Run. Dog. Cat. Cat. Me.

Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

She’s going to the dogs.

Chunker will soon be less Chunk.

I’ve been doing some Olympic sprinting and hurdling the past few weeks here as I attempt to cut off her repeated forays into the den corners searching for a new place to use as her litter box.  I’ve got towels piled in all the corners as a safeguard and I’m not happy.  Every time I realize I don’t know where she is I jump and run to the den.  Speedwork.  Upstairs and down stairs.  Hill repeats.

I do feel sorry for the poor little thing.  She has:  small kidney stone (or not, one vet says yes, one vet says no) crystals in her bladder (which are the start of stones) bladder and kidney infection and inflamed bladder.  Two weeks ago she got two antibiotic shots, a sinus cocktail and prescription cat food.  Yesterday’s return trip resulted in another long-term antibiotic shot and a stronger, four-week acting steroid shot.

She’s starting to look longingly at my weight set.  I’m afraid soon she will begin mewing I’llllllllllll be baaaaaaaaaaaaahck.

Then she’ll find some faintly old, saggy, used up, gross-looking lying sh*t of a male with whom to have a torrid love affair and reveal her son twelve years later.

I hear you wondering, “Oh, that can’t happen, didn’t you have her fixed?”

Yes, indeed I did.  However, my last cat’s (Nala’s) ovaries grew back so you just never know.

I took Nala to the vet.  I said, “She does the funniest thing.  Two or three times a year she takes the twins’ tiny little stuffed animals and for a week or two she hauls them all over the house mewing loudly.  She leaves them everywhere – on the bed, in the hall, on the stairs.  I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

He said, “Her ovaries grew back.”

“She WHAT?”

Yes indeed.  If there is a bit of ovarian tissue left it can regenerate.  She was cycling.  For a moment I panicked, thinking she could get knocked up by some randy male whose owners have no sense of responsibility and let him roam, profligate, throughout the neighborhood ruining innocent young kitties, but the vet pointed out he’d removed her uterus too.

Sure.  I feel better.  Her ovaries grew back.  Who knows that the uterus won’t become sentient and start growing back too?  Eh??

A few months later I went to lunch with two old friends to catch up.  One of them had been dealing with a ‘mild’ form of ovarian cancer and had her ovaries removed.  Recently she’d had some issues with which women will identify, and if either of the two of you are male you’ll appreciate that I don’t detail here.  She’d returned to the Doc with concern.  After closely reviewing the issue Doc pronounced that her ovaries were growing back.


This did not seem to make my friend feel any better.

I feel sorry for Chunker.  She’s obviously miserable.  She didn’t even eat her dinner last night, and while she ate some of it this morning, there’s still some left.  Chunker has a bit of an eating disorder which I blame on the fact that for at least a couple of weeks when she was a baby she was pretty well malnourished.  When I got her at about 4 weeks old she weighed 6.5 ounces and attacked food desperately, appearing certain she would never see it again.  She still worries all day long; every time she enters ‘her’ bathroom she takes a minute to check the food dish, just in case.

The vet explained that most cats do fine on commercial cat food.  Some don’t and are unable to process the ash and minerals.  Lucky Chunky, she can’t.  Now we get to pay extra money for prescription cat food which we carefully measure and divide into thirds every morning for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Then I realized…she’d found the loophole.  She was sneaking the dog’s food.

Now the dog’s food is hidden most of the day, she’s only getting her prescribed diet, the dog is getting skinnier, she’s lost weight, and I’ve gained it all while I sat here for the past month on my falling off butt, running less but eating the same.

Brain said, “Why don’t you do what you’re making your animals do and just eat less?”

What kind of crap is that??  And now you see what I have to deal with every day:  Brain is about as reliable as a former Californian Governor.

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7 thoughts on “She’s going to the dogs.

  1. Terri Lee,
    A.) Is there a mild form of ovarian cancer? Whoa.
    B.) Don’t the hill repeats and corner rushes add up to all of the running you’ve been missing? When I can’t run as much as I need to, I clean the house and call it my “Amish workout.”
    C.) I would be very annoyed if I went to the trouble to have anything removed and it grew back. Very annoyed.

    • She didn’t have to have chemo or anything, which we considered ‘mild’, just popped the ovaries out and then rechecks at increasing intervals. I didn’t even know you could have cancer and not have to have chemo. I thought that was required, somehow.

      I like that, but I don’t think the 20 second dashes are adding up to 30/60 minutes a day. I will be thoroughly cleaning house tomorrow, tho, for a big party for the hubs’ work tomorrow night. Strangely, I’m calm about the whole thing. Perhaps the 12 cases of wine in my dining room are helping.

      I would be incredibly annoyed. I would probably drink 12 cases of wine.

  2. See he must have left some tissue – so should be doing it over again for free!

    Anyway, great blog as always. Eat less? Huh, no, I’d be telling my brain to shove that suggestion right up its, er…hmmmm.

  3. Apparently since she couldn’t get preggers there was no reason to go back into surgery. For my friend, the Doc just said, we’ll watch it – the part growing back was not cancerous.

    Yeah. Brain and I are not speaking much right now. Tell me stupid sh*t like that. What kind of Brain are you? I have much better friends I’ll talk to instead, thank you so not. Also I’m really busy right now trying to figure out where my friend and I are going to lunch today.

  4. We have a cat with an eating disorder too! He binges and purges. He isn’t particular about where he purges. And his favorite time of day to loudly purge at the foot of the bed? 3 am. *le sigh*

  5. hahaha! We had a retarded cat (seriously, we finally had to put it down, I still can’t talk about it much) and it ate money. My oldest son was working at a pizza place and it must have smelled good to her. She barfed up the chunks of a $10 bill once and the hubs took it, washed it, and got a new one from the bank. OMG I was so not touching that thing.

  6. Poor Chunker….I hope she starts feeling better. At least she hasn’t decided to use your bedding as ….. erm, maybe I shouldn’t go there, huh? Forget I said anything….

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