He was seen, coupla months back, to have developed a very common side effect – so to speak – of feline diabetes: neuropathy in a hind leg (never in a fore-leg, only one at the back). It was his right, and he walked on it like a bear does – flat from the toes to the back of the heel:
whereas a cat normally walks on its toes:
See the diff. ? – and how strange it would be to see a cat walking with an entirely flat back foot ?
Anyway, it was awful; because that right back leg also trembled, and I would cry every time I saw that happening to my once large and fearsome (not really) mog.
But it eventually went away, the neuropathy ! I reckon I was more pleased about that than Lui was.
His diabetes is being managed, with only one interruption when a visit to my new vet resulted in a test’s saying he was in remission and I should radically lower the insulin dose … and the test results were somehow wrong, and he wasn’t in remission and going from 5 units m+n to 3 m+n took him right back to the beginning … Still, now he’s back on being stabbed m+n with 5, and almost back to how he was.
Something is wrong with his right FRONT foot. I shall show you a video, and you’ll see how very wrong it is. In my opinion, at the outset of this, it was as if he had neuropathy in a front foot ! – but it got worse, and now it’s clear that there’s definitely something wrong there. Only trouble is: I’ve taken him back to his vet two more times and on both occasions he has refused to limp and refused to hold his paw up. In other words, he behaves as if there’s nothing wrong with him.
After the second useless visit, Nev suggested I video him. Being a NOT-phone-lover, it hadn’t entered my head. Now I video the little bugger every day; and Nev is going to be bored shitless by having to look at every single one in order to check his progress. Basically, he IS a little better; and he now occasionally puts weight on it when walking. But he still licks the paw, and sits with it pathetically held up …
SHE, the cat’s mother (read: me) is hoping against hope that this, too, will f-f-f-f-fade away …
It’s called “trichiasis”.
It’s really painful; or really uncomfortable; or really annoying; or really distracting. Or all at once.
I’ve had this ghastly affliction for many years – I reckon around ten or so.
Why it chose me I know not. I never heard anyone in my family speak of it; and cerrtainly no-one had to visit their specialist carer to have it looked after …
So It’s apparently not genetic. Or inherited. Or familial. Whatever.
And once you’ve caught it, you’re never free of it for the rest of your days. Thank all the gods, its best feature is that it goes once you’ve had it treated; and there can be lengthy breaks until it recurs.
This is it:
REEEEEEEALLY disgusting, eh ?
July 27th is the day on which my eldest sister was born. So, as I love my eldest sister (and also my youngest sister), why the misery …?
Because what I made for her is gone. Disappeared. Vanished into the cavernous depths of the French postage system.
Remember this ?
That’s it. After all the time I spent on careful creation, realizing that it IS possible to crochet from side to side without its growing larger, or smaller, or one after the other, or both at once, or slanted … in other words, that I am actually able to create a crocheted lap blanket that’s simply straight up and down – and even without blocking ! – after all this time, as I say, it’s just – gone.
J will never set eyes on the lap blanket I made for her winters up there in Paris, in her little flat that she loves almost as much as she loves the city itself. She will never be found sitting at her desk in, say, January, writing a paper for some conference or other and keeping her lap warm with my lapghan.
So. She’s coming back to Oz in September for a brief sojourn. I must make something to replace the birthday present she never received. The Vintage Walrus must be put on hold while I do this, and that’s that.
This is where I get to make a lapghan with that amazing combo of yarns I posted about yesterday. Unhappily, it won’t be that really nice combination of greens, because I don’t have time to wait for a parcel delivery from the US – nor do I have the money (US postage to Oz is unbelievably expensive) – and instead I’ve chosen something she will like from the very limited range of colours available here.
Not a happy story, not at all. And especially because that lapghan was the first time in my life that I’ve made something plain but good, and finished it. Sighh …
An excuse to put up a couple of shots of Lui – an amazingly cheap new cat basket that my friend J found at Kmart for her inherited mog Sooty and was persuaded to buy another for Lui:
As for why it’s where it is, on a chair that it really don’t fit in … that black chair I bought second-hand for a good price, without thinking. His Maj instantly took to it, so that I have to shroud it in a large green sheet until someone visits. I then whip the sheet off, trying to ensure getting the fur-bespeckled side on the outside when I fold it and almost invariably not succeeding … Hey ho, into the washing-machine again. Does Lui’s fur come off things easily ? Only when someone sits where he’s been … Otherwise the answer is NONONONONO.
There is a blogger from the Netherlands of whom I have written – I think it was in my first post upon returning to the blogging fold. She and her husband (and their cat, who is not to be overlooked !) are in the process of selling their canal house so that they can move out into the country – I suppose that makes it a tree-change …
If you feel like looking at the agency’s photos of a totally gorgeous little house in a mind-blowing environment, visit SpinningAnna’s latest post.
You, like me, will ponder upon the tree-change urge that has led to this sale.
It’s terrifically frustating when you’re full of joy on someone else’s account, and not sure if she is going to post about it. I mean, am I being just interfering if *I* do …?
Possibly. Probably. But she is SO TALENTED that I cannot risk not broadcasting.
H, my dear friend whom I first met through blogging, when living in Sydney while she was living down here in Geelong, has just done her first singing exam. No, in fact she did the exam a little while back; what’s just happened is that she’s just got the results.
Honours. Of course !
H is someone who manages to combine low self-esteem with a fiercely competitive nature (how ? – whose nose ?); so although the friend she has who runs the choir H sings in pushed her to enter this first-ever singing exam several grades up while telling her “all my students get Honours” ( ! ), one might wonder if said pushing wasn’t something of a bridge a teeny bit far.
