Well, he seems more or less back to normal now. When I first got up this morning he was still a little wobbly in the back end. By the time I had gotten back from the morning round of appointments and errands, he was feeling well enough to dart outside as soon as I opened the door. I stayed outside with him to see how he was walking, and he seems to be moving normally again.

Phurball feeling better

I guess we’ll never know what happened. Both his regular vet, the clinic vet, and myself have postulated a number of theories, such as:

  • he slipped a disc in his back
  • he got into something toxic
  • he had a head injury

Fortunately the blood tests ruled out disease as a cause. I keep trying to make him stay in, but he’s too smart, too fast, and too determined—even if I’m alert enough to spot him lurking by the door when I come in, I can’t stop him from bolting out without the risk of hurting him. And I need to get him another collar, license, and address tag; he was wearing one of those “breakaway” collars that’s supposed to come loose if it gets caught on something, and it must have been caught on something as he came in without it one day last week.

I’m not much into making animals out to be little people. Their thought processes, feelings, and motivations have similarities to those of humans, but they are also different in very fundamental ways. Nonetheless, I can sort of see how some people wind up thinking of their pets as ersatz children—they require a similar level of care and attention, and we worry about them when they’re not well.

 

Just back from the vet. Phurball and I left right after picking up Sprog #1 from school; while I was at the vet’s office I arranged to have someone pick up Sprog #2 for me. It was a toss-up between my dad (other side of town) or a close friend (fairly close by); I went with dad because a) he’s off work today anyway, and b) I figured the school would be less likely to have problems with a grandfather than a “friend of the family.” Although I did call ahead and let them know he would be coming.

By the time we let Phurball out of his carrier at the vet’s, he wasn’t nearly as poorly. His back legs were still a little wonky but the front ones were working normally again. He did have a brief ear-twitching, head-shaking episode that seemed almost like a seizure, but again, it was hard to tell.

They did blood work, urine, checked his oil and replaced his batteries and whatnot. A couple of levels were marginally high, but not alarmingly so. He didn’t show signs of pain when she prodded his back; she held him up and had him shuffling back and forth on his back legs, and they seemed to work. He would try to put both back and fore feet down on the table when she bumped them against the edge of it.

In short, we don’t know what’s wrong with the old fellow. They pumped in some subcutaneous fluids in case he’d gotten into something toxic, to flush it out of his system a little faster, and I’m to keep an eye on him tonight and take him to the emergency clinic if he takes a sudden turn for the worse. Otherwise we’ll schedule a follow-up visit with his usual vet, who will come here so the poor guy doesn’t have to endure a car trip.

Phurball recovering

Back home, he’s still walking funny on the back end, and he had another ear-twitching, head-shaking episode that seemed to distress him (well heck, it distressed me), though he calmed down when I petted him and talked to him until it was over. I’ve moved his litter box up from the basement so he won’t be trying to navigate the stairs in his unsteady state, and duct-taped his little cat door into the basement so that he can’t try and get down there.

So now we just keep an eye on him overnight, and see if he gets better or worse. Man, I wish that cat could talk.

Aug 232004
 

He was fine this morning. He ran outside when Sprog #1 and I left for school, said hello in passing when I left with Sprog #2. About half an hour ago when I got home from the dentist, he was lying in the driveway and couldn’t get up.

I stopped the van halfway up the driveway and went to check on him. He was able to struggle to his feet, but didn’t seem to be using his right hind leg. I felt the leg but couldn’t find anything wrong—not that I’d know what to look for. I picked him up and brought him inside, and phoned his she-makes-housecalls vet and left a message on her machine. Phurball managed to clamber to his usual perch on the back of the couch.

Phurball on back of couch

Twenty minutes later he got down from the couch, which thankfully I didn’t actually witness as the thud he made was bad enough. When I spun around to see if he was all right he was staggering across the floor as if his legs wouldn’t work in sync. He made it to the living room and lay down on the floor again. I Googled up the Cary Cat Clinic and the nice lady there said she could fit him in at three. I hope his normal wonderful housecall-vet doesn’t feel slighted, but I don’t know when she’ll be back at her office to get the message and I’m really worried about the old cat.

He doesn’t seem to be in pain but he’s obviously not feeling well. Think good thoughts. I’ve had this cat since some time in 1989, which is longer than I’ve had my spouse.

Whew

 Geek Wannabe, General  Comments Off
Aug 162004
 

Last week was the first week of school here. Spent the entire week getting caught up on all the errands, doctor appointments, etc. that I haven’t been able to do over the summer with the kids home. I think I spent a total of half an hour at home while the kids weren’t there too.

So unless anyone is interested in my visits to the doctor, the dentist, the grocery store, ad nauseum (I sure ain’t), there’s not a whole lot new to put in here at the moment. So I’ll just lemming along with the latest Quizilla meme:

border="0" alt="Malamute">
What Common Breed of Dog
Are You?

brought to you by Quizilla

 

This is the fast-spreading phrase from Misia’s LiveJournal. Misia is a survivor of sexual violence—and the disturbing fact is that many, many others are as well.

Of the female friends I’ve had, I know about half have been the targets of sexual assault. I don’t know how many of the others might have been but did not tell me about it, either because they didn’t feel close enough to me or because they simply couldn’t talk about it, period. And the
thing that suprises me most about this is not the number of women who have experienced sexual violence of some sort, but the people who feel that this number must be exaggerated.

Last week Romilly wrote in a similar vein about the different worlds men and women live in. For the average woman above puberty, the possibility of rape or assault is a real one that we must be aware of. We must be alert when walking through a parking garage alone, or through a strange area of town, or when going to an event. Certainly we don’t spend every waking moment worrying that rapists are lurking behind every tree or dark doorway—but we are aware that we are potential targets. It’s not something most men think about, even though men have also been recipients of sexual assault.

I consider myself fortunate that I’ve never experienced this. I’ve had men make advances that were unwelcome, or crude comments I found belittling, and on occasion I have even felt that a man was behaving in a manner I found threatening and I was careful to stay with my group of
friends. I think most adult females have experienced some of this.

But I’ve never actually been assaulted, or even felt in serious danger of being assaulted. I don’t believe it’s because I’ve done anything better or worse than women who were. There are undoubtedly choices and behaviors that put some women more at risk than others, but it would be disingenuous to suggest that they were assaulted because of those behaviors. The friend Romilly refers to in her blog was sleeping at home in her own bed with the doors locked when her rapist broke in; that’s about as far away from a high-risk behavior as it’s possible to get.

I know women (yes, that is plural) who were assaulted as children. And if anyone wants to tell me a child could do something to deserve being sexually assaulted, I’ll kindly invite that person to check themselves in at the nearest euthanasia clinic; such a person doesn’t need to be
cluttering up my planet. They can get in line behind the ones who actually did the assaulting.

My point is, it can happen to anyone, and it does. We can try to make ourselves feel safer by saying such-and-so was doing something wrong that led to the attack—she was dressed provocatively, she was drunk at a party, she was flirting, dancing, breathing deeply, you name it. We do this so that we can pretend it couldn’t possibly happen to us, because we will keep to safe behaviors that don’t put us at risk. And some of us will be quite vehement in our belief that “she brought it on herself,” because otherwise we have to admit the frightening truth: it could happen to us. Any one of us, for no reason at all besides the fact that some inadequate dickhead wanted to be the boss of someone else for a while.

I think Misia has the right idea. People who have faced sexual violence need to know they are not alone, and they have nothing to be ashamed of.

I’m Bertha. Many of my friends are survivors of sexual violence.

You are not the only one.

It was not your fault.

It does not define who you are.

No Pity. No Shame. No Silence.

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