Season's Greetings from The Dude!

The Dude on a walk...

My boy is an indoor cat.

I have had a very bad habit of allowing my indoor cats to go walking as their end is near.  Partially because they are weaker and I can catch them, but also because it is boring sitting around looking sick.

So I found this little dinky collar that goes around his neck and under his elbows.  He CAN pull out backwards but he has to do just enough squiggling that I can catch him.

My DCA treatments have VISIBLY shrunk his tumor.  I was not taking photos as I found it too depressing. The ones I have... well black is a very slimming color so you can't really see the bulge, but my description of about to have a litter of 10 kittens really summed it up.

Except that he won't eat enough food (he likes treats but only about 20 at a time, I tricked him into some kitten food but that was still only a few) canned or dry or anything twice to keep him alive while I give him the meds, I am slurping pumpkin/A/D pet-food and whatever open can he would not eat in the mix 6-10 fat syringefuls on both of us and hopefully into him daily.

BUT he is looking so good, I am going to keep it up.

\

No trips anywhere for the holidays... which is a GREAT thing!

On and off the edge....

I am going a little over the edge.  It is temporary.

For some reason he seems worse on weekends.
I had a bit of turkey and he likes it.  So I pinch off very tiny bite sized bits, as he seems to gnarf.  Last weekend it was some chicken... swallowed a bunch and threw ALL of it back at me.  Totally emptied his stomach of about half an hour of eating so I was worried he had no ability to digest.
But this week he seems to do good for about two teaspoons of canned food about three times a day and lots of treats to chase.  He is barely munching the dry.
So.... this morning he did the same thing with about a nice teaspoon and a half or so of tiny turkey chunks.

Yesterday I got my jar of DCA.  It is powdered and I apparently need a device that cannot be found - a .01mg scale - on a weekend.  I have a friend that I can't get to that we were going to measure out dosages of this completely uncertified tumor shrinking compound that I was hoping might make room in his body for bodily functions by making the cantaloupe a little smaller....
With him turning up his nose at food... well not really but having a perpetual upset stomach, I am not sure how to get it into him.  He really holds a grudge now when I give him his meds....

More to come, just venting.
Tomorrow I will get some of the special diet the vet gave me to shove down his throat and tell her of my science experiments.  But today I just watch him... sleep... and worse, just stare.
dj*

Long Weekends.

He greeted me with a half-hearted stretch this morning.  I think the belly is stretching his skin a bit much and he stops after reaching out with his paws.  He doesn't follow through all the way to the tip of his tail like he used to.  We slept with the window open and it was wonderful.  I don't keep the air conditioning very low as I don't actually DO much around here in the summer anyway, so I don't mind, but I have worried that he may be uncomfortable.  He has a corner in the office/studio that is on the tile and he will sit in there while I type.  Sometimes he stays after I leave.
He has started protesting being petted.
He was NEVER a cuddler, but when he was sick before we would commune.  He would not put up with my lap but always found a flat spot from chin to belly on me to sleep most of the night.  In the winter, I think he found it too warm.  He will pop up beside me (always just as I am starting to doze off....) and say hi, but when I pet him, he backs off.....
I notice him staring off into space.
Last week he had a couple of tummy upsets but he is eating the wet food (OH, how much I hate that stuff!  I was so proud he never bothered me with opening cans because I gave in to begging etc.  NOW he will brazenly reach up to sniff the french fries I bring into the house... just in case he wants it!) and it moves past the mass quite handily.
What a trouper.
He doesn't like fingers.  He bites.... but he LOVES to rub against my toes.

I Shall Have HELL to Pay!

I liken him to a drama addict. The kitty next door is just happy to see people. My guy is really a bully. He sees very few people and tends to pretend he is a "cat", friendly prr's and chats and rubbing of legs with visitors.

When they leave, he just sits and "plots my demise".

That was all his pictures EVER looked like. He never would have a clue as to how to take care of himself, but I always knew he waited for that day.... and then he got older and sicker and started realizing I was useful.

