When I go to bed each night, the cats join me. Torgi is a snuggle addict, but I have no illusions about Zen’s reasoning: she knows I throw off heat like crazy, and she is a Southern belle who requires a much higher ambient temperature than Scotland can usually manage. Torgi defers to Zen’s preference to sleep on my hip, and so he usually exiles himself to the end of the bed.
Lately, he’s been getting very brave, and Zen accommodates. He moves up to the pillow and curls himself next to my head, and Zen doesn’t cross the DMZ of my upper torso.
Something changed in the middle of the night, though, and I woke up this morning to a landmark moment: Zen and Torgi, sleeping next to one another. Touching. And not hissing or hitting each other.
They even stayed that way long enough for me to snap a photo. Are our old only-children finally becoming siblings?
Nah. Zen bit Torgi’s tail a second later, and he made a Walter Matthau grumble and took off. But I can dream …
In completely unrelated news, a few of my work colleagues have now confirmed that I have plans for the holiday break even though FunkyPlaid is out of town.
I … talk about the cats a lot.
Writing from: the lounge, now smelling like cinnamon-scented pinecones. Post title from: “My Evil Twin” by TMBG. Listening to: on Rdio’s suggestion, Leona Lewis’ holiday album. Why is she singing all the notes? She should save some notes for the other songs. So many notes, Leona.
I had something else to write about today, but all I can think about is Torgi. The extended blood panel indicated that he has slight hyperthyroidism, which is a very common thing for cats to have, and treatable with medication.
That medication started today. It involved me tricking him into looking upwards and gently opening his mouth before dropping a tiny pill down his wee throat. O, I felt bad for doing it. The poor guy has been through so much. He gave me such an intense stare right afterwards. Perhaps that was his version of a dirty look?
In four weeks we will find out if this is a temporary condition or if he will need daily medication for the rest of his life. I’m trying not to see this as a setback, but I had fooled myself into thinking that once he beat the diabetes he’d be free from all of this bad stuff.
When stress levels get high, my useless repetitive behaviour ramps up. In addition to this, I stuck close to home today so I could watch for bad side-effects of Torgi’s meds. The combination of these two things meant that I worked on everything I needed to do and yet somehow, magically, almost nothing got done.
Not even a clever lyric from They Might Be Giants from me today, I’m afraid. Just mope-twitch-mope-twitch. Please, December, let’s pull out of this tailspin.
Writing from: a mostly-dark lounge. Mope-tastic. Listening to: “Little Drummer Boy / Peace on Earth” by Bing Crosby and David Bowie.
Our sweet tabby boy Torgi is no longer diabetic.
After fifteen months of twice-daily insulin injections, I thoroughly enjoyed typing that sentence. And although we are waiting on the results of additional blood tests, we are celebrating with salmon and snuggles tonight.
Zen would like you to know that she is getting in on some of that action too.
I hope you don’t mind cat photos in lieu of in-depth content. Hah, who am I kidding? Cats rule the Internet.
Writing from: Torgi’s side. Listening to: “Snowball in Hell” by They Might Be Giants.
FunkyPlaid has just headed off to St Andrews for a couple of days. I wave goodbye through the window, and turn to see Torgi sitting on the TV stand, watching him go too.
gratitude: leftovers · a brisk walk to nowhere in particular · feeling like I have my own entourage as the cats follow me all around the flat
The boys are best buds.
gratitude: seeing this when I walk into a room · knocking things I will never, ever have to do again off my to-do list · falling for Hipstamatic all over again