My Scout, My Shadow

Since Scout has been sick she’s barely left my side. When I sit, she sits. Where I walk, she follows. When I stand, she tries to coax a treat out of me. Treats are currently forbidden.

She’s so sweet. I’m not going to complain about her attempts at coercion, but I’m not going to give in to her demands, either.

Scout’s gone more than three days now without a treat, and today was a great day with no puking. I’m hoping we’ve turned Vomit Corner and are now on Wellness Street. Fingers crossed.

Peace, people.

Grace and Frankie

Netflix might be addictive. After Studly Doright and I semi-binged both seasons of MindHunter, we looked at each other, and simultaneously asked, “What next?”

So many recommendations have been offered that we are almost overwhelmed. Having watched a couple of episodes of Stranger Things at a friend’s house, I knew I wanted to watch that series, and was fairly sure Studly would like it, too. We are several episodes in, and enjoying it, even though it’s a bit too scary for my husband’s taste.

Studly had to be out of town most of this week, and I couldn’t very well watch Stranger Things without him, so I chose a series I didn’t think he’d be crazy about, namely Grace and Frankie.

In two days I’ve watched two seasons. It’s so good that I can’t find a stopping point. Studly will be home this afternoon, so I know I’ll have to put it on a back burner for a few days. But, until he arrives, no phone calls.

Peace, people!

Scout: The Inside Scoop

Our 15-year-old cat, Scout, has been under the weather the last couple of weeks.

To look at her you wouldn’t think there’s a thing wrong. She is as playful and loving as ever. Her bowel movements are normal, thanks for asking. However, she pukes. A lot. A portion of everything she eats makes a reappearance within 30-40 minutes of ingestion. Poor baby!

I took her to see the vet a week ago, and all of her vitals were normal. The doc suggested that we stop giving Scout her favorite treats to see if they were too much for her elderly system. Scout did not appreciate giving up her treats. She begged and wheedled and several times convinced Studly Doright to break the rules. I’m made of stronger stuff. I only gave in once.

This afternoon I took my Scout for a follow up visit. She’d lost a half a pound, and for a 10 pound cat that’s significant. I told the vet that Scout’s still puking a bit after every meal even without treats. She took some x-rays, and the great news is there’s no tumor.

However, one of her kidneys is smaller than the other, and her liver has shrunk. Neither of these would result in her puking, though.

The vet said Scout might benefit from a change in diet, so we’re going to try something new. She also said that maybe we could consider an ultrasound.

This is where it gets tough. My girl is 15. That’s 76 in human years. Where do we take this from here? Do I stress my kitty out with multiple vet visits, poking, and prodding? Or do we enjoy her elder years with me cleaning up vomit several times a day? Right now I think we’ll see if the food makes a difference.

Like Scout, I’m elderly. I have undiagnosed digestive issues. I’ve drastically changed my diet, and still I’m dealing with some discomfort. That doesn’t keep me from enjoying my favorite treat from time to time.

Scout’s treats look like this:

Maybe I’ll sneak her one every now and then.

Peace, people.

By, Bye, or Buy the Book

Estate sales are often the places where I buy interesting vintage pieces, but sometimes I find not-so-old stuff that could use a new home. This past weekend the estate sale pickings were pretty slim, but I did find one item that I could put to use immediately.

I know, most of you probably believe, based on my impeccable mastery of the English language and the rules of grammar that dictate its proper usage, that I would have no need for such a book. Then again, if you managed to read that last mangled sentence you realize that no one on earth needs the book more than I do.

Even if I didn’t need it, I’d still have wanted it. Words are the building blocks of life, right? Forget all that cellular level stuff, words are what make the world go ’round. One can never know enough about words.

From the very first two pages of content I could tell that this would be a valuable book.

Just look at “a while” and “awhile.” How many times have I used the incorrect word? I shudder just thinking of all the awhiles I’ve substituted for a while, and vice verse. Oddly enough, vice versa isn’t in the book, even though I’ve often seen it spelled “visa versa”.

And how about this duo: nauseated and nauseous? I know I’m guilty of using them incorrectly ad nauseam.

Plus, there’s the pesky “nip it in the bud” versus the butt. It’s always bud, by the way. No one wants to deal with butt nipping. Well, they likely won’t admit to it anyway. That could be construed as being sensual. Or is it sensuous?

Surely I have the ability to internalize this information.

I might be in love with this book. Or at least I feel affection (not an affectation) for it.

As a bonus, this newspaper clipping was tucked inside the book. I think I’d have really liked the person to whom this book once belonged.

Also, who knew there was a Grammar Man?

This purchase just gets better and better.

Peace, people!

Behind the Green Door

Someone referenced old wooden doors yesterday and brought this old post to mind. It’s not great poetry, but I love the photo I took of this door in La Antigua de Guatemala.

https://nananoyz5forme.com/2015/04/27/door/

Snapshot #274

I found this little fellow at an estate sale today. If I’d been assured that he was house trained, I’d have purchased him.

I think I’ll call this one, Never Feed Him After Midnight, No Matter How Much He Begs.

The Pet Rock fad lasted about six months in 1975-76, and it made their creator, Gary Dahl, a millionaire.

Peace, people.