When I first started giving him treats like cheese and bits of meat from my own meals he thought that was REALLY COOL and now he literally would pull my hand away from my face to sniff everything I brought into the living room as a snack. He is a bully!

Now in his cage, he is like a grumpy old neighbor, complaining about EVERYTHING! He threatens them when they come to clean up after his recent fur ball, he showed real teeth with me today.

I have found that backing him down works. I grab his head and scratch behind his ears and he is fine. But it is hard to do in a box!!!

I brought extra dry food as he was eating well and they ran out of the bag of goodies. They didn't want to court the runs with the other issues he had!

I stayed briefly and will be back later today to just put my face in. He is the king of his domain and absolutely a mess away from home.

I will be wearing cowboy boots in 100 degree days for the weekend at least! He will not be quick to forgive me!

Other than that, he seems quite fine.

Early Call This Morning

Of course I freaked when the phone rang a little after 8.

All the news was good. He even stinked up his cage so he has eliminated through elimination the stuff he is supposed to.

He also threw up his food. That sounds awful, but he does that a lot. I think it is boredom. He chews on his dry food like I do potato chips. He is smart enough to barf it back. I gain weight and get migraines!

I was telling a friend online how, although my cat is not at all affectionate, occasionally demanding of attention, he has short interactions with me. He and I will check in. I hear him do a little mmmww under his breath and I say hi. He is sleeping in a corner too long and I will call out "Doood!" and he looks up, answers and goes back to sleep. He runs into my foot while I am sitting in a chair and rubs it. He HATES me to pick him up or pet him. It is ALL on his terms.

At night RIGHT about the time I doze off, he will plop himself on my tummy and indulge in quality petting. About five minutes and he is off.

When he first was getting well from the meds, he started falling asleep on me. THAT was so amazing! Living with a cat for 10 years that would LEAP on and leap off my chest (never my lap. That may have been partially due to his former 18 pound weight) for his own reward, actually being peaceful and happy enough to sleep with me, heartbeat to heartbeat. . .

I am going to bring a little cheese stick for him this afternoon. He has been called playful. That means I might wear my long sleeved shirt. We are not actively seeking bites or scratches while he still glows in the dark, but I bet he may want to express a bit of displeasure with his recent incarceration.

Thinking About Rescue and Adoption.

I sort of have said all this in the beginning of the blog but many of my rescue friends have been telling their stories of ill cats and I think a lot of what came to be my experience with how wonderful bringing a pet into your life is why the Dude being sick makes me think about The Kid (his namesake).

My first very own cat, the ORIGINAL Kid, and The Dude were neither officially adopted. The two loves of my life were little unwanted micro life forms that nobody wanted.

No humans that is.

THE Kid was brought into Bel Ray Institute in Denver in a pregnant Siamese mom whose life was ending. The litter was born but the mother was lost. My best girlfriend was studying to be a vet tech at the time. Perhaps I will have to credit (blame???) Barbara for all this rescue work I do. Her obsessive love of animals somehow found me driving across town with a shoebox full of litter and an oozy-eyed egg-sized life form that looked like it had black chicken pluckings glued on it. He was NOT a pretty sight. As we drove, I remember the FIRST amazing Siamese YOWL that nearly drove me off the road! Tiny body, but a full-throated wail that nearly burst my ears!

I was neither mother, nor cat material.

I honestly was saying "No" as it was put in my car as I left her house. On arrival home, the boyfriend was thrilled. His cat Feather, was the first cat I had ever really known to love.

She was a tripod. I also found through her, that indoor cats made less allergies! So in spite of nearly ALWAYS having one reddened nostril from a sniffle, I learned how wonderful living with a cat could be.

FEATHER was not happy. She had been a mother and was not up to any more kids, much less one that oozed!

Kid was amazingly small, but housebroken. His eyes needed a lot of ointment and we watched him carefully. At night we locked him in the bathroom. I am laughing as I type!!! I just remembered that my apartment was a second story in the great Washington Park part of Denver. The floor under the toilet had LITERALLY rotted a bit. There were gaping holes and we stuffed towels in them for fear he would fall through! His isolation at first was trying to be good cat parents. Feather began punishing us from the first. For what seemed like weeks, if he was around, she was missing.

