Today being Begemot’s fourth Gotcha Day, and it having been nearly three years since my last Bigi photo compilation, don’t you think it’s time for another?
I know: less talk, more photos! Here they are. Click for “Bigness”…
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And if you want more, here’s a link to all my Bigi blogposts.
It having been over a year since my initial Begemot photo post , I suppose it’s time for a few more images of our special guest star.
He still exhibits completely catatonic midafternoon shutdowns, as described last time, which Inna & I take as ideal times for molestation.
But he has developed one really cute/strange behavior. One of his first toys was a squeaky weasel stuffed animal. Every evening, about two minutes after we turn out the light, he trots off to find it. Once he’s got it, the little guy—who virtually never meows at all—starts howling and crying like it’s a bloody emergency. That lasts maybe 30 seconds until he trots into the bedroom, carrying the weasel in his mouth, and offers it to us. Then he quiets down and settles into bed for the night. And in the morning, he’ll usually get up and bring it with him into the living area (usually without the verbal announcements). It’s pretty hilarious, but equally adorable.
His other favorite toys include shoelaces, the brown construction paper sometimes used as packing material (see below), and he’ll come like a flash if he hears anyone crumpling up a credit card receipt. Between all that and his diverse collection of boxes, the floor’s always a bit of a mess.
It doesn’t take a lot to keep the boy happy, and he definitely has reciprocated by keeping Inna & I happy.
Click for teh bignesses.
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Three months after his arrival, Begemot pretty much owns the place.
Although he doesn’t have any purr or mipp, he does meow for us when he hears us outside the apartment on the way home. He’s an avid washer of himself and anyone who comes within reaching distance. And in the afternoons he goes completely catatonic, easily moved and repositioned like a large, furry action-figure.
Despite being diametrically opposed in almost all things, he’s one decision that Inna and I both enthusiastically approve of. We agree that we got an exceptionally awesome little furbaby who makes hanging around the house a lot more fun.
As always, click for teh bigness.
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I spent last weekend in Pittsburgh for my BFF Inna’s milestone birthday. First time I’d been there in a couple years.
As always, the main activity in da Burgh was eating. I had an interesting jalapeno steak & cheese at Fat Head in Southside; basil-laden slices from Aiello’s; fajitas at Mad Mex in Shadyside; and a bisonburger and a Nestle Crunch & Nutella frappe at Burgatory, which is in the Aspinwall Waterworks strip mall.
Non-food activities included a trip to the Regent Square Yard Sale, where I picked up a copy of the excellent Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks for a dollar at the Wilkins School Community Center book sale.
I helped Inna find the Homestead Labyrinth, we visited her friends Jay & Amy, and stopped in at her mom’s to say hi, pet her cats Theo and Pumpy, and play Dominion (I won, despite it being my first time playing the game). And we got a galloping greeting from an orange tabby at the Shadyside Plaza pet store.
Of course, the main reason for the visit was to celebrate Inna’s birthday. I also finally got a tour of her new apartment, and we had some great conversations that covered topics like meditation practice, our interaction patterns, and how habits work.
But of more interest to you are probably the two running gags we christened. The first came about thanks to Inna’s habit of continually scanning the area around her for dogs. While crawling through Regent Square traffic she exclaimed, “Puppy!!! Uhh… no… WHAT?!?” as she did a double-take at the man walking his beagle-sized black pig on a leash in the park. That was pretty priceless.
Equally amusing was my expression of frustration at a sign advertising “fresh corn” in May. Obviously it wasn’t local, “It probably had to be flown in from some place like Iguanastan.” Aside from the awesome new place-name I’d coined, the joke was immortalized moments later when we passed a native Iguanastani woman in a hijab walking nearby.
All told, a pretty good visit, and it was great seeing Inna—and da Burgh—again, especially since it wasn’t in frozen February!
Well, on one hand, I have referred to both Grady and the Puggle as my “roommate”…
But on the other hand, I also have also taken great relish in staring them down and repeatedly saying to them, “I *own* you!”.
And when you think about it, doesn’t being called a “pet” imply just as much imbalance as having an “owner”?
I just don’t understand why people put so much effort into arguing about semantics when that energy could be applied to something that might produce real meaningful change.
The world has lost a beautiful, beautiful soul.
I guess it’s time for the promised Puggle update. You’ll recall that I took him to the vet on Wednesday the 14th for labored breathing, and he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure, with only a short time left to live.
