pill pusher

It’s been three attempts now of trying to get Cal to take two pills and switch to wet (diet) food in order to treat his asthma. That’s six pills and half a can.

That means I’ve accidentally eaten about half an antibiotic, more than a few fingertips worth of cat food, and almost gave Taylor his insulin twice when I couldn’t remember if I’d already (just) given him a shot. Cal is so depressed after we wrestle to get the pills into him (the antibiotic is big and I use a piller; the asthma pill is small and I have to get him to open his mouth in anger so I can toss it in) that he won’t eat his food. The pills are supposed to be increasing his appetite, so I don’t know what’s going on, other than he might have overheard the vet tell me that Cal now weighs twenty pounds, and “all that extra weight” around his chest isn’t helping his wheezing.

But he hasn’t wheezed in two days. He’s also barely eaten. His mood is exactly the same; no personality change. But if he doesn’t start eating soon, I’m going to be very worried. Tomorrow morning I’ll try the pills after I’ve fed him, which probably means I’ll be adding “washing cat-puke covered clothes” to my to-do list.

So, yes. If you’re still figuring out my Sexy Quotient, that’s one cat with asthma and a weight problem, plus one cat with diabetes and arthritis, multiplied by four different medications administered twice a day, divided by one sharps container for used syringes, to the power of dork plus infinity. Squared.

updating without a story, just facts

This is an entry purely because you have been emailing frequently (and wonderfully, thank you) to inquire about Taylor and other things that have been going on.

Taylor is sacked out next to me looking quite happy. We won’t test him again for another month — the vet wants to see if the DM special diet fixes him, which apparently can reverse the effects of diabetes and make him completely better. All the cats like to eat the DM, so we give the other two tiny bits. Never before has it been so clear that Taylor is the alpha cat than watching the way the other two cats let Taylor browse each bowl, eating whatever his little heart wants. Continue reading


I don’t think I can accurately describe how much cat puke I just picked up.

It’s one in the morning. I’m currently staring at Taylor, watching him drink water, waiting to make sure he’s not about to go into some kind of seizure.

At my last job there were many new parents, the kind who often spent from three in the morning until six in the morning awake with their babies. There was absolutely no sympathy for a girl like me — the one who didn’t get home until midnight because she was rehearsing a comedy show, woke up because of cats puking at five and then wrote a few pages of her novel before we had to be on the set. My life is nothing but easy living, as far as they were concerned.

I’m thinking of those guys tonight because I’m bone tired, but I’m afraid if I fall asleep my cat will die and it will be all my fault because I knew he wasn’t feeling well.

We can’t seem to get his glucose regulated, to the point where the vet is currently “doing some research” to figure out what to do to keep us from having to give Taylor insulin three times a day. I’m not sure how the hell we’d be able to administer insulin shots three times a day unless I am somehow able to convince my animal-adverse co-worker into having an office cat. Continue reading

The good, the bad and the unknown.

Working on this television show is teaching me how to add more specifics to my writing. When I write here, or a recap, or even a script Liz and I will eventually perform, there’s a tendency to write in shorthand, to deliver enough information that someone “gets it,” and then move on. Here I’m learning what happens if you leave things up to interpretation, the confusion that can happen when a script goes through ten different hands before it’s heard out loud again. There’s no room for imagination. Everything will actually exist and there are a thousand decisions to make. If the writer doesn’t specify, there will be notes, questions, and the possibility of something getting cut because it’ll take too long to interpret.

Liz is in the kitchen. She stands by a table, eating food.

Chinese food is so messy.

Is the kitchen in a house, apartment or office? What kind of table? Can it be a counter? Is the food in a bowl, on a plate, in a container? Is she eating Chinese food, or just talking about it because she can’t eat it because it’s too messy? Continue reading