Our Four-Legged Kids

our four-legged friends: venting about vets

janeharr — Tue, 04 Aug 2015 03:16:15 +0000

So my vet tells me that he had one cat do chemo for intestinal lymphoma, and live 3 more years, and another die 3 days later. We don’t know if that’s what it is, he goes on, but an insanely expensive test would help us confirm. I don’t think so, I reply. I’ll go with the steroids. He’s 13, and I’m looking for relief. Well then if it was me, then I’d just do this test, he replies, that one’s only $325. SIGH. He’s a good man, kind and gentle. You can see it in his eyes, but he’s also oddly nervous. His hands seem to shake a little and his eyes dart. Or am I imagining this? I don’t think I am. Maybe he’s shy, its been a few years since either of my cats have seen him, and I don’t remember noticing it or not. What I do notice this visit is his well-cultivated tan. I know a beach tan from a spray tan, and his was weeks in. I, on the other hand, am particularly pale and sunless this year. Still, this is the same man who came to my house years ago to put cat Clarissa down. I’d spent two nights lying on an icy kitchen floor where she lay wasting away, and couldn’t have her endure the stress of a ride to the vet as her last memory. Instead i put her out in the sun, on the fire escape, where she loved to lie, and got her two favorite treats – cream, and rose petals (she couldn’t get enough of them). My boyfriend at the time arranged everything with the vet, for which I’m forever grateful, and I saw the later was profoundly moved – or perhaps just appropriately grave – when I fell apart after the injection.

So $640. later, I leave with faith and antibiotics. After a week of watching my beloved boy go from his mister happy, rambunctious self – a cat who used to wolf his food down, and eat nearly anything – now barely manage a lick here and there, I need the hope. The anti-nausea shot and subcutaneous fluids seem to help, he eats a little, and drinks, and gets a little burst of his old energy. Sick with a summer cold, I go to sleep feeling a little less worried and sad only to wake and find all our effort vomited up in small glistening heaps strewn across the floor. I start to wonder why he’s on antibiotics as the bacteria test supposedly came out clear according to the doctor’s follow-up call. And while I know that supposedly this type of antibiotic can reduce inflammation – the central issue here, as Roman’s general diagnosis is IBD, evidenced by chronic diarrhea – I still wonder if its benefit outweigh the negatives as antibiotics increase nausea and diarrhea. And the outcome of the fancy expensive test I did consent to was, as I went in there expecting, that steroids are the next step, according to that update as well.

I call the vet’s office, and as they did a few weeks back, when my Gigi got poisoned – or so it appeared – by eating some of my geranium plant, they immediately suggest going to an emergency vet. I don’t understand this new protocol, although given how little I use their services, maybe this has been standard practice for a while. But to what end? Avoiding malpractice concerns, or for those visits that will prove less lucrative/worthy of their time. It set me off to hear it again. No, I declared. I want to talk to my vet who just treated my animal, discuss these questions, and get him in there again for another round of fluids and anti-nauseous shot. And pick up the cortisone/steroids. HE NEEDS TO EAT, and you should be doing the follow-up. My nerves are frayed. We make an appointment for the next day. I spend another nite entreating him every 15-20 minutes to eat. Returning to his little bed over and over again with a new, perhaps more enticing option of cat food to no avail. Following him around when he does move, doing more of the same, creating a veritable buffet of bowls on the kitchen floor.

I take him in the next day, apologize to the receptionist for being a bitch, we have a laugh, and another vet, his wife, co-owner of the practice, skims Roman’s file says, misses a couple of things, calls him a she, and perfunctorily tells me I really ought to do the ultrasound – the insanely expensive test to rule out the cancer. I say, you think so? Pretending to be sincere, yet also falling prey, as I tend to, to her guilt tactics. She has that “we’re just telling you what’s best for your pet’s health” tone that nearly all vets do, and it too is both false and yet sincere. She called him “bubula”, which was pretty sweet but I also heard her get nasty with an underling. Another $175.

The good news is, at the moment, he’s stabilized, and seeing that grin as he bounced on the bed to greet me, obviously feeling much closer to his old self than he had for a while, was a heart-bursting moment. But its band-aid therapy. And I’l take it, with deep gratitude, as long as he feels well. I will not watch him waste away though, so when this fails, I will have to face the music, and get that vet over to put him down at home.

