramps and boredom.  Aide stations are available every 2ish miles, but I'm still going to run with a bottle.  I need to decide if I'm going to wear a shirt/tank or not.  However much it feels silly to run wearing a sports bra and biker-style shorts, the issue is avoiding problems.  Whereas common distances for races require physical preparation with a little bit of a mental game plan, ultras require the trifecta of physical, mental (monkey-brain hits somewhere around mile 20-24, which is why clear course marking is uber important), and logistical preparation.  (And this race is nothing compared to even the "easy" 100milers!)

Take today's run, 8 miles including four 10-minute intervals around the variable Central Park loop from 8-9am.  Half way through I thought to myself "Gee, this shirt isn't doing half bad with the sweat.  I might be able to stay decent for the race."  Then 5 minutes from the end everything was saturated just shy of the point where the sweat drains down into my socks and shoes.  Today was only 1 hour; the race will likely be 5 hours, maybe more if its super hot and more walking is necessary.  That's a loooooong time for your clothes to hang heavy, lightning fast quick-dry synthetic materials or not.

There comes a point where I can't stand it any more, so I take off the shirt and tuck it into the back of my waistband.  Considering there is no place to drop stuff along the way (unless I see a family member willing to accept a shirt looking like it was just pulled from the salty Dead Sea), that means I'm effectively running with a flaccid tail that continues to collect and then drip sweat.  On the other hand, if it is super sunny with no shade to mitigate, then my skin might want the coverage.  Ever see images of runners crossing the Sahara?  Long sleeves and hats with a back flap hanging over their neck.  I plan to use sunscreen regardless.  Once the race is 10 days out then I can start stalking the weather.  In the mean time I'll work on my best misty-light-rain-with-full-cloud-cover dance.  Here's hoping July was the climax of the summer *knock on wood*.

These days I'm also planning an upcoming move.  I'll travel a whopping 20 blocks (1 mile) north, but am currently playing the purge game.  The kittehs find the piles of clothes most interesting to lay on, so I have to be careful to keep things closed up in bags if I plan to donate them.  I bought the little monsters a cat bed so they can get their stink on it now and have something familiar at the new place to help them adjust.  Sadie hogs it, making bold power plays.  Wondering if I need two.  At least when I bought it from PetCo it ended up only costing $14 after taxes rather than the listed $24.99 before taxes, and its machine washable (a big factor helping me reduce bed choices).  One of few places where having those silly little cards meant to help the business track traffic and purchases has immediately offered actual benefit to me.

Anyways, the cats have been at their shenanigans and I have been home to see more of them.  I also discovered my digital point and shoot has a video setting for "miniature," meaning a shallow dept of field weighted to the middle of the frame and using 1/10 of the normal amount of frames per second.  Kind of fun, though I'm still working out the kinks, such as minimizing camera movement to reduce audience nausea with the sped-up feed.

Fighting over rights to lay on my CPI, which is my midterm and final "exam" of an evaluation from the affiliation.  Notice how I'm so very *sarcasm* concerned with possible damage to it.  Sadie manages to throw Merus off the bed, so I think she won this round:

Merus happily walked into the not-quite canvas sack when I looked away.  They LOVE canvas, and will lay on anyone's book bag if and when mistakenly left on the floor.  Sadie got jealous, never realizing that there was a second bag right behind them.  I intervened when Merus started backing Sadie into a corner; I think she (Merus) got her revenge:

Sadie likes to hang over the edge (and, as noted above, atop the clothes to be donated soon); Merus like to play dead:

Hot afternoon sleepiness.  Silly kitties:

Note to self, need to shoot some legitimate film soon... [REVISED]

Comma M, Comma S

I had a picture of the two of them holding down an orthopedic textbook by Mark Dutton that is as thick as my thumb is long while I was trying to research spondylolysthesis interventions, but I think this video better illustrates their current state.  Namely, Sadie goes on exploring in her dainty ways like that of any kitteh with finness.  Merus once again proves herself to be, well, a bit of a simpler kitteh.  This latter point may also be witnessed in (the also recently posted) video of Merus and the bouncing ball.

First weekend without studying

She picked a killer pair, but I wouldn't have supposed that dirt from Bear Mtn. would taste so nice.

Merus and Sadie are settling in (in their own ways...), and last night I was able to sleep nearly the whole way through.  I got them a cardboard scratcher, since the lobular multi-level furniture things are a bit more than I can stand and yet the only other choices available in most NYC stores.  They make a fantastic sound when they go sliding across a wooden floor in the middle of the night.  Not sure which of them turned it into a sleigh.

Replaced some shoes just before this affiliation started.  Figured I should show up with a fresh clean pair since sneakers *technically* are not considered "professional dress."  I refuse to play the NYC fashion game, I DESPISE shopping, and I highly doubt such "professional dress" appropriate shoes would ever accommodate the alien toenail babies coexisting within my wide runner's feet that are shaped more like ducks than like classic homosapien females.  These particular sneakers, Brooks' mostly minimalist Green Silence, are men's/unisex (I wear men's 9) with a very rounded toe box.  They also remind me of my track spikes from high school. 

Anyways, I always get some satisfaction in looking at the wear patterns of the old pain as compared to the fresh new pair.  The old pair has been going strong since August.  I left the new pair at work so that they won't get soiled by NYC streets, and on days that I walk to work I'll still walk in the old pair and change once I arrive.  (For those who don't know, NYC can turn a pair of shoes into a gray version of themselves in about a month.  Check anyone who loves to walk in flip flops -- their feet are always equally as soiled.)