Feather was a three-footed purr machine. She was a graceful and elegant silver tabby with bright green eyes. She was so beautiful, that new guests regularly would GASP outloud hours into the evening when they realized she was missing a back leg - an injury from her wild days in wild lands.

That kitty breath in my face with the kneading on my chest. Wow, the sensation is actually overwhelming now. She was a beautiful spirit.

So....she ignored us and him.... and then one day, in the irrepressible KID-ness of him, he was playing, she was ignoring and he would do his paws up "BIG CAT" thing, and topple to one side and try hard to engage her. She just glowered, then quite suddenly slapped a paw atop his shoulder blades while he was down and began grooming him, as if she had had quite enough of this sloppy little urchin.

So they became fused. She would take on the Border Collie that lived with us a while if he so much as wagged a tail in the Kid's direction. The maternal instinct just took over.

I read online of a real brain damage that I know he had. His twin sister literally had to be put down for her aggressive behavior. All the wicked that ended in her was drained from him. I even remember him purring when we had him put to sleep 18years later. In fear or in love, he would purr.

We knew he was different when after he lived (the name "the Kid" was because we didn't think he had the stamina and he was so ill that we figured if we didn't give him a name, we wouldn't miss him so much if he didn't make it) people commented on his odd walk. He sort of always kicked his back legs behind him as if he had a piece of tape on each foot.

Upon one of my friend's comment on the odd walk, I indignantly replied "He is no funnier than FEATHER!" and realized that she walked pretty funny herself!

Not only the odd gate, but he used to stick to the rug.

When he got over excited, his claws would sort of automatically grab and often he would forget to let go and trip himself on the floor. He used to leap up and run into the other room and miss.... hit the door and try again. He never needed catnip. And oddly I think it never did anything to him.

We got rid of our TV for two years and I honestly never missed it. I watched him approach life every day with excitement and kitty joy!

Once, I was walking around the house coming home from work and heard his howl. When I looked up, there he was. Having just learned to hop into window sills, he apparently thought it might be fun to climb the screen. Up in my window was a very crucified looking Kiddie, stuck - as was his habit, from fear - to the screen. I was laughing so hard when I in the apartment, I believe I may have offended him.

Through a couple more relationships and moves to two other states, I retained the "children" and when Feather finally died of congestive heart failure, I thought her purr would never be replaced. We did get another cat who was much happier outside. Kiddie and I got tighter and tighter.

He woke up my present beau in the night leaping into the tub and missing! He would sleep on my face which made the new relationship a LITTLE tricky, but KID was going to win, and if the boyfriend didn't like it he was gone.

The Kid lived to be 18. I used to say, if he were human, he would have graduated from high school. . . if he had made it through kindergarten! He had small tumors and finally one in his head.

The vet was so wonderful.

When we knew it was terminal, the vet said his quality of life would be fine. I would know when the right time came.

Kiddie began backing up, as if he had a headache about a week before I was due to go out of town. I had a sitter arranged but was torn up over what the definition of "misery" would be. Dr. Saltero said, "Why should he even have to BE miserable?"

I petted him and sat as his loud and fearful purring stopped.

I really love the sense that his WHOLE life was of giving and getting love. Even at the end.

so. . .

THE DUDE was assumed to be his spirit returned. His INDEPENDENCE is a whole other lesson.

Thanks for listening. The vet's office should be calling soon, but I fear the absence of fur in my face is stirring up allergies, because I seem to have runny eyes!!!

FIRST Trip Away in a Year...

Well, nearly.

Tomorrow, with no need to sit and stare at him I am heading out on an overnight!

It is odd, leaving him alone, but honestly, just this week, I have been wondering if I had him a little over medicated. I swear, I can't tell you how happy he was looking this week.

