Corner of Bourbon & Division

Today has been A Day, and I still have to go to work in about five hours. *falls over* 

I cleaned out all the quail enclosures today, as I had been doing only very basic maintenance since getting Covid, and they were pretty gross. The quails deserve a nice clean environment to live in, after all. I also noticed that the quarantine box in which I was keeping my lone male was disintegrating because of the water spilling out of his water dish. The cardboard had softened without my noticing before, and last night I saw that the box was sagging to one side, and the mesh over the "window" in the front was gaping badly.

So today I cut a hole in a new box, lined it with duct tape and plastic, and cut a new window in it so the poor birb isn't just completely in the dark. I couldn't leave him in the old box while I transferred the mesh over, however, so I decided to stick him in for a couple of minutes with the other quail. How bad could it be? I thought. He'll only be in there long enough for me to attach the mesh to the new box. HAH. No sooner had his feet touched the pine chips on the floor of the enclosure, he immediately sprang onto the nearest female, grabbed a bunch of feathers at the base of her head and swung himself onto her back like a cowboy at a rodeo. He was VERY rough with her, and she bucked him off, so he immediately did the same thing to the next closest female. A third female then flew at him and started pecking at him pretty viciously, so I reached in and pulled him out and put him in a bucket while I worked.

Good Lord and butter!

At least now I know that he is, in fact, the problem bird in the bunch. The other male is very gentle with the ladies: all their feathers are growing back, they're all laying consistently every day, and they all like to hang out and tweedle softly together, whereas the first male has been screaming intermittently for the past couple of days. So once I am done with my night shifts he will be turned into dinner. Only gentleman birbs get to hang out with my ladies! Everyone else gets to be eaten.

I then sent my resume to the recruiter who'd asked for it, and then it was time to gather all the pets to take them to the vet for their annual shots. I want to say it went smoothly, but that would be a lie. First off, Octavia decided to hide in the walls and refused to come out. I was able to get Juno in her carrier, and then the dogs freaked the fuck out, because CAAAAAAAAT! I wrangled all three into KK's car and got them to the vet, figuring I would just reschedule Octavia for another day.

Once at the vet, the dogs got their shots, and KK messaged me to tell me that Octavia had graced the living room with her presence. I asked her to put Octavia in her kennel and arranged to leave Juno at the vet's while I drove the dogs home and picked up my truant cat. When I got back, the vet had some very bad news for me: namely, that Juno had lost a lot of weight and that it was very likely due to her teeth rotting in her head. One canine was so loose they were able to just yank it out then and there with no issue, and her other canine is super loose as well. When the vet examined Octavia, he found a really similar problem. So both cats need dental surgery ASAP, and I booked them in for May 28th, which is TWO DAYS before we're meant to move. But honestly, they are in pain and not eating, and I don't want to wait any longer than I have to, especially since I don't know what the vet care situation is in Maxville. There is a veterinary clinic there (I used to take my pets there when I first moved to Ottawa) but I don't know if they're taking new patients, and immediate dental surgery might be a stretch even for them.

So for now we're switching them to wet food until after the surgery, and then we'll see if they can have kibble after that still or if they'll need to be on soft food for the rest of their lives.

I came home just in time to have a Zoom call with my parents, which I totally forgot about until they called me to ask where I was. OOPS. My parents, as usual, immediately told me I should euthanize the cats rather than spend money on surgery for them. My parents are delightful that way. Then my mother asked me how much this "joke" was going to cost me, and when I asked her what "joke" she meant, she listed the number of pets I have (two cats, two dogs). I understand that they are worried about my finances, but fucking hell, it would be nice if they eased up a little. It's not like I'm not going to deny veterinary care to my pets, and I will only give up my pets as a very last resort. 

Anyway, apart from that little unpleasantness, we had a nice, if brief chat. Now it's time for me to go get some dinner, and hopefully have a nap and a shower before work.

*falls over*

The sleep study went okay. The ADHD struck and I misread the instructions on when to arrive (I saw "twenty" minutes but the email actually said "thirty," oops) but I managed to get there in time anyway. I located a parking spot ($15 for overnight, ouch) and hustled my way to the secondary reception point, since the primary one isn't open on weekends, apparently. I got myself signed in, then went to the cardio-pulmonary ward where a sign directed me to a waiting room where there were clipboards and pens with a form to fill out.