First few days of the rotation went well.  Patient diagnoses included peroneal/fibularis tendonitis, osteoarthritis, low back pain, cerebral palsy, multiple sclerosis, spinal cord injury, stroke, spina bifida, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehig's disease).  My CI is very laid back and allows a decent amount of autonomy while at the same time indulging all my questions and curiosities.  There'll be a lot to learn this summer.

Today I returned to the Long Path in New Jersey for my long run, which turned out to be 17.3 miles.  The weather finally cooled off to expected levels, which made for a much more pleasant run than any of the last two weeks.  All the foliage on the Long Path was also thriving.  Many stretches seemed more like bushwhacking, or occasionally like I was running through the backwoods of Iowa City during college.  Best part was feeling at ease -- no exams to study for, no papers to write, no school politics, no stress!  A girl could get used to this regular schedule and free weekend stuff....

Watch where you sit

This week has been filled with transitions.   Tuesday was the comprehensive exam, Wednesday kicked off our summer affiliations (to describe via simile, affiliations : PT school :: rotations : med school), and Thursday two kittehs [sic] became a part of the family.   Merus is the larger of the two, with a solid tabby coloring on her back, and Sadie is the smaller one and has half a white stripe transversing half her waist.  For the first hour they made haste to sniff every corner and scurry across every possible area regardless of height.  Sadie then started asking for attention while Merus started looking out the window during calmer moments or snuggling away under my bed comforter if things picked up, as is each of their normal personality.  They were still a bit out of sorts, but I expected them to hide for at least a day or two.  Instead they kept me up until 1:30 this morning by knocking things onto the floor.

Miss Sadie

Where did the names come from?  The origins are rather nerdy, to be honest (but what else is new...).  Merus is taken from the latter half of Brontomerus, a dinosaur whose name stands for "thunder thighs" and has a particularly good kick.  Sadie is from the latter half of Palisades, my local forested refuge just across the Hudson River where I often take my long runs.

I found out their back story -- their mom was feral when they were born 3 years ago, and Anjellicle Cats adopted out the litter while spaying and releasing the mom.  A woman gave them a good home for two and a half years, but then got a boyfriend who was allergic enough that she gave them back to the shelter.

Merus (the blob beneath the covers on the left) and Sadie, as they are often found.

The volunteer in charge of their account at the shelter is going to email me a copy of their medical records.  They got a full medical workup and have been spayed.  Tests have shown nothing is wrong with their eyes except for frequent tearing, hence the slight discoloration extending from the nasal portion of their eyes.  But I wonder, because there is a reddish tint to the tears, as you can tell by the little bit of tear goop on Merus (see below).  I'm cleaning them as needed, and I'm keeping an eye on their progress, but I'm going to look into vets to make sure there's no greater reason.  Not sure if it started before or after they entered the shelter, so not sure if its a byproduct of stress.

Better watch where you sit.... (photo taken by Nathan)

They are acclimating rather well.  Just need to figure out what kind of toys they like.  Kittehs!  Yea!

Hoping I don't jinx this one....

Have been itching to add a cat or two to my humble home.  There was potential for kittens from a feral mama in Queens.  The home owners went through an organization specializing in feral cats.  They spay and release the mama cat from the original environment, and they board kittens until they can be fixed at 8 weeks and adopted out in pairs or into houses with current cats.  Turns out the shelter is some 40 miles out on Long Island, based out of Massapequa, NY.  It would take some two and a half hours to get there (subway to the Long Island Rail Road and then walking to the location) since I do not have a car and rentals in NYC cost a minimum of $125 per day plus gas.  I was going to visit the kittens and decide a) if I like their vibe, b) if they like my vibe, and c) which ones I actually might want.  Yet I didn't have 3/4 of a day to burn just to decide if I wanted them.

If the kittens didn't work out I had plans to start looking in local shelters for adoptees.  (True local, as in Harlem, thank you very much!)  Friday I went to get preparatory supplies from the East Harlem PetSmart just because I had the time and needed a break from studying for the end-of-year comprehensive exam.  Was looking at the litter boxes, searching for an inexpensive but lidded model, and then I see a cat through a window along the back wall.  This particular PetSmart has a station for Anjellicle Cats, a fantastic city-wide organization that operates largely with volunteers and gives cats regular medical assistance and foster/adoption homes.  There were a dozen or so cats viewable through glass windows inside a closed off adoption area, and I left with strong suspicion of four of them based off their descriptions.

Yesterday they kept itching in the back of my head.  I emailed the kitten shelter again to ask for information, if I could visit (assuming the time worked out), etc.  Still heard nothing as of this morning.  Friends reassured me that kittens are easier to find homes for whereas older cats don't go so easily.  I knew this, but I felt bad because of getting my toe wedged into the door with the kittens.  Yet some of these cats drew me enough that I returned to PetSmart today with no preconceived ideas other than eventually wanting a feline friend.

Aaaaaaaand almost immediately these two stuck out.  Siblings, 3 years old, white and brown tabby mix, green eyes, very well adjusted, get along well with other cats and animals, good mix of cuddle and play.  Currently named Mary Kate and Ashley, which will most likely get changed.  They remind me of Tigger and Tinkerbell, my parents' cats that they got when I was ten.  From three kids handling them since kitten-hood they would soften when lifted and were always calm.  If a cat is okay being picked up then I like to go nose to nose, and each of them turned out to be head butters!  Oh my.  I swooned.  I stayed for almost two hours, talking with the volunteers who know the cats rather well and playing with six of the available cats to be fair and to get a good idea.  These two kept coming over to me.  I knew I'd take at least one of them.  Mark Kate ended up sticking her nose over to watch me fill out the entire adoption form (see below), while Ashley held down the cat tunnel two feet away (again, see below).  I ended up applying for both.

Here's hoping I hear back soon.