P.S. My Cat is Not Dead*

This has possibly been the most harrowing 36 hours of my life.

It goes like this:

I was getting ready to leave my apartment for a 4 year old's birthday yesterday around noon.  As is my habit,   I made sure that my cat had fresh food and water, and then went to say "so long".  

But I couldn't find him anywhere.  I searched possible exits (2) to see if he'd somehow let himself outside.  Exits intact.  Next, I completely panicked.  He is not a cat that will ignore you if you are wandering around the house calling him, particularly if you're opening a can of tuna as loudly as possible (as I was).  I made a thorough search of every possible hiding place and finally found him barricaded under the couch.

Basically non-responsive.  I had to give him a good shake before he would eke out a quiet "mew".  The only sign of life he showed was when I forcefully removed him from under the couch and he fought me all the way.

I should backtrack a bit and say that in my searching, I found an alarming number of puddles of vomit.  

The Orange One has always been kind of a pukey cat.  He eats too fast sometimes, and throws up.  He over-grooms most of the time, gets hairballs, and throws up.  I don't think it's necessary to say that this vomit was much, much different.  But it was.  

After many phone calls, I managed to find a vet that could accept an emergency patient.  I took him in, and he was admitted immediately.

His first 18 hours were not promising.  He didn't get any worse, but he didn't get any better.  When I spoke to the vets on the phone (about every 90 minutes), they were carefully choosing their words, talking about "if" he got better, not "when".

The time I spent on the phone I tried to be strong and think of things in an objectively medical way, so that I could coherently ask questions and hear answers.  

The time not on the phone I spent clutching a photo of him, weeping, and repeating "you're going to be okay, you have to be okay, you're going to be okay.... etc."  Alternating that with very realistic images of having to make the decision to put him to sleep.  What I would do, what I would say.  Stroking his head and being as soothing as possible... I had specifics in my head that I can't go into because thinking about it has me crying like a damn fool.

He's taken a turn for the much, much better.  I visited earlier this evening, and while he is still not eating or drinking anything, he at least is acting like himself.  Not at all like the cat that crawled under the couch to die yesterday.  Exactly like the cat that is insanely happy just to be near me but has about a 45 second tolerance for being restrained by my loving arms and a 0 second tolerance for being restrained by anything else, such as a portable IV.

I had been in such agitation that I didn't eat any more today than he did, but after seeing him feeling better I felt confident enough to attempt a small meal.  After paying for my veggie dog from a nearby street meat vendor, I noticed a wooden box attached to the cart (with coin slot) labelled, "wishing well".  I naturally deposited some coins and made a silent prayer to the patron saint of hot dogs for The Orange One's return to health and subsequent longevity.

I remember a few years ago after a co-worker and cat-lover had a baby.  One of the things she said in the aftermath was that she didn't love her cats any less, but, if there were food shortages in the event of a zombie apocalypse, as soon as her daughter uttered the words, "I'm hungry", the cats would be shortlisted for the barbeque.

I'm trying hard to be casual and flippant because the alternative is to curl up in a fetal position and sob.  Anyway.  I'm off to watch episodes of MythBusters in the hope that I can be lulled to sleep.  

Myth: Confirmed

In the unlikely event anyone is interested in how I've been spending my time since recent drop in post frequency, the answer is simple.

Well, it comes in a few parts.

But, in the continued theme of complete randomness, first I will discuss something different.

Heatwave 2012 continues.  I don't exactly pride myself on not having air-conditioning.  But I don't have it on purpose*.

First, I didn't grow up with air-conditioning.  There was a horrible heat wave the summer my mom was pregnant with me.  After careful consideration of their financial situation, the speed at which possible solutions could be implemented, and my mother's pregnant-addled input, my parents chose a pool over central air.  Mostly because my mother announced carelessly (and I presume with some pregnancy-fuelled ferocity), "I don't care how you do it.  I want to cool off right now."  My dad is pretty good at things like this, so, with the help of some neighbours to dig the hole, they had a fully functional in-ground pool before a weekend was out.  I would like to say that my mother dove in thankfully, but it's more likely that she stepped in very much hesitantly.  Even now, after many, many years of pool ownership, she can't really swim.  She refuses to let her face underwater, and has developed a strange dog/frog paddle technique of her own, which only marginally staves off drowning.

They stuck to their decision.  I spent my childhood sweaty and uncomfortable on hot summer Chatham nights**.  Which has incidentally resulted in some very fond memories of being dragged out of bed at 3:00 a.m. to go for a swim***.

That was my long-winded way of explaining that it doesn't feel like summer if I'm not a little uncomfortable.

Second, the only time I've had air-conditioning as an adult was during two (three?) years of condo living. I went from my climate-controlled 16th floor unit to my climate-controlled 16th floor office.  I had SAD all year****.

Third, as an environmentalist, I know that air-conditioners suck up energy like nobody's business.  Unless it's literally hot enough that I could overheat and die, I suck it up.  Imagine a climate-changed world where the ice in the Arctic is gone and polar bears go extinct, because I (ironically) wanted to keep cool.

But I digress.

