Why losing my eye was the best thing that ever happened to me...

My name is Jezebel. I am a 16 year old female Russian Blue mix cat. I was born to a family and was called Maritabelle until I was 3 years old. Then they moved and left me at the pound.

One spring day I was hidden in the back of this box I found myself in, attempting to escape my prison, when this college girl and her boyfriend came in and opened my cage. I was nervous and scared but I wanted to be held. At first she picked me up and laid me on my back in her arms which I do NOT like. But I arranged myself in my favorite position: head on the shoulder, belly against chest. They hemmed and hawed, she sweetly batted her eyes at her boyfriend which looked to me like, "Can we keep her?"

Next thing I know I'm getting put in a box, then in a car, and then in a new house. First we lived in a duplex in Bellingham with 5 guys and my new mommy but that was only for a couple of days. I say first because we moved; we moved A LOT. I loved my new family. They kept me inside and always had a clean litterbox for me. I got my crunchies and I also got scraps from whomever came over, got drunk and dropped food.

Over the next few years our lives were constantly changing. We moved. My Mom and Dad graduated from college. They got engaged. We moved. My Mom and Dad got married. We moved. My Mom had a baby. We moved. They got a dog. He panted ALL the time. I hissed at him and peed on my Mom's bed to show my discontent. I turned into an inside/outside cat. My Mom had another baby. The dog found a new home. We moved - to the home we still live in today - the longest we've lived in one spot since my Mom and Dad lived at the homes they grew up in.

This new place was set out in the woods. They kept me in for a while to make sure I knew this was my home but eventually they let me out. They got another dog. I peed on their bed again. Apparently they didn't remember that I don't particularly like dogs. They got another dog. They tried to introduce us but his gigantic head scared me and I scratched his eyeball. Then I peed on their bed again. I found myself looking at the door...a lot. No amount of scratching or crying seemed to do the trick. I finally came to the conclusion: I was now an outside cat.

It was ok because I liked being outside here. There was tons of space to explore, tons of birds to kill, tons of squirrels to gut and leave on the front porch. My house was on the bedroom deck. I made my way up and down the old fashioned way - I climbed. In the severe winter weather they would bring me in and lock me in the bathroom. I would've rathered they left me outside.

Over the years they have brought home a myriad of animals. I have outlived or outlasted 3 dogs, 5 cats, a rabbit, 14 chickens, 2 guinea pigs & 3 hermit crabs . Unfortunately, against my wishes, I currently share my home with 3 dogs, a rabbit, 17 chickens and 4 feral cats. The feral cats don't bother me. I quit leaving my deck long ago. It's gotten harder to climb up and down the posts, and frankly I just don't feel like it. I'd rather nap in the sunshine or cuddle in my bed.

About two months ago one of my kids came up to my deck to feed me and found my eye had been injured. I don't know how many days I spent with my eye hurt like this, but it didn't really seem to bother me or change my daily routine at all. Once the girl found me it won me a trip to the vet. The vet said the infection was so bad they couldn't do anything until it was under control. And so we went home, with pills and eye drops, for two weeks of treatment. I had to wear a cone (which made it hard for me to eat) and my eye itched so it really sucked. We went back to the vet after the two weeks but it hadn't healed enough. Back home we went with more pills and eye drops. Unexpectedly though, about a week into those treatments, I was rubbing my eye during a time they let me go without the cone, and something happened. There was something hanging out of my bad eye and it hurt! We had to rush back to the vet  to find out what was going to happen to me and there were two options on the table: 1) they could do surgery and sew my eye socket shut ($900+), or 2) they could send me to an opthamologist who could try to repair my eye ($2500+). See, I had accidentally scratched at my eye enough that my lens fell out and it was hanging down to my whiskers. My Dad had taken me in. I knew it couldn't be going well when he was texting something every time the Doctor spoke. And then, when the Doctor left the room Dad called my Mom at home. They talked for a while and then my Dad started to weep. RUH ROH! Fortunately for me my Dad asked for another option. "What will happen if we just brought her home and see how it goes? I mean what would happen if she was in the wild?" he asked the vet tech. She quickly scurried from the room. Not too many minutes later the Doc returned. He exchanged words with my Dad and before I knew it I was back in the cage, then back in the car, then back at home.

My kids were SO excited to see me. My Mom had already told them I wasn't going to be coming home from the vet that day. I am pretty old for a cat, and those options the Doc set forth were a little spendy for our family, especially when work was slow for my Dad. But I got to come home!

