The oncologist said he didn't expect Miss Kitty to make it more than a month or maybe two, and that was on January 17. She seems to be in high spirits. She wakes me up every morning demanding more food. I tried to sleep in one day, and she hopped up on the edge of the couch where I sleep and started walking up and down, jumping onto the arms, and generally making my sleep-fogged brain aware of her presence. She's back to sitting on the stairs like she used to. I guess she is feeling pretty much okay right now.

--The Management

I went to the hospital again Monday. I have to say that I saw this coming. The first signs came when I was bundled up in my favorite blanket and carried to the car. Most people wouldn't have known what to make of this, but within half an hour my keen mind had puzzled it out. The ride was generally nice, I have to say. While the last trip was plagued with bridge ambushes, this one was not. It turns out that bridges are both evil and stupid. I mean, if my life's goal was to jump out of my hiding place in a fit of bridgy evil and shout "RAR" or "7Z" in the hopes of scaring folks out of their cute little fur, I would make sure to pick a different hiding place every day! Seriously. I'm not sure what kind of weapons we have on our vehicle, but they must be pretty impressive to bust a cap in a bridge. Those things are big. Anyhow, every so often on the drive someone would cover my cute little eyes. I consulted my cute little mental map of the road and found that these spots corrugated well with the sites of bridge ambushes last time, so I assume the reason my eyes were covered was to protect me from scenes of unimaginable violence being violented on those bridges.

Anyhow, I don't remember much about the hospital. It was hospitable, I guess. I remember the doctors using the same old medicine and not trying a new one because I have a kidney problem, and I remember hearing that they couldn't feel some lump today. You'd think this is good, but nobody seems to be overjoyed, and I'm still advised to avoid long-term investments like blue chip stocks or boil-in-the-bag meals.

I think I have my very own vampiric minion. Maybe more than one. I'm so excited. Today I went to the vet, where I became a vampire in the first place, and they took my blood again. This is at least the fourth or fifth time they've taken my blood. I became a vampire after the third time, but that was a while ago. They've taken it several more times in the last two weeks, and I've had it taken at the other pet hospital with the Spice tank, too. They have my medical records, so they must know I'm already one of them. My only guess is that they are taking my blood to turn others into my servants.

I've been calling these servants all day, but I haven't heard anything from them. If you are one of my minions and you are reading this,

GET YOUR MINIONIC ASS HOME RIGHT NOW!

I've got plans for you goobers. First, one of you will get me a top hat. I think I'd look pretty good if I just had a top hat to go with my tuxedo fur. Then we're going to watch all twelve episodes of Fawlty Towers. I've been told that it's finely-crafted humor if ever there was such a thing, and it seems the vampiric thing to do. Plus, it'll be a master-minion bonding party. I'll send you all out to the 7-11 on the corner for a couple six-packs of blood and a tin or two of unagi and we'll stay up all night. I've got the tapes that include interviews with John Cleese. After that, I'm thinking we could all steal each other's seats for a little while and then nap for maybe fifteen hours. We could play a few hands of whist or the Henry V Storytelling Trading Card Game. Maybe if I have enough minions we could get a LARP going. Half of you could play wangsty, pretentious teenagers who corner people at gaming conventions and talk at them for hours, while the other half could play responsible vampire gamers who play the game to have fun and interact socially without bothering other people. Anyhow, these plans are all tentacle. They could change if one of you has a better idea. Basically, though, I want you here soon.

Miss Kitty is doing moderately well today. She has been really hungry, possibly because of the appetite-enhancing pills we've been giving her. Most of the time she seems about like Miss Kitty always does, but maybe a little more active and interested in the world around her. However, I've noticed a couple of times when she just looked tired. wintersweet and I have started sleeping in the living room with her. wintersweet was hoping that Miss Kitty would sleep next to her on the futon, but instead, Miss Kitty decided to sleep near my feet on the couch.

--The Management

Last night (this morning, actually), I started having trouble breathing. I tried to get assaultdoor to give me a squirt of that asthma spray that he pops like it's going out of style, but he wouldn't. Instead, everyone bundled me up in a blanket, stuffed me in a car, and drove me at like 320kph to the local vet hospital. They put me in some kind of plastic tank full of oxygen, which was pretty nice. I see why oxygen bars are all the rage these days. Oxygen is nice and harmless, while alcohol is used to kill microbes and preserve foods that nobody would actually eat the first time. Anyhow, this tank was probably a lot like what the Spacing Guild navigators use, except that it had oxygen and not Spice. Then they ran some tests and poked me with needles. I was hooked up to some kind of machine, and they had to shave my wrist to get an IV into me. I'm hoping they come out with a V soon, since the IV isn't that much fun. I feel sorry for all of the people in the days of old who had to use the III, however.

Now that I have a bare patch on my wrist, I'm thinking of selling advertising space. I was thinking of getting a tattoo of Wel-Pac unagi, but perhaps some other corporate entity would be willing to pay me more. If you are, work for, or know any corporate entities, let them know that I'm walking, talking, super-awesome kitty signage and I'm open for business.

I'm feeling pretty good right now. I actually made it home, and I'm not having any trouble breathing. The doc said that there wasn't that much fluid around my lungs, so the trouble I had was probably just excitement. I'm going to try the quiet life from now on.