I do notice his back, behind his slightly bony hips is a bit greasy. It used to look like he couldn't groom back there. He would hate for me to pat back that far on his back, but when the meds kicked in, he was much more docile. Off meds he just seems spunky! He has been chasing my heels and talking up a storm! He asks for food, but doesn't seem unusually hungry or thirsty. He has been laying around but less sleepy! It is odd that making him sicker seems to have made him happier. He lolls around on his back, purrs like mad and has a much brighter personality than recently.

I am hoping that the act of being on medication, although it helps his health might actually not making everything so good . . . Like when I was a kid, I had allergies. The meds made me function, as in not sneezing on everyone, but I was seriously dopey! Like that!!

So we shall give a fuller report when I return to see what a couple of days have produced.

Wish us all luck!

Updates! More news to come...

I was pet sitting all week for a friend so I have not been posting much.

I did get a friend to loan me a big pet crate. Radiocat says you need a pet carrier. I have found he gets a little too hot and hyper in his small carrying case, so I borrowed a small cat motel for him!

It is old and odd. As he is much more of a light-weight than he was, I hope he will feel a little more comfortable standing up and moving. The old reliable is nice and cozy and suitable for rushing him off in emergencies, but not really so good for allaying his fears. I figured as he is going to be taking a longer trip for the procedure to the specialty vet, I might as well make it as easy on him as I can.

More to come . . Photos! Updates! Stay Tuned!

Woke Up and Hit The Ground Running!

My mom used to tell me not to THINK POOR. Something about magnetism. That you attract the things you need, so welcome them in!

Today I am running off to talk to (yet another) charity about participating in a fund raising event.

It is what I can afford for advertising and always does good doing good! After that I am meeting an artist friend who is not so savvy on the internet and wants to give me CASH!!! The thought sort of shivers my toes, as somehow a bank account is easier to track than bills, but it is going INTO the fund!

While drinking my coffee I got a call from another old friend asking if I could help the widow of her mentor arrange a donation site for his memorial expenses. YEAH.... as usual.... it is so easy for me to say yes! Hard to get away and do the nuts and bolts of marketing my art.

I am seriously considering making some mini-workshops for artists who need a little help navigating facebook, twitter, blogging and now crowd-funding. All I need is a place and some way to let everyone SEE what I am doing on my antique laptop!

All that aside.....

I am very bad at watching paint dry (hahahahaha! literally one of my job skills that I lack!!!) or water boil. Staring at my cat and seeing how well he is recovering from his bad medication episode is reminding me how perfect we are for each other. He ignores me. I talk to him.... that is as it should be.

Here he is in my bathroom alerting me that I did not turn off the tap properly!

The Sacrifice

When you go to the radiation therapy, you are asked to bring something of comfort of the cat that will be destroyed (because it will be radioactive!)

A bit oxymoron, as how hard it is to bring something beloved and comforting that will never be seen again. But this is a no-brainer.

The Dude has NEVER destroyed a stitch of fabric or furniture from his youth (socks - yes, sofas -no) because a sisal scratch post was all I ever got him. This particular configuration has always been a favorite, in fact this is his fourth one.

IF I find another in a pet store, it will be replaced. It has hung along looking worse and worse because I have NOT seen any. A new post-style has been donated by my boyfriend, but actually what the Dude loves is sprawling across it and scratching it while he reclines . . . What a slacker!

A Little Too Excited.

Short but sweet:

I got in touch with Radiocat, which will be its own post next.

They explained the whole procedure, how it works, what is so right about it and why it is the best idea! I talked to my vet and she will start her end as SOON as we have a schedule from the Radiocat. She is fine with waiting on her end.

Another baby picture. He still kisses me, and still runs like heck after!

The Dude is really doing well enough that he is fighting with me again. And purring SO LOUD it is like another cat. Getting his meds right is a big revelation. With a couple more weeks fattening him up before we have to take him off ALL of his meds for a week before he goes, I hope he doesn't crash, but I have this weird sense that I won't know him when he is healthy! (I wouldn't mind if he stayed aroung 14 pounds - 18 was just embarrassing!)

