blank'/> The Libe ob Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Leebeen' wage y bedhair worgh carndeetions

Seeck? I was nard seeck!? I was arn Strighe!

When a cad strighes, he strighes.

Now thad my deman's hab been med (toogh a larng forgheen' time - managemen' ees berber' stobborn, also stupeed), the Wooman  taghe to hor bed. Whad ees orp weeeth thad?

Y where are my treads?

Pee ess: I HADE EGGS!

Saturday, October 18, 2014

I'm steell standeen'...

...Sì, Sì, Sì!

Por those ob you lookeen' porwar' to the gran' funeral weeth the seex fad rads draggeen' my carriage eens stade down 5th Abenue, you hab to waid.

Arn Sonday the Wooman though' I was goeen' to die. Sonday nigh' she deed a lard ob readeen' arn the carmpudehair. Also, I theenk she pray to hor ancestor (porque deed she waid???).

Arn Mornday the Wooman started to feed me the KAKA potassium gel, TumilK. She biolade my rides by force-injecteen' eento my mouth. Three times a day! Ad fors I bide hor, har', then I realize eef I yos swallow queeck, eed is ober.

Arn Tuesday I star to ead un pequeno mas. Also my terreeble leemp is geddeen' bedhair.

Arn Wednesday I ead a leedle more, mucho raw cheecken leeber, by han', como siempre.

Arn the Thorsday my leemp ees garn y I star' to ead some Tiki Cheecken y Wile Salmon. Frarm a bowl! Y two portions of cheecken leeber (before was maybe one worn a day, manymany tiny pieces).

Arn Friday, hole' arnto your hads, I made YOMPA arnto the bed y woghe the Wooman orp. I ead beeg deesh of raw steagh (teell now, muy kaka), feeneesh my Tiki y star' my Nature's Eensteenct Benison. Also, now my glucose rise' y I ged forgheen' Eensuleen shart por fors' time in larng-larng time.

Today, Satorday, I maghe yompa arnto the bed again, Waghe orp! Feed me! So far I ead two cans ob food. Que rico.

My coad ees lookeen goo', I yam feelleen' good. The Wooman y the Frenchman (they are crazy) wonder eef eed ees "too good to be true." Stupeed humans. Also, they cancel my ved appoinmen' por yesserday because they say they wan' me to ged more strong before I go - the stress ees bad por me.

So I go neghs weegh por blord tes'. Forgh.

The Wooman tell me e-e-e-e-eberbardy ees theenkeen' abou' me.

Gracias a todos.

I yam steell here.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

State of the Feline Speech


This is not the cat. It is the Wooman. I haven't felt able to write because there has been no good news, but in the last two days he has been doing better.

These five weeks have been a rough roller coaster with the kitty. I know the date precisely because his health took a downward swing on September 6th, the day after a dinner party on the terrace. He was there with us, that night, begging for bits of lamb from friends, very happy. Later, walking through the dark bedroom on my way to bed, I collided with him accidentally, kicking him. He is black. I didn't see him. The next day (after some earlier warning signs) his litter box habits changed, and he stopped eating.

I reported that to the vet when we took him, but on examination they found no correlation between his condition and my kick. But I remember. On that vet visit he was X-rayed, sonogrammed and his blood was drawn, and based on tests a diagnosis of diabetes was given. We returned for a re-examination, diabetes lecture and instructions, and insulin was started.

The litter tray was a perplexing mix and match of painful constipation and diarrhea. Fun.

Really, really not fun.

I'll skip the excruciating detail of the inbetween bits of some weeks, where his glucose levels went from vaguely elevated to normal to super-high, where he was on-insulin, off-insulin, and fast forward to now, where he has not had it for a week, and glucose is fine.

As far as I can tell, his occasional diabetes is just a symptom of something else. True to form, Estorbo has something special.

What ails him may be related to the enlarged adrenal gland, and perhaps his low potassium levels (hypokalemia) are more causative than I realized - that last alone has a list of symptoms which fit Estorbo quite well. But initially we were all focused on diabetes. I guess you have to start somewhere.

He was rallying until a week ago, voluntarily eating canned food well (two small, 3oz cans a day! seems like years ago), and putting on some of the weight he lost. Then last week he stopped eating again, and turned wobbly on his legs after a few days. The most he would eat at the worst times would be 15 treats (only 1-2 calories each; somebody needs to develop a super-calorie treat for very ill cats).

I actually said goodbye to him a few nights ago. I thanked him for being such an excellent cat, and felt we could not go on like this. I realized how terrible it is to watch a creature suffer. Or perhaps, how terrible it is to feel helpless. I am a fixer, a doer, and when everything you do is not good enough and doesn't fix it, you feel despair.

I thought we would lose him. But I kept waking him up every few hours to feed him one treat, or one sliver of liver. I brushed him very gently, and that always made him purr. When he started to get up then, and and rub against furniture, I knew things were improving.

The last two days have been much better. He has woken me to help him get on the bed, then has put his nose in my face and has pawed me till I got up, with exaggerated purring. What has changed is that I have found I can give him his Tumil K - a potassium gel supplement - by syringe, in the mouth. He hates it, but I wish I had thought of this earlier; till then he'd have none of it. "Palatable," my foot. Or his foot. I had been rubbing it on his feet and he would just leave it there. Poor cat. He would not even wash it off.

