Yesterday I had my semi-annual dental appointment wherein they glare at my teeth, tell me to stop drinking soda, inform me that I’m a teeth-grinding motherfucker, and then poke at my gums with sharp and shiny instruments.
After my appointment last Fall, I decided it was time to get the hell serious about this brushing and flossing thing, and made a concerted effort to brush my teeth twice a day and floss every morning. It didn’t happen every single day, the flossing thing, but it happened more often than it had been. I was sure I’d go into the dentist’s office, the hygienist would get the pretty bib on me, take a look at my teeth and gasp in admiration.
Yeah, not so much. She did allow that the area of my gums (front left, as I do not know any dental location terms) was slightly less red, but that I needed to try to floss more often (apparently I am not the best flosser on earth, what a shock), stop drinking soda, and wear my bite splint every night.
I’m such a grinder of teeth in my sleep that the pointy parts of my back teeth (molars?) have worn down and may eventually need fillings.
I don’t actually think that I grind my teeth in my sleep anymore, though – Fred hasn’t heard the squeaking sound in ages. He also doesn’t have to come into my room to get to the bathroom the way he did at the previous house though, so it’s entirely likely that I’m grinding away every night and he just isn’t hearing it.
My next appointment is at the end of September. Now pardon me while I go floss.
I have a freakin’ cold. It started off last Thursday – I felt fuzzy-headed and sleepy all day long. I also had the beginnings of a sore throat. Friday the sore throat got worse to the point where I was slightly concerned that I might have strep throat.
Instead of going to the doctor, I just decided to wait and see. “Wait and see” is my favorite move when it comes to feeling poorly. I highly suspect that when I shuffle off this mortal coil, it’ll be because I had a blinding headache and decided to wait and see if Tylenol would help an aneurysm go away.
Over the weekend I was fuzzy-headed and sleepy, then yesterday the fucking cold moved into my chest. I’m not coughing much at the moment, but when I take a deep breath, I can feel all the crap in there waiting to come out. Also, I’m a snotty motherfucker and have been blowing my nose like crazy.
At least the fuzzy-headed feeling is gone.
The only thing that would make me feel better is if the damn sun would come out.
That, or kittens.
I decided yesterday to name the new Momma kitty Maura. I think it fits her nicely – I thought about adding an Irish-sounding last name, but couldn’t decide on one. I liked the sound of Maura Ryan or Maura Murphy or Maura O’Reilly or Maura McGillicuddy – really, the problem is that I couldn’t decide which one I liked, so I just went with Maura. I have a nice list of Irish names for both girls and boys, so I think we’ll be okay when the kittens come.
Of course, I don’t know how I’ll refer to the litter as a whole – I thought of calling them The Micks, but thought that might be offensive, since according to Urban Dictionary, it’s a derogative term. (Really, spell check? You’re putting the red line under “derogative”, but can only offer “derogation” as an alternative?) I myself have some Irish blood in me and find it an affectionate term rather than a derogative one – but how ’bout it, y’all? Any Irish readers out there who find it offensive?
Every time I go into the kitten room, Maura meows at me once or twice, and I say “Give me those babies!” She seems intent on holding on to them for the time being, though. Yesterday she rolled around on her back for a few moments and allowed me to gently touch her belly. I felt what very well could have been the head of a kitten. Last night, Fred said he thought he felt a kitten head in a different location. Who knows, though? We’re certainly not experienced with the pregnant cats. Kara gave birth the day after we got her, and she was very restless, so I didn’t get much time to examine her underside before she popped out her babies.
“Them wasn’t baby heads. Them was my liver and kidneys, STUPIDS.”
She certainly is happy to see me when I go into the room. She meows at me and then waits for me to sit down, and then she walks back and forth, rubbing against me, purring like crazy. Sometimes she settles down against me briefly before she gets up and starts pacing again.
“Why do you keep feeling my liver, lady?”
She really seemed to like the purple velour pants I was wearing yesterday (don’t judge! You know you covet them.) and kept kneading on my leg. At one point she even sat in my lap, but again that was just for a brief moment in time before she had to get up and get moving.
Amy asked yesterday, if you can’t feel the babies, and don’t see them moving, how do you know that she is pregnant?
I only know because people who are more experienced than I told me that she is. Otherwise, I’d likely just think that she’s kind of porky. Lisa asked if her nipples were prominent and dark pink yet (um, Maura’s nipples, that is. I suspect Lisa would know the state of her own nipples. HEE.), and they don’t appear to be, but we can feel the milk sacs forming. Maybe Maura will allow me to take a closer look at her underside today, and I’ll know better the state of her nipples then!
Meg asked, Okay, I guess I’ll be the one to ask: Your shelter doesn’t spay pregnant cats? I don’t do rescue anymore, but we used to spay everyone, regardless of pregnancy. It’s difficult and heartwrenching. We just had so little resources, not enough foster homes, not enough money, and basically not enough good homes. As far as I know, as long as the mother is healthy and a foster home can be provided for she and her babies, the shelter doesn’t spay pregnant cats. I can’t imagine having to know that a healthy pregnant cat was going to be spayed, I think that would break my heart. 🙁
Speaking of pregnant cats and spaying, here’s one last story for you (I can go on and on when I’m talking about cats, obviously). When we bought this house three and a half years ago, Maxi showed up in our back yard one day. She had clearly given birth and was a nursing mother, but we didn’t know where her babies were, or if she belonged to anyone. She came around more and more often (lured, I am sure, by the food bowl on the front porch), then Newt began to join her. (We originally called Newt “Daddy”, because we assumed he was the father of her litter, but when they both went to the vet for spaying and neutering at a later date, the vet said she thought he could be from an earlier litter of hers – therefore, her son rather than the father of her babies. Obviously, we don’t know for sure, though.)
It was probably a month after she first showed up that I was working on something inside the house, and Fred told me to follow him. We walked out on the porch, and there were Maxi, Newt, and four kittens.
Please note Fred standing there, trying to get his hands on those kittens.
When we finally determined that Maxi, Newt, and the kittens didn’t actually belong to anyone in the neighborhood, we snatched them all up, brought them into the house, had the kittens spayed and neutered, and adopted them out through Challenger’s House. (We named them Fezzik, Westley, Inigo, and Princess Buttercup.) They were adopted out pretty quickly (despite their initial skittishness, they warmed up pretty quickly), and then we needed to have Maxi and Newt spayed and neutered so there’d be no more babies. I made the appointment, and then the night before they were to go, Fred said as he was feeling Maxi’s belly, “Oh no. I think I feel a kitten head. I think she’s pregnant!”
We were positive we were going to end up with another litter of kittens to foster, but when the vet examined Maxi it turned out that she wasn’t pregnant.
Obviously Fred was feeling some internal organ and mistook it for a kitten.
We should totally name a litter of kittens after organs, don’t you think? Surely someone would want to adopt sweet little Kidney! Ha.
Sugarbutt does NOT approve of this “kitten” nonsense.
Previously
2009: In an alternate reality I was bellowing “Well NO ONE INVITED YOU TO DINNER, PRINCESS!” and smacking her upside the head.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: It’s like I’ve never met myself before or something. “Yeah, I’ll let the spud take the car to school, and I’ll be stuck at home, thus NATURALLY I will feel compelled to do housework!”
2005: Old pictures.
2004: (Bwahaha! That’d be the shortest study in the history of mankind, eh?)
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Takes all kinds, I guess.
2000: A life of excitement, thrills and chills, lemme tell ya!