Kids and Cats

This bed is mine now! My crazy eyes make it so!

Since becoming a parent, I have seen many articles on whether having pets is just like having children. You have one camp who only has pets, sometimes by choice and sometimes not, who claim their pets as their babies, while people with children shake their heads and smile smugly because these pet owners just have no idea. 

Now having both, I feel like I can definitely declare that having pets is more like having human children than those smug parents would like to admit. True, I don’t have to put away money for Kitty College. Nor do I have to worry about whether or not my parenting will lead to my cats being self-involved assholes with “affluenza” once they’ve grown up. But I keep adding to the list in my head every time I realize that I’m doing the same exact thing I’ve done with my own kids. 

Get cats, she said. It’ll be therapeutic, she said.

1) I have to feed them.
Pretty self-explanatory, though not always as easy as it would seem. As with children, I can’t just give my cats any old food.  I have to make sure that the food I give them has good nutrition.  Last week, Bridgette and Belle’s dry food gave Belle wet, sloppy shits, some of which ended up on our carpet.  Parents, don’t tell me you have had to deal with horribly messy poo because your child ate something s/he shouldn’t have eaten.
And once you do find food that’s right for your pet, they have to want to eat it. Cats can be especially picky, looking at you like you’re a fucking sociopath before they haughtily saunter away, because you dared to feed them salmon when they much prefer turkey giblets in gravy.  

2) I have to clean up their shit. 
Congratulations! They’re using the litter box you provided for them. Now, get down on your hands and knees and scoop it out.  If that isn’t analogous to changing a diaper, I don’t know what is. There are even times when I have to check and wipe my cat’s ass because it wasn’t clean enough after going potty, just like when Zoë hasn’t wiped well enough. 

3) I am paranoid about their health.
New parents, especially, all have had those nights when they’re trying to decide if their baby’s temperature warrants a call to the doctor.  Then there are the nights they can’t fall asleep because their child is coughing because of a cold, and they’re pretty sure their child is in the next room choking on their phlegm.
Similarly, I now have two more lives in my care, which means I get to make Bridgette go through a deep clean ear wash, and then worry about whether or not Bridgette shaking her head means that it didn’t work, she has ear mites, and they’ve caused her to have an ear infection. Last week when Belle wasn’t eating her wet food as much and began having wet, gloppy poo, I did what all parents do and searched the Internet for what my poor kitty was afflicted with. And, like all parents who have foolishly searched the Internet when their kids are sick, I became freaked out that she had parasitic worms that are difficult to eradicate and that I would have to follow her around for the next year catching her anal leakage and cleaning up whatever I didn’t catch.  This is compounded by the fact that I can’t exactly ask them how they’re feeling or where it hurts. Well, I can, but the only cat I speak right now is, “food”, “get up”, “sit down”, “pet me”, “play with me”, and “Mama!  Halp!  That crazy girl, Zoë, is chasing me again. Gah!  Now she’s touching me. Dude!  STAHP!”

4) I have to get a babysitter.
While someone doesn’t need to supervise them at all times, we can’t just take off for a week and hope they don’t have a kegger while we’re gone. As with a babysitter, I have to find a friend or boarding who will meet my cat’s needs and ensure that my feline family is alive and well when we return. 

5) I have to keep them from getting into things.
Anyone who’s had a toddler knows the feeling of having to constantly bird dog someone. You’re constantly on the move saying, “Don’t touch that!  Don’t eat that!  No going over there….and don’t do that either!”  As Belle is still a kitten, we have to do this with her more than Bridgette. Her specialty is locating ponytail holders; she’s obsessed! If there is one in the house that isn’t put away, rest assured she will find it. Then there’s chewing on paper, the living room rug, and kid’s toys.  This morning I had to stop her from chewing on a pushpin. Many of you know the feeling of asking your child, “What did you just eat?” and prising their mouths open, hoping they haven’t always swallowed whatever was in there.
I have to stop them from climbing on certain pieces of furniture.  They mostly have free reign, but the dining room table, countertops, and entertainment center are no-no’s. So naturally, Belle has to be on them all the time. She swaggers onto the table, sniffing around until I shoo her off. Of course, most of the time, she just looks at me quizzically like she’s thinking, “What?  I do this all the time when you’re not here.”  Trying to guide/push her off the table leads to her sitting down, clearly having performed the permanent sticking charm.  (Professor McGonagall, is that you?)  Have you ever tried to make a toddler go somewhere s/he doesn’t want to go?  Dead weight is my favorite.  And of course, I have to repeat this exercise with her several times within the span of a few minutes.  As far as cats and kids are concerned, “No!” is just an opening bid.  