Thank EVERYONE for their donations, I am overwhelmed with the generosity!

What A Diagnosis Means.

When Dr. Delac got all of the tests back, she explained a lot of things, and basically told me that Hyperthyroidism is pretty common in old cats. Their metabolism gets boosted because their gland secretes too much. Apparently there are many causes from goofy thyroids to simple tumors to full blown cancer. She said her parents old cat had it and the radiation procedure was marvelous! It literally cured it. It was non-surgical so it did not stress them out physically in healing or potential infections. The older cat lived many more YEARS and was very happy. I was excited. Until I found out the cost. The number $1800 seems what I recall from the initial phone call to the Radiocat facility. JUST the facility. Not the added tests and scans BEFORE the procedure, nor aftercare.

No matter how good, how safe how easy, it was not possible to budget. As a self-employed artist, I am what they call paycheck to paycheck. Unless I have a stack of commissions (which has not happened since 2009) backed up, there is no budget, just paying the necessities.

But the doc was a good kid! She has supported my art career and we have been able to be sure he would be taking the twice daily medication for as long as he needs.

Until this spring. . . . .

He started really dumping pounds.

By the end of the cool months he was down to just 10 pounds. I would watch him and think of how life would be without him. It was like prepping for the inevitable. . . . . . I just couldn't. . . .

Who would I have to say almost nothing to at any time and spend 5 minutes coaxing a disinterested mew from? What would wake me up in the morning begging for the treats that came with the meds?

From My Cat - The Dude

This is a very seasick movie of a normal chat when I give him the treats he LIKES before and after the little syringe full of fluid that we have down to a piece of cake!

I had to take him back in when for two days in a row he chased his treats, and caught them, but spit them out. He stopped eating all together. FREAKED ME OUT!

Poor old guy tends to pant when upset and with the summer here, I did get a friend to drive so he didn't totally freak, but The Dude was not a happy camper. He was mad at me for a few WEEKS.

AMONG the options for blame, I feel that I was a bad mom because I had FORGOTTEN to shake the bottle thoroughly. (You know how. . . when the vet tells you all the stuff . . . and you nod, you don't actually hear?) I noticed this bottle had some particulates. I figured it was some coloring separating down and totally forgot hearing to shake it . . . so for a couple of months apparently, I had been dosing with less and less and the thyroid went wacky again.

I feel like a terrible mom.

Even since the blog started, he is improving a LOT. I don't feel his shoulder blades and when he sits on my tummy, I do get a tiny bit of air knocked out. Last month, I barely noticed him!

I have a call in today to recap and review and get more numbers so I can see if I am in a fools paradise. Apparently there MAY also be situations that he would need meds, even if the thyroid is fine. I am seriously feeling paranoid. Perhaps I am one of those people who has a hard time believing in good news. It seems impossible so I shouldn't get my hopes up.

My hopes are really high and today is just a plunk.

Old Family Movies...

I was looking through old movies and found these micro movies. Here is is coming to sniff out the cameras. I can't make them smaller! The little early web camera, like RIGHT at the turn of the millennium, was taking nice little movies that my CELL PHONE would be embarrassed about 5 years ago!

I LOVE little monkey sized cats. The itsy bitsy ones are just a little too cute for me. Teenaged cats just tickle my fancy. Long and lanky, although still somewhat micro, here he is discovering his tail JUST as the long legs start up.

Finally We Got Something Tangible!

This sort of thing went on off and on for about 5 or 6 years. Summer was worst.

The clip is a wonderful 3 AM chat right about the time it occurred to me to bring my camera to the vet!

I have been trying to find the right images to give you the sense of panic when I finally took him in. So I made this before and after. No, the one on the right is not a baby shot. It was two years ago when I started getting better at focusing because I was afraid I would not have him around much longer. 7 years apart:

Whether those other trips to the vet should have shown an underlying disease (like hypo?) is really irrelevant because he was otherwise healthy, had a good life and all I could afford was the usual vet stuff.

