"He sure is a sensitive little guy..."

Over the weekend, Ferris gave us all a pretty good scare. Doing construction on the front entryway was way more involved than we thought it was going to be. And way dustier than we anticipated. It didn't help that we didn't block off the area we were working on, so moldy insolation and dry wall particle dust went everywhere. We tried to keep Ferris out of the way as possible, for his protection just as much as ours, what with all the supplies and materials, nails and screws he could get into.

We kept him our room for the better part of the day. During a break I stowed him away in his room with food and water so he'd also have access to his litter box. We kept him in there for a few hours. He didn't seem interested in using any of those services, so I put him back in our room so we could have the front window's air circulation.

Once we were finished for the evening, Vin went into the room to let him out. It was there he discovered Ferris had had an accident on the bed, and was very distraught over it, hiding under our bed. Once he came out, he threw up all over the floor. Trying to comfort him so he knew it wasn't his fault, I knew there was something wrong with him right away. Earlier in the afternoon he had suffered, unbeknownst to me, an asthma attack. I thought it was a simple hairball he was coughing up.

After he was let out of the room, he was distant, trying to hide, slow-moving and visibly depressed. I figured it was just his shame of having an accident. Vin left that evening to go with our friend Curt to catfish.

After I settled in for the night, I noticed Ferris wasn't well at all. He had flopped into the office, where I was, and when I called to him, he wasn't responsive. I knelt down to pick him up and he was limp in my hands. He came to once I had him in my arms, but promptly wanted down. He crawled under my desk and laid his head down, his breathing labored. I called my friend Cheryl to come look at him. She would tell me if I was paranoid or not.

She agreed he didn't seem well so off to the emergency vet we went. Usually when Ferris is in his carrier he cries and yowls the whole time. Not this night, he promptly curled up into a quiet ball. Once at the vet he was so lethargic and listless. Two hours later, the doctor was able to see him and didn't see any reason to run tests. I do love how they give you worst case scenario to send you into a panic, though. The words "Kidney failure, and acute renal failure" were mentioned. Yes, I cried. But, she didn't see me paying for emergency rate tests and to wait until our vet could see Ferris.

We had to wait until Wednesday to take him because our vet was on an extended holiday for the labor day weekend. Those were the longest 3 days of monitoring and watching the little bugger to make sure he was eating, drinking, pooping and peeing. He didn't seem to appreciate the extra attention, not one bit. He couldn't bring himself to liven up, but he certain could flick his tail in a way that told me to leave him alone.

Overall Vin and I got him back on all four feet and his vet did a blood panel that told us he was perfectly fine. Healthy as a ... well, cat. No failure of any kind, just elevated white blood counts due to stress. The construction was dusty, smelly and loud, definitely not a fun place for a kitty. Cheryl said, "He sure is a sensitive little guy..."

She is so right!

Playing Hard to Get. Until Dinner Time.

We are such bad parents. And Ferris has no problem telling us that. Not only did we leave him for FOUR DAYS (with water and food and access to catnip), but it was during the 4th OF JULY. Big booms and bangs and scary loud noises and lights. Don't worry, he had a sitter. But, he had no problem telling us he was pissed off.

Thankfully he didn't pee on something, like the bed (or the dog several years ago when we brought him home. Yes, he peed ON the dog), or yack on our faces in our sleep when we got home, instead he ignored us. He didn't want to be picked up, held or be played with in any matter.

Until it was time for bed the day we got back. He cried to be held, cuddled, petted and loved. And then, he talked all damn night.

I don't know about y'alls cats, but ours talks to us. Yes, as in chats. I'll be holding him, petting him, kissing on him, or trying to snooze off and he'll be chittering, meowing, chuffing, purring until he's ready to go to sleep. He's done this for the last two nights, catching us up, I'm sure, on all his shenanigans over the last few days. Like why his food is in tiny kibble bits all over the kitchen floor, or how so much food gets in his water, or how he shed two inches of fur all over the bed.

It's okay. We know he missed us, and during our time in Crescent City, we missed him to pieces too.

Ferris Foundation

So, Turd Boy is 10! If he were a real child he'd be a fifth grader. Spooky. Instead he's a yacking, crying, up-at-all-hours of the night, temper tantrum throwing perpetual 2 year old. He is starting to mellow out, we've noticed. And, he's becoming more of a Daddy's boy! Pining after his dad, chasing after him to play with him, and then begging for attention... pfft.

 Since we've decided to not let him out any more (torture, abuse, neglect, I know!) we've noticed a significant decrease in his yack-land mines. Until this week. He must have a blockage. We've been feeding him the Halo brand foods and mixing hair-ball remedy in to help him out. But, back to the land mine story.

 I had left my towel on the corner of the bed last. The next morning, groggily getting up to start my day I grabbed up the towel and headed into the shower. After, I blinked the water and sleep out of my eyes and went to dry my face off in the plush yellow towel and was welcomed with half-dried cat yack. Thankfully I had opened my eyes enough to see it before I gave myself a cat-vomit facial.

 I suppose I should be grateful he aimed for the towel and not the carpet or the bedspread.

 Ferris has taken to, in the mornings, sitting on top of the table (a big no-no) to survey his great savannah (the backyard) like a lion. Before, he'd scramble off a surface he knew he wasn't supposed to be on, but with his cantankerous age, he'll sullenly glare at me before he lopes off, only to return to the spot, I'm sure, after I leave.

Sir Yack-a-lot

Ferris has always had a bit of a bullemia issue. He'll gorge himself and yack it out. Most times while we're sleeping and he's in the windowsill. It is then projectile vomitting on our head, ala the Exorcist. In trying new things to keep him from throwing up all the time (and losing weight) we've stopped letting him go outside.

He hates Petromalt, probably because I used to chase him around the house with it, and will even avoid wet food it's mixed up in. We've put it in the natural Halo food, but that in itself looks like vomit and I don't blame Ferris one bit for turning his nose up at it. I don't want to eat food that looks like vomit either.

So, keeping him indoors, much to his utter dismay, seems to be doing the trick in keeping him healthy. No grass feeding for this kitty!

Ferris goes to the farm

But he doesn't buy it. Thankfully! I don't know what we'd do without our Turd.

Vin & I decided to head out to the family farm to see how the future Smith House Summer Burger was doing, kind of size her weight and whatnot. She's doing just fine, by the way. Full of it, shall we say? She stamped at me like she was going to charge and then bolted.

We got the grand notion to take Ferris with us for the 60 mile round trip ride.  Ferris was at first delighted to see me produce his leash and began crying up a storm. I put it on him, and then confused the heck out of him by taking him to the front door, rather than the back.

When I opened the door he knew there's only one reason we exit the house that way - the vet. So, he started really crying up a storm. Then he got all whirly-gig on my arms and then yowled as we got into the pick up truck. He promptly found a safe haven under my seat.

A few pitiful cries all the way there, but he was ready to get out of the truck once we pulled up. At least, I thought. He just about bolted - for the first small place he could tuck himself into as cats are want to do. But, I had the leash on him so he couldn't get too far. We walked over to the cows where he was so not interested, then we walked to the front of the propery where he has a wide expanse of lawn to chew on. But, he wasn't so interested in that either and kept trying to play "pancake kitty" and blend into the ground. This, the big bad kitty who tries to square off against Pit Bulls was scared of wide open spaces!

At once point I crouched down and he lept into my arms, shaking. That's when I knew he'd had too much fun. And back in the truck he went. On the ride home I sat in the back with him where we convinced him to sit in my lap. He was fine with the jacket thrown over him with his face pressed into my hands.

And when we got home? He wanted to go outside.