The S Word

I mentioned in my last post that I'm having knee surgery. Many of you have sent warm, kind and concerned thoughts which are so much appreciated. I thought I'd take a second and give you the 411. "That means information, people." (Any Monk fans in the house?)

At the end of January, I slipped and fell on a rubber mat that was turned upside down. Luckily, this happened at work. This means I don't have to pay for anything and I'll ultimately get reimbursed for my time. It also means this whole process has been dragged out 17 times longer than if I had to pay for this. All I'll say about that is...if you have to get hurt at work, don't do it in North Carolina.

It turns out that when I fell I tore my medial meniscus. I've had ice, compression, heat, NSAIDS, a cortisone injection, yoga, physical therapy, x-rays, an MRI and a glucosamine/condrointon supplement (when I can remember to take it). You name it, I've tried it. No dice. Nothing has worked. I'm still in a lot of pain, can't walk far, biking and running are out of the question, and I'm still wearing a knee brace. Without the brace, I feel things moving in ways most unnatural.

At my last doctor's appointment, it was decided that surgery was the next step. It will be arthroscopic surgery and should take about 20 minutes or so. They will go in and look around, take pictures and cut out the torn piece of cartilage. I'll be laid up for a few days and on crutches for a few more. They expect me to be as good as new in 4-5 months. Sadly, my hopes of a robotic knee transplant have been crushed. Perhaps next time. I do however get souvenir photos of the inside of my knee, which is a nice touch. I wonder if they do t-shirts too? "I went to Blue Ridge Surgical Center and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."

The surgery is scheduled for May 7. My mom will come stay for a few days. It will then be up to Elvis to care for me. I have three weeks to teach him how to open the fridge and turn on the oven. If that fails, I am certain a few friends will come over to feed me if absolutely necessary.

I appreciate the well wishes. I assure you I will be fine. My 89 year old grandmother always says, "you just don't die as easily as you think you do." In the past 9 years, she's had breast cancer and mastectomy, a broken hip and replacement, an exploding gall bladder, and recently 5 staples in the back of her noggin from a fall. She's never been in the hospital for more than 3 weeks. So, I think she'd know.

At the risk of sounding like a Crazy Cat Lady...

Seriously, how cute is he? Those whiskers are ridiculous.

Oh, sure. He looks all sweet and innocent.

I took Elvis to the vet this morning for a second check up on the ear mite issue. He needed another squirt of medicine in his ears. He really is a happy cat. The vet's office was busy this morning...by the way, I love that my vet is open on Saturdays. We sat in the lobby for a few minutes with several BIG dogs. Elvis was totally cool. He was sniffing noses and making friends like he was at a cocktail party, through the mesh side of the carrier, of course. They had a room for us and we waited. Elvis is an investigator. He must check out everything. And I mean everything. We waited for about 10 minutes in a different room than last time. He thoroughly scoped out the Purple Room and found it to his satisfaction, mostly.

He climbed up on the table and was facing me. I was sitting in a chair, with my back to the wall. All of a sudden, Elvis' eyes get huge. He stands up, arches his back and makes ALL of his fur stand on end. He's looking at the wall above my head. I stand up and turn around to see what the threat is. It's a picture of a cat peeking around a wall on a poster for some kind of medication. I pick him up and bring him closer to the poster. He starts hissing and when he's close enough, the claws come out and he starts swinging. He picked a fight with a picture of a cat. I put him back on the table, but this went on for a good five minutes. No joke. He has lost his mind. There were other pictures on the wall, but this was the only one that was life size. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. We saw a nurse today, so as I was laving, I told the vet and his wife, who runs the practice, who laughed just as hard.

Tough Guy weighed in at a whopping 5.06 pounds today. Look out! He's dangerous. Especially if you're two dimentional.

Hey, hey, hey!

Now that we have the change we need, and I have recruited one more follower (cue evil laugh), it's time to get back to bus riding.

Bigman was there today, in all his pathological glory. He was wearing a red fleece pullover and a white collared shirt. If it weren't for the khaki pants, I swear it was this guy. He was, as usual, rocking back and forth, adding imaginary numbers, and so on, and so on, and so on. At some point, I noticed his hands. Dude get manicured. I hate that his nails look better than mine. No, I won't get close enough to take a picture of his hands, so don't even ask. It makes me wonder if he gets pedicures too. No, wait, I just threw up a little. Nevermind. What was funny, or sad depending on how you look at it, I prefer funny because that's just who I am...anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so, he was on his usual throne. There were three people who sat in the seat next to him, all of whom moved rather abruptly once The Bigman Show started.