6) Sibling rivalry is a thing.
Why do siblings fight?  They fight because they have different personalities. (Rachael is an introvert; Zoë is an extrovert.)  They fight because they have different agendas/ideas of fun.  (Rachael wants to watch tv.  Zoë wants to role play Team Umizoomi for the millionth time.)  They both want the same thing at the same time.  (“Nooooooo!” Rachael shrieks as Zoë tries to take a toy away.  Zoë whines back, “I had it first!”  I frequently refer to the noise they make as listening to feral cats fighting.)  They both want to protect their territory from the other.  (“Get out of my room!”; “I was in this chair first!”)
It’s not any different having cats. Energetic kitten, Belle, believes that now would be a great time to jump on Bridgette’s back.  Generally more sedate, Bridgette doesn’t agree, looks at Belle as if to say, “The fuck is wrong with you?”, and pushes Belle away.  A fun rough and tumble can quickly give way to Bridgette smacking the shit out of Belle because she wants to establish her dominance and possession of the cat tree at that very moment.  As with kids, she didn’t give two shits about the cat tree until that very moment, when Belle wanted up. 

“Come and get it, biznatch!”

 
It’s actually almost easier to deal with the girls when they’re not getting along. I mean, I can intervene if the cat fight gets too intense, but telling them that they had better stop or they’ll lose TV for the rest of the day hasn’t had the same effect that it does on Rachael and Zoë. 

7) You wouldn’t trade them for anything.
When you adopt a pet, they become a part of your family. You know, unless you have extenuating circumstances…or you’re a monster.  Those sweet faces you fell in love with grow into creatures with unique personalities and quirks. Fairly soon, you don’t entirely remember life before you had your furry companions.  

The Music of the Plight

   

Now sit back and I’ll tell you me tale of woe.  I feel like there should be a sad harmonica playing.  Imagine sad, slow harmonica music.  Ooh, and a banjo.  Wistful banjo. 

Back in June, I wrote about the letter I received from my insurance company, apprising me of the exciting new program designed to fuck with my medication because they didn’t feel like paying for it anymore.  You can imagine how relieved I was on Monday when customer service said that my doctor could send a prior authorization waiver, which would allow me to bypass the step therapy program.  Add happy fiddle, Con brio.  I called my doctor’s office, gave them the information, and rested in the knowledge that everything would be just fine.  

Suspenseful fiddle only, pianissimo
Fast forward to August.  I called the mail order prescription service to refill my Lyrica.  It was then that I found out from a sympathetic and apologetic customer service rep that my doctor had sent the prior authorization, but the prior authorization department had trashed the prior authorization because I didn’t need prior authorization for Lyrica in June.  Through tears and incredulity of the idiocy of epic proportions I was dealing with, I confirmed, and actually had the prior authorization supervisor say to me that:

A) Insurance sent me the notification of the step therapy program, set to begin July 1st, before July 1st so that I would have an opportunity to get things in order with my doctor.

B) I did everything I was supposed to do with regard to getting my medication ducks in a row and my doctor did send a prior authorization waiver.

C) The prior authorization department did receive the prior authorization request.  It was logged as having been received.  

Suspenseful fiddle, mezzo forte

D) The prior authorization department said to themselves, “She doesn’t need a prior authorization for Lyrica,” and trashed the request.  They were not aware of the forthcoming step therapy program because they are not informed of policy changes until the day the policy changes.

Angry fiddle, forte

E) Even though they have it noted that the request was received, and that it was their fault that it was gone, I still needed to have my doctor send another request.


Return to harmonica and banjo, piano

Fortunately my doctor’s office hooked me up with samples while I waited for this load of shit to be flushed.  The first request from my doctor was denied.  They asked what other medications I was on or had tried, (because, I assume, that wasn’t on the first request.)  The doctor’s office said they would send another request.  If this one was denied, then I could appeal with insurance.  Until then, I would wait to hear back from the doctor’s office.  

As of yesterday, I hadn’t heard anything, so I called insurance.  They hadn’t received another prior authorization request.  Sigh.  The receptionist at the doctor’s office said that the only thing they had in the system was sending the request back in June and that, if insurance had denied the request, they would have sent something in writing.  I must have explained that insurance trashed the June request, the doctor’s office had called me, told me the new request was denied, and that they would send another one no less than three times, all while she kept tryng to interject with reasons why I was wrong, before she finally got it and/or didn’t feel like arguing with me anymore.  I listed the pertinent medications that have failed to moderate my fibro symptoms, repeating another several times that, no, the mail order pharmacy only handles one of those prescriptions.  She retorted that since the mail order pharmacy doesn’t handle two of them, it was likely that they would deny the request again.   

 

Blues harmonica, adagio, mezzo forte

I felt defeated and resigned to my fate.  Life was hard enough as it was, but it was about to become a living hell, as far as I was concerned.  Mike maintained cautious optimism, as is in his nature, but I just couldn’t see this ending well.  It’s not like the process thus far had given us evidence to the contrary.  But then, (swelling choir of angels) miracle of miracles, I got the call.  REQUEST. APPROVED!

Cue gospel choir singing “Oh Happy Day!”

FINALLY!  After phone calls and despair and people being fucking clown shoes, I had succeeded!  I was finally going to get the medication I needed!  Now, apparently I needed to wait a day or two to call in the refill, but that wasn’t a huge deal.  After lunch today, I made the call.  Customer service informed me that they couldn’t refill the prescription. While there were two refills left, the prescription had expired on August 27th.  So they need a new prescription mailed which, fortunately, I have.  

