Permanent press kitteh

The whole valley has been running on too few cylinders since the Supermoon started to form into its giant and bright self, but the end result has been everyone turning in endless circles rather than simply puttering to a stop.  The hospital census has been busting at the seams, and with many psychosocially complex cases.  I entered work on Monday to find eight evals to complete within four hours.  They take an average of one hour per eval when considering all the steps.  (Chart review, check with nurse, check with social work, find equipment needed, perform eval, find extra equipment like chair alarms, find and tell nurse updates, find and tell social work discharge plan/needs, ...and then finally document).  I had to call in backup and get three covered by other therapists when they had time in the afternoon, and luckily a couple ended up not needing PT. 

This morning got off to an odd start from the get-go.  Nathan had a work meeting in Colorado Springs all day and decided to wake up early to drive to/from the same day in lieu of staying at a hotel the night before.  To be at the meeting at 8 a.m. he had to wake up at 3:30.  To his credit, he did so without needing to be punched awake by me.  And he even ran the clothes drier an extra time.  I got up at my customary 4:20 a.m. and managed a brief and groggy exchange before he left at 4:35.  He is only up that early a few times a year for races, but seemed rather alert.  I was impressed.  If only he'd join me as an early riser more often.

And so at 5:15 I was in the bathroom prepping for my run.  Heard scratches from behind the washer/drier, muttered to myself about another mouse.  Last time Sadie actually ate the ENTIRE mouse while we were away for the day, only to then come home two days later to a bowel explosion of mouse body parts across the kitchen floor when it finally forced its way through the other end.  I didn't want to go through that again.  She is not a big cat to be pulling such shenanigans. 

The scratching then seemed louder, and not necessarily from the back corner of the room.  I glanced over again. 

Merus was inside the drier.  Door closed.  Pawing at the window.

See below.

Apparently when Nathan grabbed whatever he needed after the dry cycle Merus then jumped inside.  She was mostly happy to be in a pile of still-warm fresh laundry, but after being in there an hour she wanted to be pet.  Because what else would you want as a feline. 

At least he didn't re-start the drier.  And good thing I found her before leaving for an hour-plus run and then to work.

(And of course I had to take a photo while laughing uncontrollably before letting her out.)

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.

Frog kick

That's all Merus could do last night after a visit to the vet for recurrence of symptoms yielded five more extractions, this time for the back two mandibular molars on each side and one canine.  During the month off from the vet I was able to increase her weight from 6.8 pounds up to 7.3 pounds, so she tolerated the surgery well.  Dr. P called her "a strong little kitty." 

This time I not so subtly reminded Dr. P that no one had taken x-rays to look into things further, because looking in her mouth reveled infections but we always ended up back at the vet a month later.  If you have every seen a human dental xray of an abscessed tooth, where the white tooth has a dark and hazy splotch where the roots fit in, this was very similar.  Once pulled apparently there was quite a foul smell, as is wont for infections.  And, she very likely has stomatitis in the gums behind the original, rear-most tooth bed.

In hindsight, our original vet who performed June's maxillary extractions had noted an "itty bitty" dot of gum involvement on one of the mandibular back teeth that would likely clear up with the antibiotics so she left it alone.  Thinking back, I want to believe that it was simply missed or that it was subtle enough in the mandibular teeth that its significance was misinterpreted.  But I also wonder if they capped the surgery at those seven maxillary teeth because they had already surpassed the payment estimate of "as many as six" teeth.  But I'm not going to worry about that now.

Instead, I'm going to worry about the wobbly legged, operetta chirping, voracious mini monster that comes with newfound pain relief.  Last night when we got home she had no use of her legs since the anesthesia was still wearing off.  But that did not stop her from trying.  This is all she had: 

Nathan and I were in absolute stitches for the first few minutes from her little dainty-paw air wafts.  Then it became a little sad when she just wouldn't stop.  Five minutes later and she'd make it a couple feet farther from somehow righting herself enough to plop over onto her other side but make it forward a smidge.  I kept trying to make a soft, welcoming spot on the floor so she wouldn't, say, fall off the bed when we weren't looking.  Kitty bed by the radiator, kitty bed tucked under a chair, towels folded up, towels spread out since ten minutes later she kept righting and falling, righting and falling.

Once assured that she was on the ground but away from unstable objects I turned my attention to putting away a few groceries, then turned around to find her fore legs on the lip of the litter box, hind legs frog splayed and wafting away on the floor.  So I gave a little hind leg lift, helped her climb inside.  Luckily this was the clean litter box since with whole pine chunks, for those who don't know, they always leave one unused while absolutely destroying the other, and I was worried of her face planting into and aspirating used litter.  She landed frog splayed again, unsuccessfully tried a few times to change position and got perfectly still.  Heard only one tinkle, which means the pee did not have far to fall.  Sure enough, thirty seconds later she was calm when picked up and had pee all over her frog splayed parts.  

As I clean her off with the washcloth I realize just how similar this is to working with patients in acute care, be it medication fog or difficulty with getting to the bathroom physically or something like dementia with fluctuating incontinence.  Pump them full with IV fluids and you've got a mismatched continence challenge.  Except this time I facilitated the continence of my cat.  And through all that she managed to not go anywhere else except the litter box.  Attaboy, girl.