In other news, Elvis lost a tooth tonight. He's four months old, right in prime teething time for kittens. He was kind enough to spit it out on the sofa for me. Thanks, buddy. Then he tried to eat it again. Now I'm all paranoid he'll swallow all the others and I'll have to spend thousands on gastrointestinal repair. And because I know you're dying to see it, here's Elvis's tooth. With a dime for reference, rather than a quarter, because it's so tiny.

Long live The King.

Meet my new furry friend. I was the fourth or fifth person to submit an application to adopt him from 2 Paws Up Rescue. I was told on Christmas Eve my application was the only one approved to adopt him. Due to a nasty eye infection, it was about three weeks before he could come home. I picked him up today around 12:30. About five minutes after we got home, he was napping on my bed. He's been following me around the apartment. His fur is bunny rabbit soft and miraculously he doesn't seem to shed. I'm not sure if he's stopped purring since I brought him home. This super mellow cat loves to be held. He is about four months old and weighs about 6 pounds.

While he was laying on the sofa, I asked him if I could call him Elvis. He stood up, meowed, and licked my nose. Elvis it is! And he's a keeper!

Hello. My name is Elvis.

Why, thank you. I will make myself comfortable.

Smell my paw and guess where I've been. Go ahead. Guess.

I think he's moved in.

Welcome home Whats-his-name!

The kitten just arrived! Pictures coming soon! He still doesn't have a name.

Guess who's coming to dinner?

Ladies and gentleman, I am happy to tell you that I got a call this morning at 9:20 AM that my application to adopt Cupid was approved! Woo hoo! They had received three or four other applications to adopt him, and they liked mine the best. They need to talk to my landlord first to finalize it, but then he's all mine.

I found out that he's actually only somewhere around three months old. Maybe 14 weeks or so. Oh, and I also found out he's actually a long haired cat! I didn't realize that, not that it matters. So, to recap...my two qualifications were a cat that wasn't a kitten and that didn't look like Truman. Ah well, what are you going to do?

My mom and I stopped by Petco this afternoon, where she bought Little What's His Name two cute little bowls and a few toys.

Now I need names, people, names. Keep thinking and suggesting names.

Here's where we are:
Groove Holmes
Phil Collins
Barry Manalow
Barry Gibb
Henry
Chester
Chet Baker (I just thought of that one)
Hairy Truman (Har har. Thanks, Dad.)

He's from Harnett County. Those of you not from North Carolina, think Deliverance. I would welcome redneck names too.

Hey, Baby. Come here often?

I had to stop by the airport outlet mall again tonight. Naturally, I stopped by AniMall to check out the kitties. A new group, 2 Paws Up, had their cats there. In a very large cage, sat Baby and Cupid.

Blog readers, meet Baby. Baby, my blog readers.


And I'd like to introduce you to Cupid. Cupid, this is everyone.


They were in a giant condo together. So I climbed in and started playing. I am a little indignant that no one asked if I was up for adoption. (I'm clean, housebroken and friendly. What gives?) I'd estimate Baby to be about a year old. When I went to pet Cupid, Baby stuck his arm out of the cage to grab mine. He was really playful. He stuck me as more of a spazz than Cupid. Cupid seemed a little sleepy when I got there. He also seemed a little uncoordinated. Once he got up, I realized he is probably 6 months old at the most. The guy working at AniMall said he'd had a long day. When I climbed in the cat condo and started playing, he perked right up and joined in. What really got me is that Cupid likes to be held, which is unusual for a young boy cat. When I picked him up a couple times, he just sat there in that snuggly way. It was nice. Once he was awake, he was walking around meowing, looking to play and get attention. What's funny is that Cupid is tiny. Truman was huge. He was only about 14 pounds at his largest, but he was really long. Long legs, long body, long tail.

The irony is that one qualification I had in a new cat was that it wasn't anything like Truman. Have you seen Truman?


Yes, he's wearing a candy necklace. It was his idea. I swear. Anyway, so much for the "nothing like my former cat" thing, right? What are you gonna do?

So.....

I filled out an application to adopt Cupid. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, any name suggestions? I'm stumped. So far, we have Steve McQueen.