Perhaps the supplement is helping. His appetite is returning, his coat is looking good for the first time in months. He blinks at us slowly and lovingly. He looks up, instead of at the floor, glassily, or lies stretched out, rather than hunching on the balls of his feet with his shoulder blades sticking out.

Chicken liver, piece by piece

Most of his meals are still fed by hand. One piece at a time. Chicken liver is tops. Fillet mignon is kaka. Ditto ground beef. Ditto every kind of top notch canned food imaginable. Today he ate some Hill's pellets, on his own (rejected Wellness: super-kaka). Frankly, right now we don't care what he eats as long as he eats. If he wanted buttery snails in their shells he'd get buttery snails in their shells.

He is seeing Dr Slade on Friday, for more blood tests. I have no idea what they can tell us.

This cat has been through so much (so have we! and you!). The broken jaw, before I adopted him; the urethral blockages and kidney issues (till I figured out that his pellets should be fed to him IN water - canned food did not help; the mysterious, obsessive licking where he made patches his arms bald and had to wear shirts (as well as some..uh, other interesting outfits); then the hyperthyroidism and the radiation, and now, this new...thing. It took us by surprise.

Forgive the long cat story.  He is my friend. And I love him. And I know some of you care about him very much, too.

It is pouring with rain as I write. It has been very dry, for very long.

Surely that is good sign.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Doan' call me boreen'

Sleepeen' after treep to ved las' weegh.

Call me loco, bod doan' call me boreen,' Ok? Ok.

The Wooman ees sayeen' bad theen's about my parentage. Sormtheen' como "eenbreedeen' " y "defecteeb."

Forgh. I yam nard defecteeb.

Eef you beeseet my Fazebooh page by now you know thad I , Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicanaheearmerooareeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...hab a new y eenteresteen' disease. Bod whad eed ees, we doan' really know.

We do know eed ees nard typhoid [Editor: hyperthyroidism]. Thad was feexed by the kaka-I-doan'-wan'-to-theenk-abou'-deed-radiation las' May, 2013. Si. I know you all remembair thad.

Now, Dr Slade ad VERG say I yam diabeteec. Porquewhy? Porque my fructose lebels are high.

Bod also - because I yam a gato berber' eenteresteen' y unique, I yab ber' enlarge' adrenal glan'. Also my heard ees areethmeec. Also, I am loseen' weighd y nard eadeen: yos many tiny pequeno meals ob steagh, feesh, leeber, treats en agua, yogur', anytheen' the Wooman can maghe me ead. Thees star' ten days ago (the nard-bein'-hongree). I yam yos nard hongry. Ees strange por a diabolic [Editor: diabetic!] cad, whad ees usually a beeg fad peeg. I yam gedeen' theen. ALSO, my bag legs are pequeno warbly y now my fron' legs are loogheen' fonny ad the wreests when I stand orp straighd. They ben'! The Wooman say maybe thees ees Feline Diabetic Neuropathy. Forgh.

Now I yab forgheen' STEBS to help me clime!

Whad. The. Forghe?

So whaddarewegonna do?

Dr Slade say we mos corm een again for lesson ob eensuleen' eenjections. I yam habeen fear for thees. Anorder treep to Brookleen, all een worn weegh. Ad leas' I can trabel een the new, attracteeb florffy barx (see whad happen to the ole'one! Forgheen' onnatractteeb grey barx) The Smoothman y the Wooman steeckeen' needles een me. Por whad?

Whad deed I do to desorb thees?

Eed's libe say the Wooman, Sometime' libe is berber' sheetty, y eed owes you no essplanation.

Bod today try to essplain to you.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Cadge your own mouse

Ees sayeen' the Wooman to me, Estorbo, we hab un pequeno mouse problem.

Y she loogh ad me.

Mouse, I say. Whad ees "mouse?"

Small forry creature onder de floor, she say.

So? I say.

Also onder the freedge, she say.

Oh, I say, Si, I hear' scratcheen' noise onder the freedge. Eed corm frarm downstairs through hole. Ees many holes onder the floor.

Whadebber, she say. Can you cadge eed?

Me? No.


Como? She say. You are a cad!

Forgheen' Einstein, I say.

You mos' cadge eed!

No forgheen' way, I say. Mouse ees dordy, eed no wash eeds feed. I ged forr een my mouth.  Kaka.

You are FIRE! she says.

Bide me, I say.

Bod I maghe carmpramise, I say: Whad eef I geeb you muy especial, muy rico, muy sabroso peanod bodhair por trab?

...Blordy cad, she say.

Ged ober eed, I say. I yam retire'.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

My pardy

Ees my borthday.  I gard geef's.  Treads. Fancy food weeth candle (born my forgheen' wheeskairs).  Cad scratch mad weeth cadneep (maghe me ANGREE!). Ribe peaches frarm Nuevo Jorsey. Spreengbok rogby shor'. Reebons.

I yab no forghen' idea how ole' I yam. Feefteen. They say.