Deborah's Journal

Our tortoiseshell cat Cleopatra died peacefully on Saturday morning, most likely of congestive heart failure. We thought we'd lose her before Oka, but -- cranky old grandma kitty that she was -- she outlasted him. She spent her last night on a pillow between me and Dave.

She's the cat perched on my shoulder in the icon.

With Shakir:



Last winter, enjoying a nap on the sheepskin-lined basket:

Thanks so much for everyone's good wishes. They must have been powerful, because both Oka and Cleo are not only still with us, but are doing well.

Cleo's report is easier. I tinkered with her meds and she started eating. And eating. And eating her fool head off. She's noticeably heavier and more muscular, also stronger and steadier on her feet. She's due for her annual vet visit next month and we'll get a proper weight for her then. Meanwhile, she's moving about, sleeps on the pillow next to me, purrs (despite her deafness), and seems to be enjoying life.

Oka had a bad reaction to the first round of chemo maintenance (goal being to keep him in remission as long as possible). Vincristine, the agent, sometimes produced a condition called ileus or partial bowel obstruction. Poor puppy, he ended up severely dehydrated, then on IV fluids and a special diet. He's mostly bounced back (and is certainly eating well and has regained the weight he lost).

We saw the oncology vet yesterday and switched to vinblastine, in the same class of anti-mitotics, but with a much lower risk of ileus. So far, so good - we'll know by the weekend. The interesting thing about vinblastine and vincristine is that they're vinca alkaloids - from the periwinkle plant. You know, that ground cover with the pretty blue-purple flowers?

Cleo, true to her tortoiseshell personality, is still hanging in there. She's even perked up enough to eat a little. Rose and Marcie came over yesterday, and we all plied her with chicken liver treats. She still has trouble getting around, but she gets there. We negotiated whether she was going to sleep on my head last night and arrived at a compromise.



According to the oncologist, today will be Oka's worst day from the doxirubicin, the last of the induction-phase chemo. Oka is definitely under the weather, wanting to be close to his people, so I've stayed home from Quaker Meeting. I took him for a short walk this morning and he clearly enjoyed sniffing and peeing on things. I took this picture on Friday -- sorry it's so blurry, as I am so not a photographer:



And finally, here's what Oka found in the back yard (outside the deer fencing) a few weeks ago:



You can read more about the story behind the skull on my blog.

It's our first successful crop, planted last winter. The poor plants huddled there in the cold and gloom, looking as if they were never going to do anything. Then spring couldn't make up its mind, but finally went away. And we have explosions of cauliflowers! These are "cheddar," a beautiful color. I don't know if it's the variety or the freshness, but the one I cooked last night (with just a sprinkling of cheese) was so mild and delicious, it was almost sweet.

After dinner, as is my wont on Mondays, I went off to a meeting, leaving Dave to do the dishes. So the cauliflower dish did not get cleared from the table immediately. Cleo, our matriarch kitty (she's sitting on my shoulder in the icon), has long been known as a broccoli thief. Apparently, cauliflower is close enough to be tempting, because Dave relates that he heard wild yowling from the dining room. Cleo had pulled the cauliflower on to the floor and was in the process of defending it from Oka, our German Shepherd Dog (who weighs 95 lbs to her 5 lbs).

Ferocious little beastie, she is. Either that, or the the cauliflower was growing close enough to the catnip to have absorbed whatever creates kitty-endorphins.

sartorias, we'll be harvesting all week, so will save some for you!

I am in deep, deep trouble. Gayatri "She Who Sings" usually limited her attentions when I am trying to write to crawling on my chest and butting her head against my chin. She has now discovered the attractions of the cursor. She's been staring at it, following it with her eyes, for the last 10 minutes. No sign of losing interest. Just as I began this post, she embarked on trying to pin the tantalizing thing down -- with her claws. On my monitor screen.

We must have a talk. If I can herd her out of the mudroom back into the house, surely there must be hope?

Surely I jest.