Dealing with all of this has had me thinking a lot about how we deal with aging and illness in this culture as well as my ongoing distrust for doctors of any kind in the current system. Also, after my dad suffered a major setback recently, a fall and concussion that involved over a week of Intensive Care, and the further impediment of his mobility. Which for a man of 83 who has had Multiple Sclerosis for 40 years, is pretty serious. The difference between his living at home, as he’s done, under my mother’s care, or going into a home. These choices, or the lack thereof, just reveals the dysfunction relationship our culture has to life, death, community, and suffering.

As my 50th birthday creeps up on me, I keep thinking I need to think hard about how I’m going to experience being a caregiver, and eventually a patient. Weighing the agency I have in that against the fear of helplessness. I wrote about my vet experience in such tedious detail in part because I simply needed to share it, but also because we tend to avoid the details, not because they’re tedious but because therein lies so much of the isolation and pain. Several times during the course of writing this post, I’ve been interrupted by my Roman who is clearly feeling more energetic, and every time, I stop to engage him. My instinct is to do everything I possibly can to minimize his suffering and perk up his spirits. That’s the choice I’ve made for how I’m going to deal with his demise despite what the vets might say. But the doubt, the worry, the guilt and pressure are exhausting. Shouldn’t “medical care” seek to accommodate and alleviate stress, rather than exacerbate it? All that said, my boy is back to his old self, a little more rickety, and my vet helped make that happen. Maybe compassion attracts compassion?

vignettes of the nite LVI: just the scraps

janeharr — Thu, 29 May 2014 02:40:30 +0000

Sometimes its the simple things that can save a crappy day. Like a good vegan recipe (frankly, hard to find), or the vision of Bambino, one of two feral cats I feed. Staring at me across the long yard behind my building, Madonna (his mother) nowhere to be seen. Confident silhouette against the fence somehow declaring he'd left his mama's boy status behind. Anyway, must go feed them, but had to share!



 

Spicy Kale & Lemon Pesto Orecchiette with Baby Heirloom Tomatoes
Pesto
2/3 cup Fresh Basil Leaves
1/2 cup Raw Kale Leaves, remove the stems
1/2 cup Fresh Thai Basil Leaves (you can substitute regular sweet basil)
1/4 cup Fresh Parsley Leaves
2/3 cup Olive Oil
3 cloves Garlic, minced
2 tablespoons Nutritional Yeast
2 tablespoons Lemon Peel, grated
1/3 cup Lemon Juice
2 tablespoons White Wine


Pasta
1 Package of Orecchiette Pasta (we like this pasta best with pesto because the little shells or “ears” fill up with the sauce)
8 – 10 Baby Heirloom Tomatoes
1/4 cup Raw Pine Nuts
1 – 3 teaspoons Red Pepper Flakes (depends on how spicy you like it)
Vegan Parmesan to sprinkle over the top
Salt and Pepper to taste

Prepare your pasta using the instructions on the package. In your fierce food processor, blend all your Pesto ingredients until it’s a smooth paste. Quarter your Tomatoes.
	
	
			
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vignette of the nite XLIV: insects are us
janeharr — Fri, 04 Apr 2014 04:00:17 +0000
8 animals that know how to farm. As if we needed more proof that humans aren’t that special. Read about it here! Who knew ants grew fungi farms? I shouldn’t be surprised.  When I saw this doc on termites and the complex infrastructure they create, the cities and architecture, my mind was blown. Of course, David Attenborough’s breathy excitement always warms the cockles.


It would seem insects will inherit the earth. If you don’t believe me, watch The Hellstrom Chronicles, a 1971 doc on the insect world, which one Youtube commenter pithily describes as: “Awesomely paranoid, educating, and fun. Insects are ruthless, mother nature is a Warrior Queen. Watch the first 9 mins, I dare you!” Hell, the first sentence could do one in: “The earth was created not with the gentle caress of love, but with the brutal violence of rape.” Its fantastic apocalyptic weirdness. Enjoy!!
	
	
			
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vignettes of the nite XXXVI: we are all the same
janeharr — Wed, 19 Feb 2014 07:27:03 +0000
I remain convinced that all creatures given the privilege to express personality, can and do. Case in point this video of goats bouncing on a flexible aluminum structure (think trampoline meets balance beam) for fun, and the larger tawny one who plays king of the castle, lol. Cuteness! Reminds me of that post I did on crows ages ago with a vid of one skiing down a rooftop to amuse itself. 
And the gratuitous picture! Baby bears dancing (if the pic, which I found on FB here, is not fake)

	
	
			
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vignettes of the nite XXXIII: beauty and the beast
janeharr — Thu, 13 Feb 2014 05:16:52 +0000
Lady Amherst’s Pheasant. Have you ever seen such gorgeousness? I’m enthralled. 


