As I write this, Mozart is at the animal hospital in Waterville, undergoing evaluation.
After his last vet visit, before the new year, we had seen some improvement in his appetite due to the vet’s Magic Pills. Unfortunately, he did not continue to rally, but stopped eating the vet-sent food altogether, then stopped eating chicken baby food, then refused turkey baby food…beef and ham baby food were still acceptable, but he really wasn’t interested to eating much of either. Occasionally, he would take a crunchy or two, and a sip of water. Mostly, he wanted to lie in His Corner in my office, kind of stretched on his side, with his eyes open — not sleeping, and not at all restful-seeming.
So, I made an early call, the vet said to bring him in, and so we did, braving the -8F/-22C temperatures, and the small drift of flakes out of the sky, which one set of weatherbeans seem to think is going to become a blizzard by this afternoon.
The hope at this point is that the x-rays and a repeat blood test will give us some idea of what’s going on, and if he’s in pain. He had actually gained some weight since Monday. Given that he hasn’t actually been eating that much, the vet is concerned that this is fluid retention, which might indicate something new, and not good, going on with his kidneys.
It’s been a leisurely start to the new year, including a long and far-ranging discussion with Steve over coffee, and Princess-snuggles. I revised yesterday’s pages, and now I need to move on to some other mundane chores before coming back later to open Chapter Eight. For those who keep track of such things, One of Five now stands just about 27,000 words high. That’s 106 manuscript pages.
For those who come to this blog entry from Facebook, remember that I will not see any comments left on my wall, since I must and will cut back on the time I’ve been spending there. You’re welcome to leave comments at The Blog Without a Name (this is a moderated venue, so it may take some for your comment to show up), or at Eagles Over the Kennebec, using either your FB or LJ logins.
I hope that you welcomed in the new year with joy and moderation, and that this first day of 2014 is the beginning of an entire year of health, prosperity, and happiness.
And yes, I did promise a muse, in the title of this blog post. Here is Trooper, editing One of Five:
Trooper, Musing for all he’s worth. Photo by Sharon Lee
Fans of Sprite will of course recall that the vet was scheduled to attend her yesterday, for the purpose of administering rabies and distemper vaccinations.
Sadly, Her Princessness had assumed that, as the mountain to Mahomet, the vet would come to her. She was Most Displeased to find that this was not the case, and that she was going to be required to submit herself to the inconvenience of a Winter Journey.
She made her Displeasure known by throwing herself out of the bedroom window when The Steve entered the room with the intent of having her down. She dodged under the bed, zoomed down the hall, knocked Trooper over and fled to the window in the kitchen.
The Sharon arrived and again an attempt was made to have her down, which she thwarted by hurling herself over The Sharon’s shoulder, hitting the floor with a stumble and a zoom, knocking Trooper over again as she sought sanctuary in The Steve’s office.
Followed a chase perhaps merrier for the Princess than her lackeys, as they pursued her up and down the hallway, and up and down the basement stairs, closing doors as each room was cleared, until there was only One Option left.
The Princess flew into the bedroom, meaning to make a sharp, high-speed U-turn and head down the hall for the living room, and perhaps the lower back corner of the cat castle. But the lackey Sharon was hot on her heels.
Before the Princess could turn, the varlet had closed the door.
Thwarted, yet our Princess kept her wits about her, and handily dove under the bed. Whereupon The Steve was heard coming down the hall, bearing the Loathly Cat Carrier. He placed his hand upon the knob, and called out —
“It’s locked.”
“What?” quoth The Sharon. She rose from her knees and tried the knob. It was, indeed, locked.
Here is the doorknob in question. Note the lack of any locking mechanism.
The Fatal Doorknob
The Steve began to laugh. The Sharon, pluck to the backbone, had a hanger from out the closet on the instant, and set to work with the bolt.
The Steve said, “I’ll be back.”
Valiant Princess Sprite, in the meanwhile, ventured out from underneath the bed, the better to observe this extraordinary happenstance.
The Sharon’s efforts with the hanger had yielded no results save colorful language by the time The Steve returned with his hook.
“Let me try,” he said, and The Sharon stepped back, dropping the hanger on the bed, and going to one knee on the floor.
The bolt shot back like magic, and Princess Sprite stood, enrapt, as the door came open. . .
. . .and The Sharon swooped upon her, scooped her up, and stuffed her into The Loathly Box.