Am I the only one who overthinks medical forms? Or any form, for that matter? Anything that asks me to answer YES or NO immediately sends me into a tizzy of "Well, it DEPENDS. What exactly do you MEAN?" And of course it's a paper form, so it can't provide answers to your clarifying questions. :P One of the questions was: "Please describe the nature of your sleep trouble," or something to that effect, and I just wanted to yell at the paper "I don't KNOW! That is the whole POINT of having a sleep study done! To see if I have trouble!" I tried to ask myself how a neurotypical person might interpret the question, and decided it landed in the category of "Tell me what brings you in today," and went with that.

I had a very lovely technician named Marilyn who got me all strapped in with more wires than I had initially imagined, which is saying something, because I had imagined quite a number of wires. There were also straps and cannulas and extra sensors. Marilyn was joined by another technician named Rita, and drew on my head using a special kind of wax crayon. It was red crayon, and I amused them a lot by asking about the colour and whether they each had a favourite, because apparently no one had ever asked about the crayon colour before. It seemed a natural enough question to ask, but I guess not. They glued a bunch of electrodes to my scalp using a putty that was kind of like wax and would later prove to be rather tricky to wash out, and then it was time for the sleepings in the beddings, as we say to the dogs in our household.

I actually managed to sleep decently, all things considered. I woke up a few times, but not much more than I would if I were at home, and I had weird dreams in which the hospital setting merged with some sort of superhero storyline (it's all a bit of a blur now). At 04:49 a code blue was announced throughout the entire hospital, which was a little jarring, but I went back to sleep relatively easily after that. I felt bad, but it's not like I was in any kind of position to do anything about the poor person in the ER who was having a truly terrible night. I hope they're okay, but of course I will never know. 

Marilyn woke me around 5:30. I thought it was closer to 06:00, but I didn't look at my watch until I was back at my car and realized it was only 6:05, so it must have been closer to 5:30. I got unstrapped, we commiserated over night shift work, I thanked her for all her hard work, and then got dressed and was on my way. I was home again by 6:45, had a quick snack, then stood in a hot shower for a very long time trying to clean the goop out of my hair, and took a nap from 8:00 to 9:00 so that I wouldn't be a complete zombie at work today (because I had agreed to swap shifts partially with one of my coworkers who had hockey games scheduled today).

I've been at work since 11:00, and up until not that long ago things were pretty busy. Luckily most of it has been pretty routine, and I am keeping my fingers crossed that it will continue to be routine for the next couple of hours until it's time to go home.

That's it for now. Tomorrow I have an appointment to get my taxes done, and I am considering going very early to get my blood drawn before that, and then much later in the morning I need to take Peggy to the vet to get her bum squished (one of my favourite euphemisms for anal gland expression). Exciting times, indeed! I know you are all riveted by the minutiae of my daily existence.

Catch you all on the flip side, friends!

Yesterday went south really fast.

At 1pm I got a call from KK to inform me that Pixie had broken out of her crate and had gone on an absolute rampage in my bedroom (I keep the door closed to prevent Rika from coming into my room, because she likes to poop under my bed, and also to keep the cats out because the dogs lose their damned minds when the cats walk by when they're in their crates). The whole room was upside down, and Pixie had gotten into an almost full bag of dog diapers that I got last year when Peggy had a ruptured anal glad and I needed her to not lick herself.

KK very nicely brought Pixie to the vet for me since I couldn't leave work, and I had to wait for several anxious hours until I could leave work and go to the vet myself. Luckily my local vet is awesome and was able to take us on an emergency basis rather than forcing us to take Pixie to the emergency vet, which would have cost a bloody fortune. They induced vomiting, and then waited to see what came up. The good news is that, while Pixie did help herself to every dog treat I had in the room, she didn't actually ingest anything she really shouldn't have (like, say, diapers with super absorbent materials and other toxic chemicals in them), so there's no cause for concern. She was given plain rice and a probiotic for dinner, and apart from being quite tired last night and today, is showing no ill effects from her little escapade.