And of course in a Google search, I find out people are breeding and selling them! Why? Because they can. Its like when I recently read that in traditional Chinese medicine the bile of black bears is extracted (after caging and painful process) for god knows what purported benefit. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in the efficacy of that tradition. When I lived in Chinatown, I had a roommate whose friend was a Chinese herbalist, and he gave me a script (in Mandarin) for a recurrent upper respiratory infection that I took to an herbal pharmacist who only served Chinese. I just watched him read the note, and pull out of the battered odd-sized drawers of his old wooden dispensary various plants, bulbs, leaves, twigs, etc., which he then ground up into a tea. 


(an approximation)
It was syrupy and woody in taste, a little nasty, but it did the trick! Sans the dizzy effects of most decongestants ala pseudoephedrin. So maybe there is some great tonic in bear bile, but it sounds pretty esoteric, and unnecessary.  I mean if someone told me that an ingredient in my tea was obtained in this horrific way, I’d have said, thanks, but no thanks. 


(red golden version)


Anyway, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when my curiosity to learn about a creature leads to: “www.efowl.com › Adult Pheasants‎ $114.99 Buy Lady Amherst Pheasants from eFowl.com. Have Lady Amherst Pheasants safely shipped directly to you. The Amherst Pheasant is an excellent aviary bird”.  Though it does reinforce my general antipathy toward what I’m calling late-stage humanity. Wondering what that might be like, owning such a beautiful creature? I don’t know, but here’s a sense of how pleasant life for the pheasant looks . And of course there’s the impossible allure of the feathers, this pic from a fishing tackle/bait site. I guess we just can’t help ourselves.

	
	
			
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vignettes of the nite XXXI: miss van and santani
janeharr — Mon, 27 Jan 2014 04:25:37 +0000
So tonite its a mash-up of two random sets of images I downloaded that represent the work of French graff artist Miss Van, and a young Russian toy designer, Santani. The latter, who lists Dumbo as her favorite cartoon character (a good sign!), makes these kooky cute hyper real furry creatures that are wonderfully fantastical. Creepy cute in the way that Edward Gorey’s work is. They sort of look like the progeny of trolls if they were to mate with forest animals like owls, chipmunks, rabbits, etc.
Equally doll-like if a lot more sexy are Miss Van’s curvaceous female cartoons, which, whether on street walls or paper, have the same push-pull of the mysterious and the cutesy. Festooned with Jessica Rabbit lips, their pucker more sulk than sass, they’ve got an inexplicable appeal. So from my desktop to your window, here they are, in all their strange reciprocity!









	
	
			
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vignettes of the nite XXVIII: cat lady alert at the movies
janeharr — Mon, 20 Jan 2014 07:24:49 +0000
Being in bed all weekend with that stomach flu going around, my Gigi kitty just relished in the company. I saw a lot of happy tail action, and all manner of it. Where I lie in bed gives me such a vantage that her long furry tail, swishing and twirling as she exits the room, appears to float in the air.



A friend of mine and I used to spend a lot of time in this bed laughing at how suggestive these disembodied tails were, doing their dance, my Roman’s being particularly expressive. Its a language far more nuanced than a chart like this conveys.



It made me wish there was a film of just cat tails, one after the next, a catwalk to end them all. There isn’t though. What I did find was a Wiki entry for “Cat communication”, proving that there’s an entry for everything and everyone. Of course, the trend for all things “cat” is cool with me, and its amusing to see how its packaged. While watching this  related vid I waited for the yipster narrating it to say “this orange kitten is trouble!” but she never did. (Coincidentally, I’ve always wanted to photograph cat balls because I find their furriness weirdly cute. AND GUESS WHAT, someone did, and mangled it.) 
Ok that’s it from cat lady central. Back to correcting my first round of assignments with a sharpie to stem my compulsive copy edits. Of course, I didn’t count on the ink going through to the other side though…note to self: no more in-class writing assignments. 
FYI: I’m about to post an Huffpo interview with Laura Parnes, an artist whose work I’d wanted to catch up with, and finally did, so look for it! You may recall I included some episodes from her latest work, County Down, in Grrls on Girls program I curated last summer at Nitehawk Cinema. I’m also excited to sink my teeth into two of Bruce LaBruce‘s recent films, Gerontophilia, and Pierrot Lunaire, in prep for an interview for the Believer. Exclusive access, and another artist whose work I’ve wanted to catch up with. And so as not to leave you image-starved here’s a cat lady I find divine. Nite Nite!