And with all of that, we actually got to her appointment on time.
Princess Sprite in her fortress. Photo by Sharon Lee
When last we saw our Intrepid Heroine, she was cleaning out her fridge in the aftermath of last week’s pre-holiday ice storm.
Since then, Steve and I have. . .cautiously. . . replenished the fridge; and I have purchased a new U(ninterrupted) P(ower) S(upply), replacing the one that either (1) died of old age at a quasi-inconvenient moment (which is, after all, Time Honored) or! (2) took a hit during the fluctuating power surges which were a Feature of last week’s Weather Event, thereby saving the life of Jack the Giant Killer, aka, my desktop computer.
Steve and I also rose to the challenge of taking Mozart to the vet in the teeth of a mildish little snowstorm on Monday afternoon. Frequent readers of this blog will recall that Mozart celebrated his 15th birthday in March. The average lifespan for Maine Coon cats is about 12.5 years. The vet confirmed what we already knew, that Mozart is an Old Cat, and verified what we hoped was true — that he’s in pretty good shape, all things considered.
Despite this, Mozart had stopped eating — crunchies, gooshie food; not even baby food, the Food of Last Resort, tempted him — which was the reason why we had braved the snow to visit the vet.
The vet’s theory was that, given Mozart’s kidney function numbers are “high normal,” he might be feeling a little sour in the stomach, and thereby not interested in eating. So, after a little hydration, Mozart got a dose of appetite-increaser, and some special food to take home, in case he’ll eat it; and we got instructions to feed him whatever he’ll eat, and as much of it as he feels like eating.
Which, at the moment, is baby food. The special vet-food is OK, but baby food is much to be preferred. So, it looks like we’re on the right path, there.
Last night, we knocked off early to view “The Secret of Roan Inish,” a favorite in the Lee-Miller household. That was nice, though it appears that neither Trooper nor Sprite appreciate seals as much as they ought.
For those who are. . .concerned about the fate of the next Liaden book — yes, I am writing. Really. But this is a shy one — particularly so, after the exuberances of George and the Carousel books — and the only way to deal with a shy book is to pretend you aren’t really working on it. In these parts, that mostly means a dearth of snippets, but I’m sure we can all agree that having the whole book, written and turned in on time and in good order, is worth sacrificing a few snippets.
P’rhaps the next book will be more outgoing.
This morning, in between loads of laundry, I’ve been updating some of the pages at sharonleewriter.com and at korval.com. Take a look around, if you have a chance.
As I write this, we’re looking down the barrel of another Winter Storm Warning; we’re apparently going to enjoy the arrival of 6-10 inches of snow between 4 pm today and 6 am on Monday. That’ll give me a chance to shovel the steps and free the car and still make Sprite’s afternoon vet appointment (for annual shots).
And I think that catches us up — no, I’m wrong.
You have onlyuntil midnight Central Time on Tuesday December 31, 2013 to order a signed-and-personalized copy of Carousel Sun! Here’s the link.
You may order signed (but not personalized) copies until Uncle Hugo’s runs out, but do you really want to run the risk of not getting your copy? Here’s that link again.
Today at the Cat Farm, we celebrate two momentous occasions.
The first is Trooper’s fourth birthday.
Trooper on his favorite spot. Photo by Sharon Lee
The second momentous event is Princess Jasmine Sprite’s Monthiversary at the Cat Farm. As you can see, she’s settling in nicely.
Sprite enjoying the rug she stole from Trooper. Photo by Sharon Lee
Also, it’s snowing. The Weatherbeans have backed off from the Full Fourteen for this area to a mere six. If it only snows six inches, I’ll be able to make my non-cancelled eye doctor appointment in Skowhegan tomorrow.
But for now, I’m going to go make a cup of chocolated coffee in celebration of the weather.
What are you celebrating today?
EDITED TO ADD: Later in the day, Trooper and I had an Epic Session of Twizler. Here he is, resting on his laurels rug, which he has, at least momentarily, re-captured from the Warrior Princess.
It’s still snowing here at the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory. I’ve been doing Boring But Necessary work — balancing the checkbook, updating links, and whatnot. I’m thinking this afternoon belongs to the Yule cards — to get them off my desk, if for no other reason. Then I have to figure out who to call at the ACA because the Promised Specialist hasn’t called, and hisorher time is up. That’s probably for tomorrow — after I get the Yule cards off of the top of the file.