For the twenty or thirtieth time, my life suddenly changed. Because my eyesight is hindered so dramatically I can't go outside and play anymore. I have my own crunchy and water bowl that is refreshed daily with new food. I don't like the litter box anymore - I prefer to poop and pee in the tub. It gets cleaned right away and doesn't leave goobers on my feet. I get to sleep with my kids sometimes and I still get opportunities to lay in the sun (through the sliding glass door now, instead of on the deck.) Lately, I've been venturing downstairs to be a part of the family again. The dogs, even the ones who don't really like me, are actually being pretty good. The newest one leaves me alone for the most part and the little ugly one is scared to get in trouble so he keeps his distance. Right now I'm relaxing on the couch next to my Mom while she tells you some of my life story. Life is good.

More Doggie Stuff

First, an update on Brutus: turns out, in true Brutus fashion, he has contracted a rare type of hookworm which the vet believes is probably leading to his weight loss. I swear if there is a weird dog disease out there, Brutus will find it. My Brutus can't get roundworms, or some other simple parasite that can be ousted by a liquid wormer that I already have in my cupboard; no, Brutus has to come up with the $8 per pill worms! Oh well, we are his parents and we have to take care of him, right?

Now, a little social commentary on rehoming pets. As many of you know we have been looking for a new canine family member. I have searched Petfinder, Oodle, NW Classifieds, every shelter, rescue and even Craigslist (which I am ultra-skeptical about). Although there are not many reasons why I think rehoming a dog is the right thing to do, I do understand that at times it is necessary. The problem I have with it is this: "1 year old Mastiff looking to find a new home. Awesome, loving boy will be great in any environment. I am leaving for Nevada in 2 days and MUST find a home for him. Serious Inquiries only please. Asking $800 rehoming fee."  Really?.........I mean, REALLY? You are desperate to find a new home for your dog, a dog that you are abandoning, and you want me to pay how much!?!? Why don't you come to my house, see how I treat my dogs, look at my yard, interview my veterinarian, and if you decide I am the right new owner for your dog you leave him with me, at no charge, knowing that he has a loving home with people who are going to take care of him? I just don't get it.

Ok, I'm done.

We were really set on being able to adopt a dog who really needed a home, especially because we were willing to adopt a little bit older dog (6 months - 2 years). I did contact a breeder or two after having no luck searching adoptable dogs. I just couldn't get myself to do it. We really wanted to adopt. Well, I guess when it rains it pours. This morning my friend Krista posted a tag on my Facebook wall with a puppy who was at the Everett Shelter. Brandon ran over there this morning to check him out and, of course, fell in love. I think his words were, "You sent the wrong person to come and look at a puppy!" He ended up leaving but I told him I would meet him there later so I could meet the puppy. This morning he was on hold so apparently someone was interested in him, but we decided if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. After work I headed to the shelter. Brandon was already there playing with the little guy. He is really cute. They think he is approximately 4-5 months old, a Great Dane/Mastiff mix. He and Brandon were fast friends. And so we decided to adopt him. He has to stay at the shelter tonight and get his jewels removed tomorrow morning. But we get to bring him home tomorrow afternoon.

Then tonight, as I searched the ads for the goober's ad that had the Mastiff for $800, I came upon this:

The is George. He needs a new home. Here is the link to his ad if you are interested:
Adopt George

I fear we may end up doubling our canine companions in a matter of one day! Already Brandon is saying, "What if no one else wants him because he's 3? I should just go check him out tomorrow...." This guy is a beauty. And if you are interested in getting a new dog I really cannot recommend Danes enough. They are gentle, easy going, they require minimal grooming, not a ton of exercise, and they are the best cuddlebugs ever.

In any event, our new little bug will be home with us tomorrow evening. We are waiting to name him until he's here and we can see what fits his personality best. I'll post pics tomorrow!

Brutee Loo Hoo

Just wanted to update everyone after my post a bit ago about Brutus. He has lost a lot of weight. He seems ok - no symptoms of illness - except he's dropping weight really quickly and looks like a skeleton. (I promise we feed him) So we went to the vet on Wednesday night. They did a blood screen, because he has thyroid issues too, and called us last night to let us know it doesn't really look like the thyroid. They aren't really sure what it is. Our options right now are: 1) get an x-ray, 2) bring in a stool sample to check for parasites and/or 3) bump up the protein in his diet and see if we can get him to gain some more weight.

Now, I have no problem taking care of my animals - especially the dogs - but at some point reason and rationality have to come into play. Brutus is 6 years old. A Dane's lifespan is approximately 7-9 years...and that's when they're healthy! Brutus has joint issues, Addison's Disease, and thyroid problems. He takes 4-5 different pills twice a day. He has his own old person's pill box for goodness sake! Honestly, I never thought that he'd live this long although I am SO thankful for it. If they do an x-ray they are looking for cancer and/or enlarged organs, basically though, the big C. The vet said the only treatment for cancer in dogs is chemo. As usual, the Doc at Frontier Village Veterinary Clinic was extremely nice and agreed that my rationale was probably pretty spot on: if it is cancer, and we are unwilling to do the chemo, then there really isn't a point to the x-ray.