One of the things I've been doing on these hot, sleepless nights is watch old episodes of MythBusters, which I find oddly soothing.  Like Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman***** are singing a sweet lullaby******.  Don't judge me.  I know plenty of people who consider MythBusters good hangover-watching, because they're engaged enough to be distracted, but it has a strange power to bring on a much-needed nap.


I digress.


I have a 1950's kitchen table that I'm quite fond of.  When I bought it, the chrome was in such deplorable condition that I was told by many (who should have known) that it was irrecoverable.  But my heart was set on sky blue formica for a table top, so I bought it anyway.


I don't know why I decided last week to try and shine up the table chrome.  I just did.  After disappointing results with the products suggested by teen-aged Canadian Tire employees, I turned to the internet for help.  I clearly should have done this in the first place.  Coca Cola and tinfoil, as determined by Adam and Jamie back in 2003, has been time-consuming, but surprisingly effective.


Consider the results below.


Table corner, pre-polish:

Table corner, post-polish:

(Ooohh.  Aaaahh.)


Not that I stopped to bother to doubt the MythBusters before, but rest assured, I will not do it again.


Incidentally, the actual episode I recently watched that inspired this post had to do with brandy as delivered by a St. Bernard preventing death by hypothermia.


As Adam and Jamie determined, no.  The alcohol increases blood flow to capillaries in the extremities which reflexively constrict from the cold so as to direct heat to the organs required to survive at the core.  Sudden blood flow to the extremities results in warming in your hands and feet, which, while welcome, draws heat from your core really, really fast.  


The body heat from the St. Bernard helped, though.


But, in the continued theme of alcohol consumption in extreme heat, I wondered whether alcohol reduces your body temp in hot weather as well.  I figured no, capillaries of the extremities would not be constricted in 35 degree heat so there would be no draw on core temperature.  However.  Results:  Inconclusive (but plausible?).  I am not feeling quite as overheated as I did two hours ago, but since I didn't ingest an internal thermometer like Adam and Jamie did, this could be because:

1. it's now practically the middle of the night.  temperatures have gone down in general.
2. I'm getting kind of numb to it.

But I figure:  who cares about the science?  For cold weather drinking - I've experienced paralyzing cold in my hands and feet when inappropriately dressed in extreme cold.  Anything to relieve that kind of intense pain could save your life, in that it gives you the ability/motivation to seek out help.  For warm weather drinking - whatever helps you sleep at night, question mark?******

   

*much to the dismay of my allergist, who insists that I should only ever breathe in a controlled environment because I'm so allergic to everything in the air that it's a wonder I'm even alive.  For serious.  I had skin tests for the first time a couple of years ago and was off the charts allergic to virtually all airbornes (especially cats and horses).  I'm kind of afraid of horses - think of the damage they could do to your face if they suddenly and without warning flick their heads back because a fly has landed on their eyelid.  So no big loss there.  But I digress.  When I sat down with the medical specialist to discuss my test results, she looked down at the notes, then up to my horribly inflamed arm, and then actually into my eyes.  Her first words to me, and this is a direct quote, "how are you even alive?"

(Here's how.  Maybe I have an unworldly ability to adapt, but if I put up with the hay fever and asthma that follows the beginning of each allergy season and/or time away from my cat, I just adapt.  I'm not saying others should be so flexible.  But it works for me).

**I know that Canada is the land of snow and parkas, but in southwestern Ontario in the summer, it's friggin' HOT.  I've mentioned this before, but Chatham is surrounded by lakes and below sea-level.  The humidity rivals that of a tropical rain forest.

***When did City of Toronto stop keeping public pools open all night as cooling stations in the event of heat alerts.  I was really looking forward to a midnight (ahem, 2 a.m.) swim.  Yes, the air-conditioned libraries are open, but who wants to go there?  Most of them don't even have books anymore.

****Some may suggest that I'm torturing myself needlessly, because during my condo experience, there were many other circumstances impacting my mood unrelated to SAD.

*****Sorry Jamie... I can't help but assume that when you were in grade 6 or 7 people called you Jamie Hymen.

******Etymology of word lullaby.  Of course. Lull... Bye.

Joe vs. the Volcano

So I've been feeling a sadly repetitive combination of general blues and overwork.  Plus still feeling the after-effects of last week's high heat/humidity.

Six nights in a row (yes, six) I planned to distract myself with wine spritzers made with table wine and orange soda and a viewing of Joe vs. the Volcano - a movie which never fails to cheer me up.  If you don't know why orange soda wine spritzers were appropriate drinking/viewing than you really should watch the movie*.  But time kept getting away from me and six nights in a row I fell asleep from general exhaustion and heat fatigue before the opening credits were even over.

Put it this way.  I bought a bottle (ahem, one litre carton) of appropriately cheap wine for mixing with C Plus eight days ago and it hasn't even been opened**.  That is surely some kind of record for alcohol in my apartment.


*I've been assured many times over that I'm the only person who genuinely likes this movie.  I don't understand how that could be, because it's amazing on many levels.  Here's a taste.  If you don't like it, don't judge me.  I have enough problems without the condemnation of friends, acquaintances and complete strangers.  On second thought, I don't care.  If you don't appreciate this cinematic masterpiece it's definitely a problem with you, not me.

**Okay, that's a lie.  It is opened, but only 1/3 empty.  Still a record.