I bought a new crate at PetSmart, one that's rated for travel and that won't break down as easily. Peggy already had one since she's a savant about locking mechanisms, and I decided to give Peggy the new crate because I bought it a size up, and I figure it'll be better for her hips if she has a bit more room to move around and stretch. It's actually a perfectly good size for them both, but since Peggy has hip dysplasia I figured it couldn't hurt to give her some extra room. Amusingly, she still chose to curl into the tightest ball possible last night in spite of the extra space. She does love being a tiny ball of Peggy when she sleeps, it's super cute.

My bedroom is an absolute trash heap right now. It was pretty messy before, but now if I lived in the US I'm pretty sure FEMA would be showing up on my doorstep to provide natural disaster relief. My plan originally was to clean up my room right after we visited some houses today, but then the migraine fairy decided to pay a visit and so I spent most of the afternoon sleeping it off. So now the plan is to do that tomorrow, once I'm up, caffeinated, and ready to face the day.

We ended up seeing two houses today rather than three (one ended up conditionally sold). The first was okay but the layout was not quite right. It also very weirdly had a SUPER modern bathroom that was in such stark contrast to the rest of the house that was a bit older and had had some cheap renovations done that it was actually kind of jarring. It had a heated mirror that lit up using touch buttons, with a brand new washer and dryer! It was wild. Mostly what convinced me that it wasn't the right property was that Enbridge has a gas line running right through the property, and it would require an easement that would likely prevent me from doing any kind of gardening or putting in a chicken coop or anything else. There was also a very steep slope in the backyard that would have made things a little difficult. Anyway, it was interesting, but ultimately not right for us.

The second house was a bit of a horror show. It was still occupied by a family with two small children (both under the age of 10 by the looks of it), and two very sweet cats. One was a ragdoll that was absolutely glorious but was uninterested in being sociable, whereas the other was a tabby/calico-looking one that absolutely wanted all of the pats an attention. Our real estate agent said there was a dog closed up in one room and didn't want to go in, but KK decided to try the door anyway. Inside was a very sketchy-looking dude holding an obviously super sweet golden Labrador who was in desperate need of a nail trim (the poor thing's toes were twisting against the floor, they were so long), and he told KK that they were waiting for the SPCA to come get the dog. It gave all of us the ick.

The house smelled of must and cigarettes and God only knows what else. The rooms were tiny, and the dog had been chewing on the doors and walls, probably out of anxiety (they didn't tell us this, but I know dog damage when I see it). The whole house would have needed to be gutted, or possibly even torn down and rebuilt from scratch. The main reason I was interested was because it was situated on a full acre of land, but honestly even at the price it was selling at it wouldn't have been worth it.

So, the phrase of the day is: "Disappointed but not surprised."

Anyway, it's been a long couple of days. Tomorrow the plan is just to rest, because I have a super busy week ahead of me on top of working an evening shift. I have appointments basically every single day except Friday, at this point, and I am tired just thinking about it. Blech.

Most of what's going on is not super interesting to the outside viewer, alas. I applied for the rental house I wanted on Friday, and I'm supposed to hear back by close of business today. It turns out that my medium credit rating is a cause for concern to prospective landlords. I mean, it's an okay rating, but due to a fuck-up over four years ago there's a thing on it that's keeping it "artificially" low (another three years to go before that black mark disappears, alas), so the manager I spoke to said he had some reservations. I tap-danced my way out of it, and the fact that I've been employed by the government for over nine years helped a lot. All that's left is for them to call my references, which, of course, includes my current landlady. YAY. I hope she doesn't fuck things up for me. Close of business (or COB, which always, always makes me snigger) is in six hours or so, maybe seven, depending on when their day ends, so everyone keep your fingers crossed.

More landlady shenanigans ensued while I was chasing all over town trying to get my application approved. I got a text message from her while I was out, saying that the reno guys were going to remove the wall between the downstairs storage space and my part of the house, and was I home so they could show me? Needless to say, my blood pressure rose about a million points, because there's nothing I'd like more than to have an entire wall missing in my house. It would mean that anyone with a key to the side door of the house would have unlimited access to my living space. Reassuring, right?