This morning she can jump onto the counter and make it a majority of the time after a momentary foreleg mantle.  And she is voracious.  She even took a lick of my coffee in desperation while I prepared her food as fast as I could.  Not a suitable option, in her opinion.  Chirping and wagging and giving her sister hell.  Nice to have that back.

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.

11 days

Eleven days until the 40,000+ sized flash mob that is the marathon.  Mission for the next week and a half: keep calm and carry on.

A coworker says I cannot go by "Ms." once married.  Apparently I have to go by "Mrs."  Why?  Because Mrs. means you are nice, while Ms. means you are not nice.  I make pointless arguments about wanting my "title" *ahem* to reflect me as an individual rather than "Mrs. [Husband's first and last name]."  And since she cannot remember Nathan's last name, her attempts always end up rhyming with my last name.  The hyphened version ends up being "Buckles-Ruckles."  I actually think its cute.  New nickname, it seems. 

Merus had her two-week checkup with the new vet.  She responded very well to the antibiotics, the infection is gone, her gums are the closest to a normal pink since who knows when, and she has voraciously eaten her way back to a realistic (albeit still somewhat light) weight.  Plan: symptom management if/when they arise in the future.  Gingivitis, when chronic like her's, tends to be chronic regardless, so that's the best thing to do since amputating their entire mouth is not an option.  So far so good.  Last night she tried to steal away with homemade chickpea-lentil-curry crackers.  Crackers.  Seriously.

October has brought much of the rain we could have used over the summer.  And we've had genuine autumn weather for more than the usual two weeks.  Love it :)  But when it isn't raining, the moisture in the air has produced some lovely sunrises and sunsets, like this (worth it in full size):

Not back for the camera on my phone, right?

We've created a monster

Merus's gingivitis came back with a fury.  The previous vet (Dr. O), who did her extractions in June, was either unable or unwilling to figure out why the screams and food sensitivity and weight loss secondary to not eating were occurring again.  So she's seeing a new vet (Dr. P).

The difference is significant.

Instead of limiting the evaluation to a 2 second glimpse in her mouth that sends her screaming off into the corner in pain, Dr. P sedated her to get an actual and thorough look at the entirety of her mouth.  Findings: continued raging gingivitis and some ulcer-like lesions on her gums secondary to infection, weight had dropped to 6.8 pounds (she was 9 pounds when first adopted in June 2011, 7.5 pounds after her extractions in June 2012), and significant dehydration (skin tenting! gah!).  She got an IV while she was out to rehydrate.  Instead of a pain med via oral liquid 2 to 3 times per day (buprenex, which makes her live in an opioid fog, not to mention is time sensitive and thus lapses with pain breakthrough because of being gone at work and/or from her hiding where I couldn't find her - can you tell I wasn't a fan?) on top of an oral antibiotic, we now have a long lasting pain shot performed in office and a once daily oral antibiotic.

I never knew a 30-day lasting pain shot existed.  I would have laughed in your face if you had claimed such before this.  But it works.  Magnificently.  It's not meant to be a human convenience.  Rather, it makes SO much more sense in terms of maintaining good pain control for an animal.  They don't understand the idea of a medication schedule, or the importance of consuming the entire therapeutic dose.  Now instead of 4 or 5 oral affronts per day to allow her to eat, Merus has only one antibiotic dosage per day.  BIG difference when their mouths are the source of pain and the method of medication administration. 

The other difference is Dr. P's office recommended using baby food so that it is super smooth.  I'd been mashing wet food to smithereens with water added to try to make it easy to lap up, but with mixed results.  Baby food is ridiculously smooth.  And our cheap-and-crusty-but-nearby grocery stores carry a few meat in meat gravy purees varieties.

The combination of everything has worked so well, in fact, that it has created a monster.  Sadie will start meowing for food within an hour or so of feeding time.  Now Merus will meow all day long.  Walk by the kitchen area?  Mrrrowww.  Stand up from the bed (the farthest away you can be in this apartment from the kitchen)?  Mrrrowww.  Change out laundry loads from the washer?  Mrrrowww.

Look up from your computer?  Mrrrowww.  

Phone rings?  Mrrrowww.

Pick up your soup spoon while eating lunch at work 1.2 miles away?  Mrrrowww.

Turn over in your sleep?  Mrrrowww.

Her meals are ~150 calories per meal since she is underweight.  For reference, an 8 lbs cat needs ~115 per meal to maintain weight.  And yet no matter the calories or the volume consumed she is friggin' insatiable.  The litter box is all kinds of extra stinky these days.

After dinner last night I heard glass clinking while in the bedroom.  Investigation found this:

Nathan has pulled her out of the bin not five minutes later.  Cute that he thought placing a towel over the top would deter her.  

We are just starting the second week of the two-week antibiotic course.  We go in for a check up on Monday so see how things have progressed and to decide what the next course should be.  My guess is significant interventions will be needed, because while she was sedated at the first visit Dr. P did the blood work necessary prior to surgery.  But that will be determined in time.