Hopefully I won’t get fucked over anymore.  My ass is super sore.  


An Update in Pictures…and Words

Image via howtogeek.com

I have to be honest; I didn’t really feel like writing this morning.  Or lately.  Mike and the girls are at church on this cool, dreary day, and all I want to do is drink coffee, eat pumpkin donut holes, read Harry Potter, and get off my lawn!, etc. etc.  So I’m totally phoning this one in, but I felt like updating y’all on my life.  

We adopted two little, fluffy girls at the beginning on August.  We had been talking about getting cat(s) for awhile, but wanted to wait for a slightly less inconvenient time.  The timetable to move up the adoption to now from Mike holding off on it indefinitely came about as a result of my well-reasoned argument of, “Fluffy kitties will cure my fibro,” and big, sad eyes.  

  
We ended up adopting Bridgette, a 3 year old black shorthair, originally from the island of St. Thomas, and Sweetie Belle, a 5 month old gray tabby, from King Street Cats in Alexandria, VA. They’re an all volunteer, no kill shelter, and are fabulous.  Mike really wanted a black cat.  He grew up having two black cats, and also wanted to give a black cat a good home, as black cats are adopted the least. Why?  Because we’re a nation of superstitious numbskulls. She was very shy the first time we went, but hopped into Mike’s lap and adopted him the second time.  Sweetie Belle, née Thunder, adopted me.  She jumped into my lap, curled up, and went to sleep.  Now, we hadn’t intended to get a kitten, but I made a well-reasoned argument that Bridgette didn’t seem to like me, and it was pointless to get a cat if it didn’t like me, too.  On top of that… 

 
Adding them to our family has not been without its stresses. They didn’t totally get along for the first couple of weeks.  Time, our cat whisperer, Holly, and a Feliway pheromone diffuser have now made them cats who sniff and lick each other and pummel each other with sibling affection.   Otherwise, having cats has been easy. (Besides Belle feeling the need to eat and climb on everything.) Having cats and Zoë has been a challenge. Zoë is very much like Darla from Finding Nemo. She feels the need to chase both the cats, get in their faces, pick them up or pet them like she’s trying to juice an orange, and doesn’t understand why they run from her because she’s certain that they love her. So yelling at her constantly to leave the cats alone is a teensy bit stressful.

And now, for your entertainment, I present cat videos!

 

 
Peekaboo!


Lay down and take your bath like a man, dammit!

School Daze

Both girls are finally back to school. Rachael began second grade and lost her first tooth.   

How did this happen?

 
I felt completely unprepared and freaked out about school beginning again.  She seems to be enjoying her class, and she hasn’t, as far as I’m aware, cut her hair or hidden under her desk like the beginning of last year.  She also hasn’t had any homework yet, so I’m pretty sure I’m just being lulled into a false sense of security.  Zoë had a good first two days at preschool and has a few friends from her class last year in there.  Plus she hasn’t burned anything down yet, so that’s a plus.  

The Bitch is Back

By July, I was in a good place: my pain was at an all-time low and my energy was at an all-time high.  So, naturally, that’s not the case now at all.  I stopped going to acupuncture because it was almost $400 per month to go every week.  Shortly after I began treatment, my acupuncturist began accepting insurance from the company with which we are insured.  But, of course, our plan doesn’t cover acupuncture.  I need to start going back a couple times per month, though, because it seems like acupuncture was the key to reducing my pain and increasing my energy, which annoys the fuck out of me for some reason.  I say it seems to be the key because it was the only thing that changed over the summer.  My meds didn’t change.  I was still going to physical therapy 1-2 times per week.  Yet, my neck and back began aching all the time.  The pain in my feet and legs forced me to hobble to my destination upon standing.  My pain was waking me up at night. My morning stiffness, or as Mike jokes- pain boner, wasn’t eased by stretching. My energy has plummeted, forcing me to take accidental naps during the day.  

I am really thankful for physical therapy.  I highly recommend The Jackson Clinic, especially the clinics that offer aqua therapy.  The therapists were warm, supportive, and would genuinely get excited for my progress.  They never pushed me past my limits and really listened to me.  My strength and flexibility significantly increased between the spring and the end of August, when I was graduated.  I’m now able to shave my legs without feeling the need to amputate at the knees.  When I began PT, it was hard work for me to lie down and tighten my core while pushing down on an exercise ball with my arms for five reps.  Now I’m able to step up on a box and balance on one leg while pushing/pulling a resistance band for 15 reps on each leg.  I learned how much orthotic inserts for my shoes eased the pain of walking and exercise.  (Of course, every time I read or hear the word “orthotic”, I hear Hank Hill saying it in the episode when he learns he has no ass and needs an orthotic so he can sit without pain.) Even squats, which have always killed my knees, became painless.  They also showed me how changing my posture relieved a lot of pain in my lower back.  Tuck that booty and tighten that core, people!  Unfortunately, I couldn’t really sit with the posture they wanted from me, as it caused me to feel like I had weighted meat hooks stuck in my shoulder blades.  

So, what have you all been up to?