I took a detour out of my day to come home, and spoke with the reno guy. It turns out he had told my landlady that he didn't want to take out the wall and leave my living space wide open without alerting me first, as a common courtesy. If it hadn't been for him having a conscience, I wouldn't have known until I came home one day to find my wall missing. He also proposed installing a lock on a door at the bottom of my stairs (the storage space is about two feet beyond the door, behind the wall in question), so that I'd have at least something of an illusion of control. I mean, the door is made of glass, so it wouldn't afford me true privacy or safety, but anyone in that space would have to at least expend effort to get into my house. So yay for reno guys with scruples! If all goes according to plan, the lock will go on today, and the wall will come down sometime this week (although I don't know exactly when, maybe Wednesday). So at least that's resolved, for now. I even got my landlady to agree, via text message, to return my post-dated cheques to me, so that's a small victory too.

I played 7 Days to Die with my friend V. on Friday evening, and went to bed WAY too late. I knew I had to get up early the next morning for a 06:00 Skype date with my parents, after which I was meant to drive to Montreal for le_maistre_e 's birthday Dim Sum party. Still, because V.'s computer has been on the fritz for nearly a month, I rationalized to myself that I'd go to bed early Saturday night and make up for it then. Remember this bit, because it will come back later.

Saturday was my mother's birthday, and the Skype call was fun, if maybe a bit shorter than usual. They were expecting my aunt to come to lunch, so I actually got to see her briefly before we hung up, which was nice. She had cancer last year, and had to undergo chemo for a while. She was looking quite good, as it turns out (my mother was convinced that she'd have lost all her hair and look like a skeleton, in spite of evidence to the contrary), if a little fragile. As far as I know she's in remission now, which is good news all around.

I hopped in the car and drove to Montreal, which as usual went well until I got into the city proper, at which point the construction nightmare resumed, and I found myself threading my way through detour after detour until I got to Chinatown. The restaurant itself was on a one-way street that, unbeknownst to me, had been blocked at the end. Why unbeknownst to me? Because there was no sign saying it had been blocked off! So I had to do a U-turn and go back the wrong way up a one-lane one-way street until I managed to find an alleyway I could use to get out of there. Good times. I do not miss Montreal and its shitty traffic and its shitty street signs, let me tell you. I miss my friends and family, but I've become spoiled in Ottawa, where getting around with your car is not a logistical nightmare on the best of days.

The birthday Dim Sum was a lot of fun, as was the outing afterward for bubble tea and cheese cake. I geeked out with friends, caught up with people I hadn't seen in weeks and months, and it was all over far too soon. I did leave on time, though, and managed to get back to Ottawa without mishap. Since it was still relatively early (18:00 or so), I took a couple of hours to run some errands. I was out of milk, and I needed to pull together supplies for First Day School on Sunday (I was meant to lead again, and the first Sunday of the month is always potluck, as I think I've mentioned before).

That's when things went south. I was a little surprised when I got home that Sergent didn't immediately get up to greet me, but when I looked over he was lying quietly on his bed, so I assumed he was just continuing his nap. That was quickly put to the lie less than an hour later when I heard the unmistakable sound of nails scrabbling against the floor. When I went over to check what was happening, I found him unable to get up under his own power. Even with me helping him, he couldn't stand for long, poor puppy. I ran for my coat and boots, and then spent nearly 20 minutes maneuvering the poor dog to the car. He weighs 90 pounds these days (he always gains a bit of weight in the winter), and that's about 10 pounds more than I can deadlift, unfortunately. I just can't pick him up and carry him (I'll have to start going to the gym again or something). Luckily with some coaxing and support from me, he was able to limp to the car. I could see then that it was his front left leg that was giving him trouble, and not just weakness in his hindquarters. I was able to lift him into the backseat, and drove him to the nearest emergency vet (which, luckily, is about five minutes from my house), where the vet tech and the assistant got a stretcher for him and carried him inside.

Once there he was sort of able to stand for a little bit, long enough for them to weigh him (which is why I know exactly how much he weighs right now) and for him to then poop all over their floor (oops). An examination revealed him to have a fever on top of the mystery leg injury. So $900 later we had bloodworm and an x-ray done, all of which led the vet to the inevitable conclusion of "We're not really sure." Nice to know that Sergent's streak of mystery ailments continues unbroken. :P They pumped him full of hydropmorphone in order to perform the x-rays, and he spent the rest of the night stoned out of his gourd. It was actually pretty funny, amidst the rest of the shit show that was that whole night. We spent nearly an hour in a nice quiet room with a leather sofa while he recovered a bit (he lay on the sofa, lucky dog, but also had diarrhea all over it, which was maybe less ideal), and after two and a half hours total spent at the vet's they loaded him back into the car, and I drove him home.