POSTSCRIPT: I did find this more elaborate description of cat behavior that made me understand the feral mama I feed’s tendency to raise her right paw as she waits for me to feed her means she’s ready to defend herself. Its kept curled under most of time so that’s a good sign:)
	
	
			
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please leave a message after the beep: a day in the life of charlotte moorman’s answering machine
janeharr — Mon, 25 Nov 2013 05:08:11 +0000
Love this audio tape of answering machine messages left on Fluxus great Charlotte Moorman’s machine in 1971. A perfect Fluxus work in and of itself!  Most of the messages relate to a day-old review in the Village Voice (who I started writing for almost 30 years to the day, weirdly enough), and say as much about the art world then as now. It sounds so quaint in this social media “moment”, where instead of 10 vms on an important day, we might get 200 texts, but there’s something much more pressing about a real voice in real time (listen to her mom’s msg – my fav – and you’ll see what I mean). Also, from a writer’s point of view, hearing John Lennon go on and on about an omission until he’s cut off, and another artist threaten to befriend her for a similar grievance made me a wee anxious. As in, settle down people. The narcissistic-synchophantic tone is easily the most familiar. A time capsule from an analog age long long ago……that predicted the future?
I will say I don’t think I could’ve succeeded if I’d had to conduct business this way. Talking on the phone is one of my least favorite things to do (I feel easily trapped), so having to perform for a machine may be a step up, but I’d still rather meet someone in person or correspond via email. No one leaves voicemail anymore, anyway.  That’s why this is such an analog time capsule.  An artist friend recently played me excerpts from answering machine tapes he’d kept from the early 90s when he was w/his now quite famous ex, with whom he made notable work with as well. They led a very glammy queer downtown drug-fueled life, riding a tide as swell, I’d bet, for their time, as Moorman’s must have been in hers, albeit shorter. I remember thinking how Warhol it all was in a post-Aids way. Anyway, I really hope he makes art out of them as was the plan. 
Not feeling so great, so that’s it here, though a couple pics of the mama and baby kitty kats from my backyard, who I mentioned, I think, before. I finally got some close-ups during a feeding. And only because I’m at eye level and they’re starving would they come that near, trust me. Mama’s eyes read pretty feral, I think. Today, in frigid weather they lay huddled in a clump of long dead grass smack in the middle of the yard. I got a shelter tonite for them. From one of cat colonies I help out w/ (thank god for that contact, but good breeds good) so that’s out now with a line of catnip leading in:) Hope Mama figures it out. She’s a good mother and often lets her baby eat first. I have ‘cuter” pics but its best to remember these are creatures fending for themselves not images to make us feel warm and fuzzy. We can help them survive or not. Same with homeless people we pass by in the winter. Its really tough out there. Please give.


Ok thats the end of the PSA:) For countermeasure, listen to the latest Keiser Report. Its about the upswing in the art market as shamed bankers look to hide more money with greater insurance. Good for the auction houses, and mega-collectors, bad for everyone else. That’s my layperson’s take. I’d be very curious to see follow that money trail into the museum boardroom. Oh and to remind everyone that humans only THINK they’re smarter than animals, here’s a fox in the Dakotas tracking his prey. The baroque explanation proves only that opposable thumbs, giant brains, and a fetish for tools apparently allows a species to analyze and annihilate whatever it wants. GO FOX GO! 
	
