Rattling around

I’ve got all this stuff rolling around in my head lately, but I can’t quite make sense of it. I can’t even see what it is, really. I feel like there’s this part of my mind that’s obscured, like I can only get a glimpse if I don’t look directly at it. I know it wants to find a way out of here, though, because I’ve been remembering my dreams lately. That generally happens only when my mind is full and can’t handle all the weird shit it produces on its own without some sort of intervention from my mouth or fingers to get it all out.

I always think I’m a great compartmentalizer until I start remembering my dreams. Then everything runs together and I realize that compartmentalization, for the most part, is bullshit. Everything is intertwined.

Anyway, I’m not really at the point in my dreams where I can tell what’s going on upstairs yet, but the dreams are coming fast and plentifully. I really need to keep a journal by my bed so that I can write down anything I remember as soon as I wake up. It all fades so quickly—I had an entire dream on the tip of my tongue this morning but as soon as I started recounting it, it escaped me. I could actually hear myself forgetting it as I spoke, and now all I remember is that I’d found a journal belonging to Carole King and unlocked the secret of who she wrote all of her sad songs about. The name was unfamiliar to me, but I don’t remember it now. I guess it doesn’t matter.

Maybe the dream was telling me that I need to get better about writing down my thoughts. Or maybe it was hinting that I shouldn’t write my thoughts down because one day someone unessential to my life will find them and share in my secrets undeservedly and then forget them, as though they don’t matter.

Maybe it was my subconscious telling me to write down my dreams.

How meta.

Making the most of the time we have left

Gordo is dying. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with him—he’s been poked and prodded and had enough blood drawn to make the Red Cross vampires jealous, but all of his blood work has come back normal. He’s in great health for a 15-year-old cat, the vet says. But he’s lost several pounds in the last few years, and two of those pounds were lost in the last three months.

In November he had some digestive issues, so I took him to see the vet (who is a wonderful cat-only vet that we love). She noticed that his thyroid could be felt through his throat and suggested some routine bloodwork. That all came back fine, and after a couple days on some medicine his issues cleared up and he seemed back to normal, though still thin.

Then the Sunday before Christmas, he had a seizure. We caught the whole thing on video, weirdly enough, because at the time it happened Ian and I were in the living room setting up our new Dropcam. We weren’t sure exactly what happened until we went back and watched the clip, and being able to save a clip of the episode and show the vet helped her diagnose the seizure.

But man, it was scary. We were futzing with the Dropcam when Gordo came running into the living room with a piece of paper in his mouth (he’s obsessed with crinkly paper), and Stella came in after him. He turned and swatted at her like he always does, and she reached up and popped him on the top of the head (she flails her paws when she thinks the cats want to play, though she usually doesn’t make contact). He hissed and walked away from her, and then circled around to the side of the coffee table to hop up on it. But his hind legs wouldn’t let him jump. He walked in a little circle near the couch and then fell down, his hind legs twitching but unable to support him.

We heard him meow and that’s when I noticed he was laying down on the ground, drooling, dazed and unable to move. My first thought was that Stella had done something to him (not on purpose, but she is larger than him) so I hollered for Ian to get her out of the room. I touched his back toes, and when he made no reaction I got really scared. He absolutely hates his feet being touched, so this was a bad sign. I petted his head for a while, sure that this was the end.

He stared straight ahead for what seemed like 10 minutes but was probably only 45 seconds, and then all of a sudden he snapped out of it. He looked up at me, confused but alert, and then slowly stood up. He limped around for a few seconds, and I decided to see if he would eat some treats (my idea of how sick my cats are always hinges on whether they will eat or drink readily). He did—in fact, he ate them like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Then he limped around a bit more, but after about an hour he was back to normal. He jumped up on the table and then to the couch and laid on my lap, purring and content once again.

At the vet’s office the following Tuesday, she reviewed the clip I’d brought and determined that the way his body acted physically, combined with him seeming dazed and then snapping out of it, plus being ravenous after the whole ordeal, indicated that he’d had a seizure. But since it was only a one-time thing, she didn’t want to treat him with anti-seizure medication. She drew blood to do a full thyroid panel, which then came back negative again, and she noted we might not ever know what caused the seizure.

I asked her if the dog popping him on the head could have caused it, but she and her staff doubted it. For one, Stella would have had to hit him really hard to cause any kind of event, and she just tapped him. Our vet said if we wanted to really try to attribute it to the dog, maybe his adrenaline was going because she was near him and he doesn’t like her, and then when he had trouble jumping that increased his adrenaline again and he just got kind of overloaded. So I’m thankful that she doesn’t think Stella was the cause, at least not directly.

Ugh, and my heart broke watching the clip from the Dropcam. As soon as Gordo fell down, Stella knew something was wrong. The other cats ran away, but not Stella. Before he even started crying out, Stella ran to him and sniffed his back legs, and when he meowed she immediately looked up to Ian, who was standing near them but not aware of the situation unfolding yet. And then our first instinct was to move her away from him, even though she was the first responder, so to speak. That cat punches Stella in the face every chance he gets, and she still loves him.

Anyway, there isn’t really anything we can do for Gordo. He’s taking a glucosamine supplement because he’s old and has been acting a bit stiff lately anyway, and I’m feeding him wet food once or twice a day to help keep his weight up (which BK is loving since she gets in on this as well). We woke up New Year’s Day and found he had vomit on his ear, which could indicate he’d had another seizure overnight, but who knows. I stopped by the vet’s office and she said she wants proof of another seizure before treating him, and I completely agree.

People have been telling me for a while to start preparing myself emotionally for his death, and I don’t think I was ready to do that until he had the seizure. But now I’m ready. I’m done poking and prodding him—my goal now is to make sure he is happy and comfortable. So he’s going to get all the wet food he can eat, plus some sips of beer (his old favorite) and bites of pizza crusts (his new favorite).

I’ve known this cat for 15 years and can read him better than I can most people. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, and when he’s ready to die he’ll die. My hope is that I won’t have to help him. For now, though, he’s still got some spark left. He’s still running around after balls of paper, having Wrestlemania with King Boo, and he’s still snuggling under my chin every night when I go to sleep.

Cats are funny in that they can be so attached to people yet still so independent and in tune with nature and their instincts. It’s like they straddle this line of a certain existence, as though they live in a sort of purgatory—caught between their true nature and the nature of humans. In the end, though, nature claims all of us, regardless of who or what we are. And we can’t fight that, no matter how hard we try.