For the Love of Cat

Our eldest cat, Scout, is 15 years old. According to a calculator I found online at Catnip Times, that equates to 76 in human years.

https://www.thecatniptimes.com/learn/how-old-is-my-cat-in-human-years-calculator/

So, she’s no spring chicken, but she remains playful and seems to enjoy everything and everyone who comes into our home. She’s not crazy about Patches, her younger “sibling,” but she grudgingly accepts her just the same.

On Tuesday night I awakened to the sound of Scout coughing up a hair ball. That’s not all that unusual, so I turned over and went back to sleep. When I woke up on Wednesday morning I was dismayed to see cat puke everywhere. After I called the vet and made an appointment I spent the next hour looking all through the house for puddles of puke and cleaning them up. Scout didn’t seem all that distressed, but still I wanted to see what the vet would say.

Scout, nestled into her carrier, complained loudly during our brief drive to the veterinarian ‘s office. Her pleasant demeanor doesn’t extend to car rides of any length. We’d never visited this doctor, so I was as nervous as my kitty about what we’d encounter. I was even more nervous about what we might learn.

The facility is brand new.

And the interior was welcoming. They took Scout and me back to an exam room within just a few minutes.

The doctor was dealing with an emergency, so Scout and I waited for awhile. It was a sweet wait, though, as she nestled in my arms like a baby. Occasionally she’d look up for reassurance, and I’d soothe her with a few words.

When they examined her everything looked good. They took her back for blood work and a few other diagnostic tests. While I waited one of the assistants took me on a tour of the premises. It’s a state of the art facility, and is equipped with luxury boarding for dogs and cats. I wouldn’t mind staying in one of the kennels! Comfy beds and satellite tv in every room.

As we rounded a corner I spied Scout in one of the rooms. My eyes filled with tears–she just looked so vulnerable there with the doctor and her assistant bent over her. The doctor motioned for me to come in, and I realized that Scout was enjoying every minute of the attention. The doctor said she was probably the best cat patient they’d ever had.

Her blood work came back fine. She’s in excellent health for a cat of her age, but the doctor suggested switching her to a different food to see if that might help. So, after $300 in vet bills I learned that absolutely nothing is wrong with my baby. And I breathed a sigh of relief. I know that some day we’ll have to say goodbye to her, but thank goodness it wasn’t this day.

Peace, people.

Pardon Me, Ma’am

Monday was a day for misadventures. I chronicled the first of a trio of missteps in yesterday’s post: https://nananoyz5forme.com/2019/09/10/shoe-saga/

To save you from needing to read the link, here’s the short version: I left a shoe store wearing two different color shoes, and did not notice until the store called to inform me. I returned to the store, decided on an actual pair of shoes, and voila! See, I’m not always overly verbose.

After I left the shoe store I had a couple of hours to kill before meeting a friend to see the IT sequel. I ambled around Whole Foods for a bit and enjoyed an iced coffee on their patio. I still had more than enough time to drive to the mall where the theater is located and to shop at the Belk department store there before my friend arrived.

Since my shoe incident earlier in the day I steered clear of Belk’s shoe department, instead looking at fall dresses and blouses. I tried a couple of items on, but ultimately decided I’d spent enough money for one day. I walked out into the mall and was standing outside the theater reading movie posters when I heard a rather strident female voice calling, “Ma’am! Pardon me, Ma’am!”

Not thinking I was the ma’am being addressed I still looked over my shoulder to see who was being hollered at and who was doing the hollering. The hollerer was a clerk from Belk. And yes, as she ran up towards where I lingered in front of the poster for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, I realized I was indeed the ma’am in question.

When she reached me she came to a sudden stop and got this funny look on her face. “Oh,” said the woman. “It’s a bow. We thought, well, we thought you’d worn a shirt out of the store and that your bow was a tag.”

“You thought I’d shoplifted?” I asked.

“Well, it did look like tags dangling down your back as you left the store.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or be outraged. I could just imagine the clerks watching surreptitiously as I took blouses into the dressing room and then as I wandered through the store. The clerk muttered an apology and we parted ways.

My friend and I watched IT Chapter 2 in IMAX. I screamed loudly at least once, but it was a cathartic scream, resulting in giggles. Afterwards we had dinner and great conversation at a seafood place. She and I parted ways fairly early and headed to our respective homes.

I’d planned to stop by CVS on my way home, but instead decided to just hop on the interstate and save any more shopping for the next day. The entrance to I-10 west is literally less than two hundred yards from the seafood place, but I’d called Studly Doright as I left the restaurant and was so engrossed in hearing about his day that I got on the interstate going east.

So I had to drive three miles on I-10 east, exit onto Thomasville Road and immediately get on I-10 west. Fortunately traffic was nearly non-existent, and I’d only added ten minutes or so to my drive. Still, I felt like a complete idiot.

In one day I’d managed to walk out of a store wearing a mismatched pair of brand new shoes, been suspected of incompetent shoplifting, screamed like a little kid in a movie theater, and driven the opposite direction in my attempt to get home.

I had a glass of wine when I finally reached Doright Manor. And I slept in late on Tuesday morning. Surely, if I restrict the number of hours I’m awake I’ll have fewer opportunities to screw up.

Peace, people.