That day, the vet drained the built-up fluid from his chest, which gave him immediate, but temporary relief. My goal was to nurse him through to January, spending some quality time with him, and put him down right after New Years.
On coming home, Pug did seem to be a lot more alert and active, and was able to breathe like a kitten again. The vet gave me a green light to give him “anything he’ll eat”, so I spoiled him with chicken, scrambled eggs, bacon, SciDi dry (no accounting for kitty tastes), Swiss cheese, Jax cheese curls, and saucers of milk. We spent a lot of time together, and I took a bunch of movie clips of my fuzzy buddy on my cell phone.
As Christmas got closer, I thought I could get away for a couple days with family. I planned to leave Friday noon and return Sunday afternoon, and my cat-sitting service would visit once on Saturday and once on Sunday.
On Wednesday, I noticed that Pug was starting to have difficulty breathing again. However, I thought I’d have enough time to bring him in to the vet’s after Xmas. But Thursday night he was so bad that I concluded that I’d bring him in and have him put to sleep Friday morning before I left Boston.
But when the time came, he seemed pretty good. He didn’t seem to have any difficulty breathing, and was pretty active, as well. So against my prior plans, I left for Maine, hoping Pug would be okay over the weekend.
Well, as you have no doubt surmised, he wasn’t. About 4pm on Christmas Eve, the petsitter called to tell me how he’d found him. He covered Pug with a sheet right where he lay.
After a perfunctory holiday observance, I headed home at 3pm today. His body lay there, just as beautiful as he’d been in life. I had to get through the tasks of moving him, putting him in a box, taking him down to the animal hospital to be cremated, and saying goodbye forever. On Christmas Day.
I don’t know how I could even begin to relate to you what that cat meant to me. Every day he was a source of joy, love, amusement, and warmth. He was a dear, dear friend, and one of the most central parts of my life. I shall be hard pressed to find another companion like him.
I guess I can take solace in the realization that his suffering is gone forever. But boy, has he left an immense, gaping hole in my heart.
May you be blessed with devotion and companionship as unwavering as that you gave to me, my dear friend. Namaste!
Puggle is dying.
I brought the little guy in to the vet because for the past few weeks he seemed to be having gradually more and more difficulty breathing. No apparent pain or even much discomfort, which is good. But despite that, the vet’s diagnosis is dire: congestive heart failure.
There aren’t many options to consider. Untreated, he will die within weeks. We could drain the fluid from his chest and put him on a diuretic, which would give him short-term relief, but which isn’t a viable long-term treatment. We could undertake a lengthy, uncomfortable, and expensive sequence of aggressive treatment, with a lot of risk and little guarantee of results. Or we could euthanize him.
What seemed to me to be the most compassionate thing to do was to give him the short-term treatment, see how he responds to it, spend some quality time together, get used to the idea, and let him go when his symptoms return. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to nurse him through to the beginning of January, so that the holidays aren’t an eternal reminder of his passing.
Puggle is my first and only pet, which makes this really hard, and he’s been my constant companion for the past fourteen years. I’ve always known that this day would come, and dreaded it, because the little infestation is a very, very important part of my life. So today has without question been one of the most painful days of my life.
As anyone who knows me will attest, I’m pretty good at resorting to cold logic to subdue my emotions. I have been telling myself that everyone dies sooner or later, and he’s just a cat, after all. But the heart doesn’t agree with that, and my heart and mind seem to be taking turns speaking from the pulpit in a very heated debate taking place inside my skull.
In a way, this is a good ending, though. The diagnosis leaves little room for me to second-guess my decisions. It’s not one of those situations where he’ll need daily shots or an extensive treatment regimen for a long duration. And the Puggle doesn’t appear to be in any pain or much discomfort. So in that sense, it makes saying goodbye a lot easier.
But at the same time, he’s not in respiratory arrest, so I do get some time to say goodbye. The vet said I can feed him “anything he’ll eat”, so I’ll be picking him up some cheese curls, ice cream, bacon, and grass for his enjoyment. And because my company takes the week between Christmas and New Years off, I’ll have that whole week to spend with him, if his health permits.
That might be bad news for you, though, because I expect I’ll be posting a lot about this over the next month. The point isn’t to solicit sympathy, but just to record the things I’m going through. And to hopefully remind you that we all—cats, dogs, and humans—have a very brief time on this earth, and we should express our affection and appreciation of one another while we can, because all too soon, it will be too late.
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