I want to assure everyone that I have not been undertaking the BBN work alone. I have had supervision:
Princess Sprite in her fortress. Photo by Sharon Lee
And, yanno? Now looks like a good time to take a break and shovel some snow.
* * *
Progress on One of Five
13,321/100,000 words OR 13.32% Complete
But, there. Quin was. . .mostly. . .quite sensible, wasn’t he? And didn’t he, regardless, spend time better used for reading, or for exercising, threading beads along wires and chains? Indeed, some of his creations were quite pretty, and could at least be given as gifts, and worn. There was some cachet, too, in the wearing of a handmade jewel; even if the stones were semi-precious, at best.
I didn’t want to leave anyone with the impression that it’s all tag and wrestling around here. We know how to work. In fact, we know how to make the bed. Mozart, by reason of his years is naturally in a supervisory position on the trunk at the bottom of the bed:
Mozart supervises the bed-making. Photo by Sharon Lee
Sprite takes a paws-on approach. Photo by Sharon Lee
So, Trooper and Sprite have been wrestling in my room. Here you see the resulting carnage.
Apparently Trooper won. Photo by Sharon Lee
Looks like I’ll be spending some time picking magazines up off the floor.
Sprite, in the meantime, has volunteered to take over the filing. Or at least, the filing basket.
The new office clerk. Photo by Sharon Lee
Observant readers will immediately recognize the file basket that Trooper had adopted as his own. You will also notice that Sprite, who is. . .Considerably Less Substantial than Trooper, is overflowing the confines, and putting ghod knows what kind of stress on its wicker walls. From this, we must conclude that Trooper is a contortionist of no small skill.
Having established his ascendency over both Sprite and my carousel magazines, Trooper has retired to his box.
So, last night we made the journey into Waterville to see James McMurty perform at the Opera House.
The House was full; I think the three empty seats in the row directly in front of us may have been the only empty seats. It was a crowd almost exclusively made up of the gray of hair, and all of us had a startlingly raucous good time.
I had one of those Awkward Moments of Mortality when the Aggressively Blonde woman in her Coordinated Outfit sitting beside Steve got up to dance. “Really?” I thought. “She’s sixty-five if she’s a day.”
hi-hat
James, who was without the Heartless Bastards for this show, sang and played for two hours straight. You know what? Having just recently finished a tour where all I did was sit and talk for two hours, I don’t know how he did it. I went back to the hotel exhausted, and my voice still hasn’t recovered. James has another show tonight, in New Hampshire.
If you get a chance to see James perform — grab it.
Even if your hair isn’t gray.
* * *
. . .so, today at the Confusion Factory, having identified the Cause of the Stuckness on First of Five, I will be going through Dragon Ship and extracting a chronology so I can figure out where I am in Space and Time. I suspect this will show me that the two story arcs I had thought to tackle this time are mismatched, which will mean I’ll need to sort through my Big Box of Story Tackle and Spare Parts to find the correct linkage, which is kind of a pain in the hat.
But not as much of a pain in the hat as writing three-quarters of a book and then realizing that the timing’s off.
* * *
Fans of Sprite will be pleased to know that she has ascended from the Cold and Dreary Basement and is now spending almost all of her time upstairs in the warm world, where she has become the Terror of the Stuffed Chipmunk, and started circulating a petition to ensure that All The Hugs Belong to Her.
The petition has little chance of getting enough signatures in this house, but its nice to see that she’s civic minded.
The rest of the cats continue, mostly unperturbed. Mozart accords the kid a sort of absent-minded goodwill; and she’s respectful, as is proper. Scrabble, of course, isn’t about to take any ‘tude from an overpowered kitten, no matter how tall she is.
Trooper actually deals with her the most, which is a mixed blessing, I think, from his perspective. On the one paw, it’s good to have somebody to play tag and wrestle with. On the other paw, she’s trying to take over all the Good Places he’s identified for himself.
On the left hind paw, though, he’s not shy about asserting his rights, when they matter. Just yesterday, Sprite had taken over the Plan B box in my office, and Trooper decided that he wanted it. So, he just. . .walked in, apparently intending to lie down on the kitten, if that’s what it took.
The kitten vacated in favor of the blue rug behind my chair.