The story doesn't end there, alas. I couldn't get him out of the car at all once we were home. He refused to stand up under his own power, and I couldn't get the proper leverage to lift him out on my own. I wasn't sure if this was the result of the hydromorphone (he was still pretty loopy) or a combination of that and his leg injury. Either way, I could not get him to budge. So, I decided to wait and see if, when the narcotics wore off, he'd be more willing to come with me. Long story short, we slept in the car. Let me tell you, sleeping in your car is overrated. For one, Sergent picked the coldest day of the week to need to spend the night in the car, so I had to run the engine quite a bit to keep us (mostly me, probably) both warm, and I was really worried that someone would come across the still-running car and report me (for what, I don't know, but I was overtired). 

Anyway, morning broke, and Sergent still wouldn't get up, so back we went to the emergency vet. I wrote an email to the First Day School volunteers, and thank goodness they agreed to pinch hit for me, because I was a bit of a wreck by then. The same assistant and a new tech carried Sergent back inside, and we got seen by the day vet. It took all three of them to get him up and moving, but by then he managed to start walking around mostly on his own. I took him out a few feet away for a pee, and the vet gave him some makeshift physiotherapy, after which we went home again. It took me another ten minutes to get him inside, but after I lifted him out of the car he was able to mostly manage the stairs on his own, which I took as an encouraging sign. I gave him his pain meds (Tramadol), and he actually asked to go back outside on his own (poor puppy still had the runs) and managed it on his own reasonably well. Then we both got a much-needed nap.

He's doing okay today. He's obviously not 100%, but he's putting a lot more weight on his leg than before, and I was able to get him to eat a little bit, at least. I think the Tramadol makes him feel nauseated, so his appetite has obviously been affected.

Once my nap was over I ended up spending the rest of the evening bookending my weekend with 7 Days to Die with V. and later my friend M., before passing out in bed at a more reasonable hour than on Friday. So, yes, the moral of that story is: don't go to bed late thinking you'll be able to make up for it the next night, because that guarantees you'll have to spend the night in the car with your sick dog. ;)

I'm scheduled for a Skype call with my parents at noon today. My father sent me a slightly panicky email about my living situation, which tells me he's even more stressed about it than I am. He said he would help me out, but I'm disappointed that the content of his message implied that all of this was actually my fault, that if only I kept the house cleaner or whatever, that I wouldn't be having trouble with my landlady. Why didn't I accept her offer? he wanted to know. Why didn't I get a house cleaner before? Why not agree to pay more money so I could stay on here? His offer to support me boiled down to "I will help you fix your fuck-up," which is not exactly the ringing endorsement I would have liked. It's disheartening to feel that, after all this time, my parents still default to the notion that if something bad has happened, it must be because I made a mess of things, and not because the other party is at fault. I constantly hear about parents these days who refused to believe that their precious darlings could ever do anything wrong, and I confess I'd like it if my parents took that stance more often. :P

In conclusion, I had an interesting weekend. Lots of ups and downs, so it's difficult to say whether it was "bad" or "good." I guess it just was.

The laptop charger arrived, so I am all set. When finances loosen up a little I am going to get myself another one, so I can keep one in Montreal and one in Ottawa. I think it was at least partly the fact that I had to wrap the cord over and over and over that led to the plastic/rubber casing wearing out and then fraying to the point of snapping. If I make the cords travel less, I'm sure they'll survive longer. Plus it'll save space when I pack.

( The week in review. )

We've been having trouble with the dog, as I mentioned before. Last week he stole a sealed Ziplock bag of fifteen muffins off the counter and ate them all, did the same with half a box of Tim Horton's doughnuts, and has been sneaking the cat food when he thinks we're not looking. He's gained about five pounds over the winter, too, which is really bad for his arthritis. It was getting to the point where I would get home and the first thing I'd hear about was the myriad ways in which the dog had misbehaved during my absence.