But no ! – whether or not she had real anxiety we shall never know; but the fact is that Honours have been awarded, and no-one takes that away.
Onwards and upwards ?, I asked … No; the new challenge will be theory. And that really is a challenge. H’s voice was the great assistor for the singing examination; to study for & pass a theory exam is a horse of a different colour. One must work; one has nothing to assist one but one’s brain. Yes, we know H’s brain works (most of the time), but sight-reading ? writing music ? GASP ! Bloody hard yakka, everything that comes with singing theory.
Plagal cadences ? What the— ?
ANYWAY. Anyone who knows H should congratulate her. And now I wish I were communicating with all those lovely people I blogged with all those years ago: they all know her. But with any luck, she just might post something …
Whispering Gums reminded me in a comment, totally unintentionally, of something vile I did to J, my most respectable and quite brilliant sister (there were once 5 of us, but now we are only 3).
The comment was regarding my completing a crocheted lapghan for J – the one in two shades of grey NO NOT FIFTY !!!! – that I posted about here. A serious bit of work, of which I am proud.
However, the vile thing was this:
Heh heh …
It is in fact quite a good FO: the pattern got a bit tricky as the size increased, inasmuch as the number of 8s and 3s and whathaveyou meant I had to concentrate, or frog rows and rows. (Actually, I did that a fair bit. Grrrrrrrrr …) But the COLOURS, my dears ! – simply frightful ! :)
Trouble was that the American Yarn online shop in Melbourne had almost run out of this pertickler type/weight/etc., so I was limited to this or one that was grave-coloured – you know, greens and greys and blacks and stuff.
I did tell Jocie,up there in her Paris flat, that it was meant for her to put ’round her shoulders in the Parisian winter – only for interior use. Besides, I added, as she would need to be wearing sunglasses as well, it might as well be spring (even were she not starry-eyed and discontented …).
But I somehow think she’s never put it on. Pity.
That is NOT Lui. Not my cat. Whose ? – a matter of conjecture …
Yesterday morning …
At the unspeakable hour I am always dragged from my bed by the cat who IS Lui – the close vicinity of 5 am – I let him out the side sliding door into the yard and went into the kitchen to turn on The Coffee Machine. Waited for all the processes of heating and grinding and pulling the shot and making the milk red-hot, and finished. Suddenly realized Lui hadn’t come back in.
Wandered casually out and around the back part of my yard, to find Lui and him up there ^ in that photo squaring off at the end of the pathway. The second he ^ spotted me he went up the 12′ metal fence as if it was a set of stairs: truly, it was amazing ! Lui, my totally beloved 12½-y-o mog, hissed and spat and growled at me from the depths of his gut. Wouldn’t let me near him. I went back inside with my coffee and drank it morosely.
Eventually Lui came back in, behaving as if nothing had happened: jumped up onto my lap and purred, the little bugger. I punished him by hugging him very tightly.
Last night …
Went to bed around 9:30, as you do… Awoken by the sound of Lui mucking about in the vertical blind over the side door. Knew instantly what must be going on, and yes, there he ^ was, the great bastard – sitting in my little pot-planted yard, driving Lui insane. I waved my arms almost as if trying to stop a taxi from roaring past me in the driveway, and he ^ climbed leisurely up the wooden fence and sat on top of the gate. No faces I made at him had any effect. I couldn’t just go back to bed and leave him there: I had to make sure he had GONE. So I was obliged to open the sliding door; and Lui erupted out under my feet. He ^ turned and walked swiftly back along the top of the dividing fence and disappeared.
I went to where Lui was hissing and spitting and growling under my standing planter and tried to speak calmly to him. Being an extremely stupid person sometimes, I put out my hand to him; and he let fly with a right uppercut. I screamed really loudly because he had two claws wedged in my hand, and managed eventually to detach the latter from the former. Then I went back inside and applied bandaids. Lui came back in within a surprisingly short time, and once again I was in the company of Dr Jekyll. (Btw, my scream appeared to have awoken nobody. Just goes to show that it’s no more safe living within the grounds of an aged care facility than it is living outside one.)
I’d been over to Belmont to my optometrist, run into H ! and had a pie-and-cuppa and she drove me all the way home, the kind love !; and then I did my usual in this fuckin horrible weather and got into my nighty and dressing-gown. Him up there ^ then strolled casually past my front window, causing frothing rage. Jumped up without giving a moment’s thought to my attire, grabbed my phone and leaped out the front door in hopes of seeing him ^ ‘go home’.
He never did; but he walked rapidly – can’t call it ‘running’ – from the Units to Bella Chara* and into some bushes there. Need I add that not only appeared around a corner an admin bloke whom I really like and admire, looking every inch the professional businessman; but very shortly our duo was augmented by a car driving up that contained the CEO, who is a woman I admire enormously and like commensurately. There we were, the three of us, chatting in friendly fashion about this bloody cat: Alwin in super winter coat, Joy in her car but without doubt as well-dressed as she always is, and me in my nighty and dressing-gown AND UGG BOOTS.
I could’ve died.
So there are two more disadvantages re living in MACS: (1) this goddam cat that will be making Lui’s and my life a misery unless we can trap him and make the Council take him to a cat thingy; and (2) the fact that if I’ve done my usual towards the end of the day in terms of ‘dress’, I am not to go outside no matter what.
*The part of MACS that’s for people who can’t be totally independent but aren’t so helpless as to need actual aged care