So, all day today Brandon followed Brutus around watching to see if he was going to poop. If/when he did, he missed it. Which means that tomorrow, if you don't have anything else to do and you'd like to watch something funny, you can watch Brandon follow our dog around the yard waiting for him to take a sh*t! In other words, we'll do the stool sample. And I am spoiling him with pumpkin and wet dog food mixed in his food until I can get to the store tomorrow to find some puppy chow for him.

In the meantime, we are keeping our eyes open for another canine friend. Not necessarily to replace Brutus - we are hoping he will gain some weight back and be ok for a long time coming - but so that Brutus can train the new guy up, just in case of his departure to greener pastures. Does that sound terrible? I feel terrible writing it. We are hoping to adopt a big guy that needs a new home. We are big dog people (Gilbert is an anomaly) and would like another Dane, or a Mastiff, or a Wolfhound, or some mixture of the jumbo breeds. We know that many people get these dogs thinking they are cool before they fully understand what taking care of a 150-200lb dog can actually be like - on your house, your yard, and your pocketbook. If you happen to know of anyone needing to rehome a jumbo-sized dog, please let us know!

So keep your fingers crossed for Brutus. We are hoping he will pull through AND have a new friend to play with!

the best dog EVER.

This is Brutus. He is a (almost) 6 year old Great Dane. And he is MY dog.

We got him when he was just 8 weeks old. He was SO adorable. After picking him up we ran to the pet store for food, collar and leash. It took us an hour to get out of the store. Puppies always draw attention, but a puppy that fills a shopping cart? People can't stay away!

From the beginning Brutus has been the BEST dog. He doesn't wander off, he listens, he is great with other furry and feathered friends (namely: cats, chickens, guinea pigs, rabbits, tiny dogs, big dogs....), he poops in the bushes instead of the yard, he is patient, he is mellow, he is gentle. From the beginning he's always favored me. He loves Brandon and the kids, but he knows his Momma.

The only thing I would change about him? His medical history. See we didn't know it, but Brutus had a genetic disease that the breeder either 1) didn't know about, or 2) didn't care to tell us about. It didn't appear until he was about 2 years old. It was after one of our luau's when we noticed he was extremely lethargic, and then wouldn't eat, and then wouldn't drink. We thought he may have dug up and eaten the carcass of the pig we roasted and that maybe something didn't sit right with him. But when he started shaking uncontrollably we knew it was time to take him to the vet. I will never forget the veterinarian taking a look at him, looking at me, and saying, "This is a very sick dog. I don't know if we'll be able to save him." Even as I sit here writing this tears are streaming down my face. The kids didn't know how to react. Lilly burst out crying, Logan hugged Brutus - lying on the floor, shaking, not even picking his head up to give us the "what's going on look." He gave us some options and told us what they'd cost.

Now, I was raised with the $100 animal visit limit. If they were sicker than $100, we might have to think about putting them down. But I just couldn't do that with my Brutus. I told them to hook him up to the IV and run the tests. In case you don't have a giant dog, they go through IV's like a human (he was 150 pounds!) and they aren't cheap. After 3 days at the clinic, and still no definitive diagnosis, Logan and I travelled back east to Wisconsin for my sister's 40th birthday. I was devastated that he might pass away while I was gone but my dear, dear husband, despite all of his misgivings about dumping money into a dog, kept the treatments and tests going. The last test they had to run was $250 and only ruled out one disease. We debated over the phone about whether or not to have it performed and ultimately told them to go ahead. It's a good thing we did. He has Addison's Disease. $2500 and 8 days later, Brutus got to come home. I don't know if I showed it as much as I felt it, but I was ECSTATIC!

Over the last four years we have played with dosages of fludrocortisone, we have to watch his mood and give him extra prednisone if we feel he is "stressed out" (a symptom that can cause him to go into shock and potentially die), I have argued with veterinarians over what the best treatment is after hours and hours of research. I should take a moment here to thank Dr. Lindvog and staff at Frontier Village Veterinary Clinic for really listening to me and including us in all options for Brutus. Since then, Brutus has had a second home at the Clinic. Everyone there loves him and they know him by name (unfortunately for my checkbook) when I call.

Today Brutus is vibrant and more active than he's been since a puppy. He is eating and drinking just fine. But he looks like Skeletor. He spent so much time laying down (we thought he was just lazy) that his muscles in the rear have atrophied. He's also still losing hair despite his relatively new thyroid diagnosis and yet another new pill. And so we are going back to the vet...again. Every time we go there it puts me on edge until we leave with an ok diagnosis. He is getting older. Danes only have a lifespan of approximately 7-9 years when they are healthy. Honestly, I never thought he'd make it to 6. I want him to be healthy. I want him to stick around. I really love him (despite his constant fishing at the river which in turn gives him the WORST breath ever.)