	
			
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vignettes of the night XXIII: for priscilla and victoria
janeharr — Mon, 18 Nov 2013 04:09:01 +0000
This post is dedicated to Priscilla, who belonged to the cat colony I help feed, and her primary caretaker, Victoria. Priscilla was hit by a car on Friday night. So sad, she was so shy, painfully, and I mentioned here before that I’d felt a bit bad for not continuing to make the extra effort to draw her out after a while. Mostly because there were just so many variables that needed to be just so for that to happen, and while so often she didn’t finish eating because too much was overwhelming her, I tried to trust that if she didn’t want to come back or even out at all, it was because she didn’t want to, and that was her choice. I don’t know. Luckily she had Victoria, who she came out on the sidewalk and rolled for in the mornings (something she did for me occasionally too in the beginning…I never gave up trying to get her food, I just stopped cajoling). I was too erratic for her, I think, with my timing, coming anywhere between 4-8pm, and only on Saturday eves. 
Regardless, she was the first one I fell in love with. My instinct to protect her, to make her feel less isolated was strong. Perhaps I stopped seeing her as so vulnerable because I knew she knew she was safe with me, and could eat close by, and I treated her as lovingly as the others. I take solace in that. Naturally, it is Victoria who is deeply upset, and understandably so given what she experienced. She has fed Priscilla for 5 years, everyday, and had to find her stiff but peaceful, as if she were sleeping, under a car. The first time she EVER got to touch her. Can you imagine? Then gently turning her over to discover a gaping wound/hole in Priscilla’s stomach. She had the decency to take her to the vet to find out what happened, to hold her once more before she was taken away. And in those moments to see how well-groomed this shy shy kitty kept herself in a little cubby beneath a house, crammed w/junk, and reeking of urine. Her best buddy, Porto, died about a year ago, her only friend as far as I could tell. She would groom him and they would sit down below the steps to the house they live around (its former owner having cared for them, her descendants – still there – being very much uninterested. Hostile even). 
The life of a street cat is never long and never easy (I’m feeding two new strays in my own yard at the moment), but Priscilla was SO LUCKY to have a human being who cared so much. AND who took the responsibility upon herself to safeguard these animals. AND another colony by the river! To build them shelters, and keep these shelters clean, to coordinate feedings with other volunteers, always knowing it fell on her, in the end, should someone cancel or no longer be able to help. Changing out the hay, the water, taking them to the vet when possible/needed, giving them flea treatments, and “handling” their remains. Despite workmen who mocked her, or the family in the house who regularly gave her a hard time (their mother/grandmother having passed the torch to Victoria, how ironic is that? And now it seems they’ve abandoned their own cat to the streets, assuming we will feed him, which we do). While I could never do anything so callous, I do not think I could be as responsible as Victoria either. Its part of why I never had kids. I could handle the negative attitudes – people seem so cut off from their compassionate nature, I’m used to it – but the organizing and capturing and appointment making, what this woman does is amazing. A service to us all, not just those cats. THANK YOU VICTORIA!
So anyone who lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, and is interested in helping out PLEASE let me know! And really, if you’re not nearby, volunteer somewhere else doing something, ANYthing, to help those who need it, be they animal or human. Because its endless how much help is needed out there. There are cat colonies in most neighborhoods whether you know it or not just as there are homeless/halfway shelters, etc. If you have no time, then donate to a local animal shelter/groups who rescue and foster animals, ask the nearest food pantry what they might need. You will feel better for it, I promise! 
(BTW, I’m still watching Enlightened, especially inspired by an episode in Season 2, I just watched, guest directed by Todd Haynes, who is also apparently a fan!).  
 
	
	
			
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national cat day
janeharr — Wed, 30 Oct 2013 06:15:02 +0000
How did I sleep through this one?!, she writes as her Roman kitty noisily eats dry food in the kitchen.
I honestly didn’t even know this holiday existed. Me, a proud cat lady. Actually I learned about it on Ann Magnuson’s fb post (if you recall we did an interview on cat ladies here), and realized its about ADOPTION, so thanks again to that lovely lady! If you don’t know her work, please check it out here. I just love these testimonials from fans – gives you an idea of how special she is, truly (and maybe they’re cat ladies too:)!
From Fans:
“I am late in responding to your Charleston show, which Michael Lipton and I thought was some of your best work ever. You have an enchanting voice, lovely, expressive hands, and a sense of humor that never fail to surprise us in the most solemn moments. The show was a real love letter to Charleston, and I was very touched. Thank you for remembering us.”

— Lynne Sandy
i listened to bongwater “power of pussy” one million times when I was getting clean off speed it gave me hope that i could become an artist instead of a drug addict. i could recite it line and verse. Much love and appreciation. — Olivia A. 
Ok, here are a few pics that I’d bet represent what  National Cat Day  looked like in facebook land today…and a video that represents what it means to me, animal love:) MEOW.



	
	
			
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