FrankenKitty

Last week was a little rough.  Alex was teething, which made him uncharacteristically cranky.  Then, we noticed that Doogie, who has had a lump on his back for a while, had a big sore on that lump.  I made a vet appointment for him and prayed like mad that my baby wouldn't scream through the whole thing. 

The vet examined Doogie and took a little sample of the lump, which she looked at under the microscope.  It was a tumor.  Because he was being so good (which really meant that he was simply frozen in terror), she opted to remove it right then with a local anesthetic.  He was whisked to the back, and Alex and I headed to the front.  Alex did start crying, but he blessedly waited until we were out in the lobby waiting for Doogie's surgery to be done.  I consider that an answered prayer, as I just didn't want him screaming while we were in the exam room.  Doogie was freaked out enough without the baby adding to his stress!

Doogie came back looking like this:

It was a pretty big tumor, so it's going to be a pretty big scar.  It's all stapled together instead of stitched because the vet said that cats don't tend to mess with staples like they do stitches.  Sure enough, Doogie has left it alone.  He doesn't seem bothered by it at all, which is wonderful!  I just wish we could say the same for Ninja...

The day after Doogie's procedure, I was sorting clothes to wash, and Steven's things were all wet.  Soaking wet.  And stinky.  I realized that someone had been going potty in Steven's hamper.  *sigh*  I am so over doing stinky, urine-soaked laundry!  I did more than enough when we had Calvin. 

It got worse.  I could smell poop in the living room.  After 30 minutes of playing hunt-the-poo, I found it in a box.  One of the moving boxes that was opened but not unpacked.  ARG!!! 

We weren't 100% sure of the culprit, but we were pretty certain it was Ninja.  That was confirmed when I caught him doing his business in the aforementioned box.  He was jumpy and skittish all day long, and he wouldn't come when called.  In fact, he'd run away if I tried to pet him.  Apparently, bringing Doogie home sliced and stapled was the final straw in Ninja's month of stress.  It pushed him over the edge, and he finally acted out. 

I guess we can consider ourselves lucky if it took all that (packing the old house, emptying the house, 6-hour car ride, living with strangers, living in an empty house, carpet replaced, appliances delivered, furniture moved in, brother having surgery) before anyone acted out.  We did throw a lot of scary new stuff at those poor cats in a short amount of time!  However, after a week of a cranky baby, a house full of unpacked boxes, a sick pet, and a pet making colossal messes, I cried quite a bit that day.  I'd hit my breaking point, too.

Thankfully, Ninja was back to normal and going potty in his box again the next day.  No problems since.  And in the meantime, we've been calling Doogie FrankenKitty and FrankenDoog.  He does look like a bit like Frankenstein, don't you think?  Poor baby.  He's such a trooper. 

Oh, and that tumor?  Benign!