This time I had a LITTLE help with a raffle prize I had donated to a charity and a CLIENT of my art in the mix. Finally I could get to the bottom of things. It was not a really pretty bottom, but the minute she saw the video she had a much better idea of the tests. She printed the sheets out (including videos which MY guy is now in the mix on YouTube) of the "heebie-jeebies" and sent off his blood to see what else may be the problem.

Life is so Hard....NOT!

He has a tall baker's rack that he used to camp on the top tier and just wait. Nowadays, it is the middle one and he bats my butt as I walk by.

This painting was a demonstration for the Fountain Hills Art League some years ago. His essence.

My old apartment had a window just the height of the clear table and he would sprawl the whole length of it. This was a photo of the two of us... he was two years old at the time... showing mom how nicely he fit on her new donation to the house.

He owned it... was upset when I would arrange art shows on it:

And was never happy to have his nails clipped. Our groomer always tried to trick him but...

(just for scale, that was an 18" Spiderman statue that William Whitaker turned a few of us on to in the early 90's. See below, The Dude was BIG)

About 2009, he dropped from 18 to 14 pounds. That is when we went to the doc.

A Story About His Dad.

Oreo.

His family kicked him out permanently when a younger cuter life form moved in. They had a baby and Oreo felt offended. Apparently took a bat at him . . . . So, he just was an outdoor cat. When they moved, Oreo didn't.

The little black female who I am sure was mom, was one of a couple of baby strays that had lived in my complex from when I first moved in the early 90's. Neither of these wild kids was fixed and it was after I had tried to get his step kids to foster care (The Dude, being all indoor, had me worried about bringing stray disease into his overly sheltered life.) with a long evening of traps and long drives to help... SCOTTSDALE STRAYS and their doctors are a really amazing gang. The whole group ended up too ill to save. His mom just was found dead, perhaps a heart issue, perhaps whatever the kitties had, but it was a real heart-breaker. Not just for me, but the overburdened rescue community. (I have tried to donate my art regularly and often allow them to use my images for fundraising as often as possible! EVERY community needs their stray cats and dogs cared for and it is a HARD job.)

Oreo.

He would get in way too many fights. Not only myself but his gang of foster families were taking him in to get stitched up and such. It was after a big tom with a big collar and fully displayed huevos started picking fights on a regular basis that the evil plan of just catnapping the new cat and having him fixed on the sly occurred to me in my dreams, that I figured to help Oreo at least but taking him out of the loop.

One day I put out his food, after calling the local vet and explaining that a neighborhood character NEEDED neutering and I would pay, I nabbed him and drove him down the road.

My favorite nurse nodded and together we walked bad to the doc and she said "neutering". Somewhat absentmindedly he prepped, anesthetized and Snip! Pop! He was out. The nurse gave him a distemper shot and when I got out the credit card, she just shook her head.

Off we scurried and I had him back at the food bowl in less than an hour, tail and foot in the air, trying to figure out what had just happened to him!

I just loved that guy!

And he would TALK TO HIMSELF

I see that in the very art post that I sold his portrait, I mentioned his odd habit of talking to himself and biting his feet.....

He would mutter a bit. He was not the Siamese that The Kid was, he had a regular cat voice. The original (when I first brought him home, all oozy and tiny, had a set of lungs that sounded like a siren all the way home!) was of serious Thai origin. Big "MEOWOW" in an oddly baritone. But the Dude, had his bird yammer, and a round mournful call when a cat would jump BACK over the wall.

I was used to cats talking... but his night antics were a bit distracting. Everyone used to laugh when I would tell them but he bit his feet, yelling at them all the time. Stood up, decided his tail was acting out of line, and fall on it an on the ground and wage war on himself.

Summers seemed worse but finally one 5 am, when he CHARGED into my bed, landed on my chest and HISSED right into my face, I decided when the vet opened, he was a-goin'!

Of COURSE he was the picture of health. Fat and sassy, the vet said it was "behavioral" . NO DUH!

