Bitey spent yesterday at the West LA Kitty Oncologist's. I have to drop him off by 7:30am in order to get to work on time. Then after work, I have to drive back, pick him up and fight hellacious traffic to get home. You may ask, where is Boyfriend in all of this? Well, in my head I'm "saving" him. My work occasionally demands that I jump on a plane with no notice and go somewhere for an indeterminate period of time. And then all the burdens of caring for Bitey end up on the boyfriend's shoulders. Which means I should really try to teach him bladder expression!
So the oncologist was again pleased with Bitey's progress. The cat seems to be making motions towards walking, and holding his own weight, although he can't do both at the same time.
I asked about Bitey's epic bout of drooling this past week. I would come home from work to find the cat's mouth and neck covered in an odorific slime. He said it was probably nausea, as Bitey's latest chemo drug was the toughest on cats. Bitey's on L-Asparagin this week, which is the first chemo drug he took last month. So hopefully the drool factory will close up shop.
I also asked another question, knowing full well that there was no real medical answer. Why did Bitey, who loved to hide under the covers and sleep there for hours, all of a sudden last Sunday reject being anywhere near the bed? If I picked him up and put him on the bed, he reacted as if I had put him in a wriggling mass of puppies. One of the main things keeping his parents going was the fact that he would curl up between us at night and purr as we scratched him behind his ears and rubbed his belly. Did he have a bad experience on the bed? Did he hate us because of all the medications we made him take? Or worst, had the cancer begun to eat into his brain, changing his behaviors?
The vet, while an accomplished kitty oncologist was not a kitty psychologist. He didn't have an answer for us in that department. I might have to settle for the fact that Bitey felt most comfortable sleeping in his cage, alone.
So, we drove home. I let Bitey out of his carrier for the hour plus drive back to Hollywood. He has gotten bolder in the car, and around Beverly Glen and Sunset hauled himself up onto the passenger seat and began looking out the window. I would worry about the safety factor, except we never go more than ten mph the whole way home...
So imagine the surprise of Mr. Rich Bald Guy in his Bentley, Little Miss Precious in her Beamer, and Mr. Macho Metrosexual in his tiny convertible with the top down, despite the frigid weather. They are chatting on cell, oblivious to the world, but turn their heads to check out the status of the car next to them. And what do they see? An orange and white kitty head staring quizzically at them from my car. Now that's something you don't see everyday, even in Los Angeles.
I would have written about this yesterday, but I got home and fell asleep almost immediately at 6:31pm, woke up briefly around 11pm to realize that I hadn't expressed the cat or given him his prednisone and conked out again. So, on the one month anniversary of Bitey's prognosis, I treated myself to ELEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP.
And the best part of that sleep? Bitey spent seven of those hours in the bed with us. Boyfriend spent two hours with him on the couch, and then brought him into the bedroom around 11pm, just to see if he would stay. And stay he did. I was awoken at 5:31 this morning by the gentle track of claws across my face. Just enough claw to ensure I would wake up, but never enough to wound. That's my guy. Happy Anniversary Bitey Boo, let's hope there will be many more.
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