When I got home on Friday, he was limping noticeably, favouring his right front leg. He's injured this leg a few times in the past, but hadn't done anything to it recently, so I figured his arthritis might be getting worse. I dutifully took an appointment with the vet for yesterday, since I don't want my dog to be in pain. Before the arthritis had manifested as stiffness, so we were managing it with diet and exercise, but if it's more than that we need to look at pain management. I also figured I would address the new "behavioural" problem in case it was a medical problem, as ai731 suggested. It hand't occurred to me before, but it made sense.

So, nearly two hours at the vet's later, there were x-rays and blood tests and thermometers jammed in unfortunate places. Sergent was not a happy camper. We need to wait for the blood tests to come back, but the vet suspects either a thyroid problem or maybe diabetes. The x-rays did't reveal any worsening of the arthritis, though, which is a good thing in all of this mess.

Of course, the vet visit cleaned me out of the last few "spare" dollars I had. I had managed to clear a bit of space on my credit card, but that's now gone, and I am a little worried about what the beginning of next month is going to look like. *sigh* If the dog has diabetes, we're looking at a crapton of expensive medication that I will somehow have to find a way to pay for out of my already non-existent money. I am really hoping he doesn't have any kind of terrible long-term illness, because I don't want him to be sick and I also don't want to have to figure out how to pay for the new medication.

Oy.

Anyway, today is a commute day. This week I'm coming back for Bean's birthday and then going back again. I'm happy to be able to be at his party but also a little concerned about where the money for the extra gas I need to use is going to come from. Isn't worrying about finances awesome?

Okay. So. Now that I have watched the Teen Wolf finale and I am not chewing off my own fingers in frustration at the show, I need to pack up my things and go.

The good news is that it's nothing that appears to be life-threatening. No diabetes, no kidney failure, nothing like that.

So yay!

The bad news is that we don't know what kind of infection she has.

The somewhat-bad news is that Gretzky should be feeling better by now, and as far as I can tell she isn't, really. I'm not sure if it's just wishful thinking on my part that makes me think she seems to be breathing a little more easily and has a bit more spring in her step. At least she hasn't given me any more "Oh my God is my cat in a coma?" scares. Small mercies.

I have to call the vet today to give her an update on how Gretzky is doing. I think we'll probably have to go for another round of antibiotics next week. At least with the new injection it means I don't have to fight with her, and it means I can also carry on with my other plans without having to leave her overnight at the vet's (because I would never, ever subject one of my friends to the horror of having to pill my cat: it's like a scene out of Exorcist, I swear).

So, yeah. The news is lukewarm, but at the very least I know that she's not dying. She's just got a really really bad cold.

I am taking Gretzky to the vet this evening. I meant to take her toward the end of the week, but they had an opening tonight, so I'm taking it.

I got home today and she was sleeping so soundly that I actually had to physically pick her up before she awoke. I think that's probably a bad sign, so off to the vet we go. I was going to call anyway, but this has clinched the deal.

George actually appears to be getting better, so he's staying at home. Negotiating one cat through the snow is going to be plenty hard enough.

Today was a looooooooooooooong day.

Brought the car to the parental units, went to band practice. Started work on the new Soopar Seekrit Prodjikt while having tea with toughlovemuse and luvenditti. Had a latent-ish migraine all day, which didn't help.

Tea was lovely, until poor Jake, toughlovemuse's elderly Russian blue cat, got quite ill under our noses. An hour later, maybe even less than that, we were all (that is me, luvenditti, toughlovemuse and chibipunkdemon) at the all-night emergency vet's with the kitty in tow (kitty was *not* happy about being in the carrier), waiting to see a vet. luvenditti and I went in search of food, and we spent the next five hours or so in the waiting room.

It took four hours before Jake got in to see the vet. luvenditti lucked out by finding a deck of cards lying on a table, so we whiled away the hours chatting about bad movies and playing Crazy Eights and Gin Rummy. We played one game of "Go Fish" which chibipunkdemon won after two rounds. We decided Go Fish wasn't as fun now as when we were seven years old, and went back to Crazy Eights.

Jake is spending the night at the vet's, so that they can get some fluids in him and run some tests.

To the people on my flist who do that sort of thing: I think lighting a candle/thinking good thoughts/saying a prayer for Jake would be very appreciated. He's a good cat. :)


I'm going to bed now. Long, long day.