For years I tried to figure what triggered it. He let up when the weather was cool enough to open a door and look into the night, but come the 100 degrees he would begin with long low rumbles and it would not let up.

He never actually injured himself, but he was hugely irritating to me and would look grumpily at me as if to say "YOU DID IT! NOW YOU STOP IT!" or something like that. He would telepathically yell at me. Like he thought I should speak cat!!!

A couple years later I tried again. I did figure his butt had something to do with it.

I have long hair. Longer than a woman my age really should (but I am an artist and I get special treatment :-)) OCCASIONALLY I could only describe them as streamers.....

The Old Kid made us give up icicles on Christmas because he would sparkle out both ends!

The dude liked to chew my hairbrush when I was gone.... you figure it out!

But that was not all. We thought it might be constipation.

So there was a year of Pumpkin. He really liked it for a while. Apparently (you cat fanciers should know this) a good source of roughage is pie stuff without the spices. It was going in and going out smooth as spit... but he kept yelling.

I finally got a good video of him. Two years ago, this was the ONE thing that helped the vet see he was in trouble. (My mom cried when she saw it.) Nobody believed it was all that bad. By the time I had this, I was not sleeping but one or two whole nights a week if I was lucky. This was taken at 2 AM:

Yeah, they call it Feline Hyperesthesia. Over sensitive and ..... well "Heebie Jeebies" says it all.

He Got Wide and Wonderful

This was one of the few from the best photo session. It was this day that the background image was referenced. He posed as a young man for the very first painting which SOLD to a friend on an internet art site THAT DAY....

Finally I had mastered that look of my impending demise!

This series even got me an article in Pastel Journal about my pet paintings. What didn't get published was a diagram of how the reflections in the room showed in his eyes.

My previous cats had been lucky to top out at 8 pounds. This guy was as big as a dog. I had a brief roommate with two miniature pups. He could not fit their harnesses. He was a great meatloaf of a cat.

A candid from those days:

I would use him as a model but he was never able to sit still. This is another view of his wonderful round jowls.

and the ever so flattering pose we ended up with from the session for the "Holiday Number"

You could fantasize he was a "Sumo" cat, but really, he was just wide.

And grumpy.

I do believe his demanding attitude was part of his charm in those days.

The Dude...Not Dude, or Mr. Dude..

Of course his teeth eventually grew in and I will say he was a bit calmer. JUST a bit.

It was not much of a joke, but I used to tell people his job was sitting around and plotting my demise. I have a clear glass topped table that used to be in front of a window. He would sit and stare at me . . . . resting . . . plotting . . . . .

And would be still and nearly statue-like until I pulled out the camera. Very few of my photos are in focus! He also messed with my mind a lot. If he could not come up with some sinister plot, he would MESS with me . . .

But that was perfect!

I am a bit of a hermit these days. I work hard as an artist, talk to myself and am up odd hours. The Dude gives me a reason to sleep through noises at night and hear the sound of my voice when I am tired of listening to the tv.

And this is the kind of cat that loves to sit in his bathrobe all day. When he was a teen ager, he would sit at the screen door and talk to his day (Oreo) out on the porch. He was a real shadow/mini me. I felt sorry that he had no friends. Lots of feline transients would hop over the fence. Including some siblings that his mom had behind our palm tree! We got them to rescue and while waiting to see if they were healthy and adoptable, the little wild kitty that I was sure was his mom, just died . . . . I have always wondered if her little high strung wildness was a heart defect. I am still afraid it may be a little of his issue. That is why I want to be sure he has all the tests before (IF) he gets his procedure!

. . . but I digress. . . .

By the time he was about two, he was as tall as his dad and had a lovely wobbly tummy that swung side to side when he ran. He hit 18 pounds and one of his favorite things was to jump on my tummy as I slept. . . . . .OOOOOPPPHHHH! He still loves to wake me up. Always JUST when I fall asleep.

His life was one of thinking too much and enjoying the time in between.

He IS The Dude.