The Emma Files

So, I promise I'm not going to turn into one of those bloggers who has lots of cats and writes only about her/his cat(s). And I certainly won't take pictures of all the towels, slip covers, quilts, and kitchen magnets we have and post them here for all to see (maybe).* But I did want to give an update for those who followed the drama a month ago when Emma seemed she was not long for this world. In case you're wondering who the H Emma is, she's our 15+ year-old Tonkinese (see curled up ball o' love there down to the left or wait for the hundred or so pix in this post-- just kidding [maybe]). Someone threw her away 13 years ago; I got her from a shelter and she's been one of the most loyal, entertaining, and funny friends a person could ask for.

Here she is last July standing up for a treat: we called her Stevie Wonder when she did this because her head swayed back and forth while waiting for us to fish another treat from the bag:

Yes, that's a cat standing on its hind legs for a treat. (I know she's not the first one in the history of internet cat blogging, but int she such a schwootzy? I won't blame you if you never return to this blog after today.)

And notice the dark diamond on the tummy as Tom holds the treat for the Stevie?

We can no longer feed the Stevie treats because of Stevie's kidneys and the decline of their ability to process protein.

The latest news is still not ideal.

Her blood-work is improved but she's not out of the woods and we are continuing the daily sub-cutaneous injections. Tom had the genius idea to warm the saline bag before we hooked her up. This for a cat who has a heating pad which remains turned on 24/7 atop an old chair in our bedroom (sorry earth-minded folks--our cat needs her woobie--again, won't blame you if you never come back ever).


In light of this, she LOVES the warm saline injections and to have a 6 pound 12 ounce cat lay still for 70ccs of fluid every day is no small feat. The fluid drips through the line and pressure builds as a small pouch of saline collects on her back; the pouch creeps slowly down her side moments after the injection.

She's doing better and has started a new routine; as soon as I take the needle out she tears into the living room, (like a four legged Quasimodo running for the bell) pounces on the couch and commences to groom herself ---furiously.

She starts with the tummy (again with the black diamond: she has the cutest furry belly. As you can see, I'm, frankly, obsessed with her tummy because it was only within the last five years she would let me actually pet it):


Next, the back feet, between the toes:


And last a "get-that-camera-away-from-me-beatch; can't-you-see-I'm-grooming-here?" glare:

I wasn't kidding in the caption up there on the left; she's the love of our lives. The vet said she may have six months where she does okay, a year at the outside.

As my dear friend Juanita put it, it gives us a little more time to love her and spoil her and say goodbye when the time comes. I just hope it's the longest goodbye ever. . . **



* This is a joke; we only have kitchen magnets. And kitchen towels. And an ornament for the tree.
** I will not subject you to future posts about Emma (or Stevie) unless she does something way cute and I feel like I'm going to burst. Or if she shows off her tummy in a really squishable way.