So keep your fingers crossed for Brutus. I sure hope that he's ok.

Rodents BEWARE! There's a new cat in town!

****Scritch scratch. Scritch scratch. ****
"Brandon, what is that?"
"I think it's Gil in his cage."
"Nope, he's not in his cage."
"Huh." (moves the couch and the kennel out of the way)
****Scritch scratch. Scritch scratch.****
"Ok," he says. "I guess I have to go check it out."

Turns out a rat had decided that getting up into our walls would be a good place to hunker down this winter. Luckily, he had barely scratched through. That night, at 10pm, Brandon donned his rain gear, goggles and a gas mask and went under the house to find out what was going on.

We had looked at an ad on Craigslist a year or more ago about taking in feral cats. See, our resident killer, Jezebel, had decided to retire and the rats and mice took notice. But then life got in the way, and we really didn't see many mice around, so we put it off. That night, I sent an email.

Today, we got our first kitty. (We have 3 more on the way.) We haven't gotten to see her yet. She is thoroughly burrowed in her hidey-hole. She has a great story though. Apparently a guy that worked at Kimberly Clark found her, trapped her, had her fixed, let her go and then continued to feed her for two years. In case you didn't know, Kimberly Clark is closing the mill in Everett and nearly 1,000 people have lost their jobs. In any event, he happened to trap her the same day he was officially laid off. And now she's at our house. We are very excited to have her. (I planned to post a picture but she is very shy)

Just as a note, the ladies we have been dealing with through the rescue are AMAZING! They have been so helpful and undemanding of us. They are very kind and will bend over backwards to make the rehoming of the ferals work. We are so pleased with them.

Today I drove by a man holding a sign that said, "Homeless. Need help." And I thought, "I've already helped someone find a home today. I think I'm good." Now I know that helping kitties is not exactly the same but I still feel good that we are helping some cats who may have otherwise not made it AND I'm hoping they will feast on our rat and mouse populations!

Happy hunting!

Chi Chi didn't go to a farm in Connecticut

We live rural. In the course of my children's lives we have had many, many animals:

• 6 dogs
• 6 cats
• 2 rabbits
• 2 guinea pigs
• 31 chickens
• 2 turkeys
• 4 hermit crabs

Now, we don't have all of those animals right at this moment. As diversely as they arrive, some of them have gone. We have had to re-home a few, but most that are no longer living with us have passed on to that pasture in the sky.

When the first one died Brandon and I contemplated what we would tell the kids. Do we lie? Do we stretch the truth? Will they understand? Parents often underestimate kids; they don't give them enough credit for being smart enough to see beyond our "stories" or "white lies" and suspect that we are deceiving them in some way. To me, deceit becomes distrust. And I want my kids to trust me, to believe what I say. So, we sat them down and told them the truth. Yes, the cat went missing. Yes, it is possible that it could've ran away and is now living with a nice family. But more than likely a coyote had it for lunch.

Like I said, I'm a realist. I can't see lying and having my kids run around telling stories about their pets when some other kid stops, laughs at them, and tells them their parents lied. In Season 1, episode 3 of my favorite sitcom ever, "Friends," this conversation took place:

Chandler: Yeah, it's like when you're a kid, and your parents put your dog to sleep, and they tell you it went off to live on some farm.
Ross: That's funny, that, no, because, uh, our parents actually did, uh, send our dog off to live on a farm.
Monica: Uh, Ross.
Ross: What? Wh- hello? The Millners' farm in Connecticut? The Millners, they had this unbelievable farm, they had horses, and, and rabbits that he could chase and it was- it w- .....Oh my God, Chi Chi!

The only problem is when "some kid" is my kid. At parent teacher conferences I happened to run into a fellow parent. Apparently Logan was at school chatting with one of his friends. His friend was telling him how his kitten had gone missing. His mom had told him some Disney story of what probably happened to his kitty. To which my dear five year old son replied, "That's not what happened. A coyote ate it. We've lost a few cats that way."

Ahhh, as a parent you have to run interference all the time to uphold your philosophy over others. But that's what life is, right? Dealing with everyone's beliefs and opinions? That family had a conversation they hadn't intended to have. We had one in response to the situation as well; another opportunity for us teach the kids about life, about reality. And that's okay with me, as a parent it's my job.
No, we won't have any dogs moving to farms for a better life; no rabbit that died because she missed her former family too much. When the hermit crab needs to be pulled out of his shell because he died and another one might want his shell? Well, the kids are charged with that gross job because it was their pet, and that's life.