For now I just have to deal with having two Bad Cats....

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. 

Hot again

NYC got up to 98 today.  Not as bad as I expected.  Changing clothes and showering two to three times as much, but do-able.  Especially when you look at what the rest of the country has had the last few days.

This morning when I left for another day fraught with banging my head against various study materials I found Merus tucked inside a litter box.  Luckily this was the clean, unused box.  

11:30 a.m.  'Sup, human.

Later, after four hours of swearing, flailing arms, growling and head thumping (read: studying) amongst the babies and crazies at Whole Foods, I came home to find her still content within the pine nubbins. 

4:00 p.m.  Still there.

Whatever works, I suppose.

Less teeth, more silly

First a quick 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.  He's up to 10% of his fundraising goal.  Remember, every small donation (even $5 or $10) helps more than you think.

*****

Thursday was a big day for Miss Merus.  She finally undergwent extractions for pronounced gingivitis that was unresponsive to numerous conservative treatments attempted since January.  The only thing that did show promise was prednisolone, though she cannot tolerate the treatment as it caused a nasty flare up of her left eye.  (She and Sadie have benign feline virus that is usually benign with minimal symptoms, but when kitteh is immunocompromised it wreaks utter havoc.  In Merus's case an otherwise minimal eye discharge turned into copious drainage, dark red sclera/conjunctiva, and swollen shut.)

The last few weeks of waiting for surgery have been just shy of torcher for poor Merus, with Buprenex pain killer to get her through.  Eating was an ordeal.  She no longer came to food since the visual or sound of the food bowl was enough to trigger pain by association and send her diving for cover.  It took a minimum of 10 minutes for the whole process of finding her, minimizing distractions, and tricking her to eat before her brain figured it out.  Probably the only benefit of being in the post-school pre-job limbo land is ample time for taking care of my ailing kitteh.  Well, that and studying for the licensure exam, but you know what I mean.


The extraction estimate included 4-6 maxillary (upper) molars.  When they called with an update as she started to recover from surgery, I was not surprised at all to hear that they actually pulled seven teeth.  The gingivitis was nasty and warranted removal of all six aforementioned molars, three on each side, though those teeth were themselves in okay shape, considering.  The seventh tooth was the rear mandibular (lower) molar on the left.  It had a major cavity that nearly went all the way through.  Neither the vet nor I had seen any evidence of it because Merus never let us get an actual good look into her mouth.  Likely the reason why pain meds had such a limited effect the week leading up to surgery.

Now that the teeth are out she is like a whole new cat.  Some discomfort, some loopiness induced by continued pain meds, but she actually seeks out food voluntarily and is amazingly more social.  Giving her the pain meds is much less of a process.  It seems the pain of recovery is less than the pain of her gum/tooth disease.

Thank. Good. Ness.

The evening following surgery - already a whole new kitteh.  You can kinda make out the little square shaved off her right arm for the IV.

I have a feeling that a second goofy troublemaker is soon to be unleashed.  Already Merus is knocking stuff over (living up to her full Brontomerus name) and is sidewinding like Sadie is wont. 

The original troublemaker, exhibit A, while trying to give Merus her pain meds.

Exhibit B.  Followed soon by more chewing on non-edibles.  *Sigh*

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? 

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.

Nearly a third cat.

After having balled it together.

In celebration of an early spring.

My research group-mates and I were in the computer lab at school until 10:45 last night.  We started ~10:30am.  The last 3.5 hours were all editing, the four of us around a monitor with the Word document enlarged, slooooowly scrolling and making whatever changes we could catch.  Meaning: the final draft of the paper of evilness is done.  Hazzah! 

Didn't get home until just before midnight, didn't get to bed until close to 1am (apparently my third or fourth wind was kicking strong).  Woke at 7:30 this morning simply unable to sleep in, and found the temperature already in the low 60s with sun for miles.  Did a bunch of errands on foot while wearing shorts and a tee with the sleeves rolled up.  If it didn't hit 70 it certainly got close.  At a point I realized -- I didn't have to sit in front of a computer at all today, except if by choice for my own frivolous reasons.  The first day since last August where that was the case.  Oooooh my, did I relish the feeling!  I take the weather change as a personal omen than the paper, the close of the previous affiliation and upcoming start of the next (last!) affiliation are all headed in the right direction. 

To further celebrate the heat, I tackled Merus with the Furminator for a measly five minutes, and that pile pictured above was the result.  It was about two inches thick.  BEST cat investment EVER.  I think Merus lost a few pounds in the process as well.  I swear we nearly gained a kitten.  Tomorrow, Sadie.

Raisin in the sun

Affiliation #3 is complete.  I celebrated with just enough light cleaning to satiate my gotta-clean-and-purge-way-overdue-going-bonkers-but-need-to-clean-for-sanity nerves.  The icing on the cake was going to bed early, before 10pm.  That makes me much happier than it logically should.  This is Merus after returning home from Wednesday's follow-up with the vet.  I'd say that's about how I feel right now, sans the lumberjack purr (sawing away).

(via the craptastic camera on my outdated phone)

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.