I saw several bridges on the way home. Just in case some of you have never seen one before, let me tell you something. Bridges are mean, nasty little bastards. They just sneak up on you, jump out, and scream "RAR!" or "LHA!" or "ARJ!" or something crazy like that. Then they run away. They scare me, and I'd dearly love to see them all torn down. Stupid bridges. I hate them so damned much.

Update: After looking at some of the forms that came with me from the hospital, I found out something really amazing. I actually have a first name! It's Kitty. I think. Maybe it's Miss and I have the middle name of Kitty. Maybe Miss is a generational name and all of my cousins also have it, and Kitty is my personal name. I don't remember my parents being Chinese or Korean, but I could be mistaken. I'm a little worried that it's actually a double first name, kind of like JoAnne or Jo Ellen or Mary Sue or Donald Rumsfeld. I really don't want to sound like I'm from Arkansas or really awful fanfic, I'm pretty sure my family isn't from Asia, and that my first name isn't Miss, so I'm going to say that my given name is Kitty. My family name, according to this form, is Ryan. This is quite a coincidence, as Ryan is also the family name of the people who drove me to the hospital.

Miss Kitty is on oxygen right now, and the doctor seemed to think she might not make it more than a day or so.

Miss Kitty had her first round of chemo. We also have some pills to reduce nausea and enhance her appetite. We will take her back in two weeks for a blood test so we'll know if the drugs are doing more harm than good.

She's having trouble breathing right now. We're taking her in to the vet.

Miss Kitty went to the oncologist today. She has tumors in her abdomen and chest, and she has fluid building up around her lungs. If she is really lucky, she has six months. However, fate has a nasty habit of kicking Miss Kitty when she's down and the guy we spoke to thought she probably only had one or two months left. We're going to try chemo to buy a little time, but if it makes her sick, we're going to stop it and try to make her as comfortable as we can before the end.

I don't like cats. I think that, as a species, they are a tragic example of why inbreeding should never be mixed with predatory instincts. I don't understand what is wrong with people who enjoy having psychotic bundles of fur, claws, and sadism in their houses or their lives. Miss Kitty didn't go out of her way to change my mind when she first moved in with me. She viewed the apartment, except for her litterbox, as one giant litterbox. She enjoyed biting me shortly after she begged for petting. She actively tried to trip me by ramming my foot with her head while I was trying to walk. However, once she got used to living with people who didn't abuse her (at least one of her previous owners must have hit her pretty regularly, since she used to cringe when I raised my hand near her), she settled down a bit. She stopped biting and tried to trip me less frequently. She still excreted on things pretty much at random, but I guess she wasn't doing it with intent to annoy. She isn't actually smart enough to get up to any real trouble, so she has spent most of the last few years snuggling up to people or sitting on the stairs. She doesn't really want that much out of life. She likes warmth, petting, good food, comfortable stairs, the spot on the couch that someone is just about to sit down on, and some catnip or spider plant from time to time. Miss Kitty is a really sweet little critter, and I don't know what I'm going to do without her.

I don't know why she's had to have such a shitty life. She bounced from one owner to another before we got her, and at least one of them was abusive. The one who gave her to us was really eager to get rid of us, since she ran as fast as she could once we took Miss Kitty. She's been to the vet more times in five years than I have in twenty-eight. She didn't really do anything other than eat and bite for her first year with us. Then we went to Arkansas for Christmas, and she licked her tummy raw while we were away. The vet gave her some antibiotics, and not long after that we saw her responding to the world around her. This was big news. We actually found a toy that she kind of liked playing with. I can only assume that she had been sick or had an imbalance or something along those lines until she was medicated.

Anyhow, she has a month or two to cross things off her to-eat list. If you have any suggestions for exotic foods that she might like, let us know.

Stay tuned for further depressing news.

--The Management

So as it turns out, I've got cancer. I've done a little research, and it appears that I have little crabs in my lungs. This makes some sense, but not a lot. It does explain why I'm feeling so lousy and having trouble breathing, but I can't for the life of me figure out how the crabs got in. I know that I'm sometimes a messy eater, but you'd think I'd remember at least seeing a plate of little alveoli-sized crabs. I'm guessing they'd look kind of like a paste. Anyhow, as near as I can figure, I must have mistaken this paste for wet food and inhaled it. I do that with wet food sometimes, just to make sure some other cat I don't like can't eat it while my back is turned.

I'm going to the doctor tomorrow to see if he can't pump the crabs out. Meanwhile, chaos ensues. One of my roommates is calling around trying to find out how much one of his kidneys might go for on the open market. I'm like, "Dude, you could probably save a couple bucks on my food if I ate your kidney."

I've been advised not to start that many long-term projects, such as boiling an egg.

I went to the new food pyramid thingie to see if I could get a better idea of what I should be eating. Right now I'm getting some dry catfood plus whatever the jerks I live with will give me. It's not that I like being dependent, but using a can opener isn't easy with paws. Anyhow, I was hoping I could get some scientific evidence to prove that I should get more food. First, I typed in age (10 years), weight (9 lbs, since I don't trust a U.S. government website to do metric conversions properly -- I could crash into Mars and die!), height (1'0", again without metric just to play it safe), and so on. Then I typed in my physical activites: ( details cut for those on slow connections )

As I suspected, my prognathism was poor. As everyone knows, the way to compensate for inadequate physical activity is to eat more. I decided to enter in my ideal diety for a day. I typed "hyena" into their search bar. No exact matches. Dangit! However, it did suggest some tasty alternatives: ham and cheese loaf, ham loaf, ham or pork salad, and so on. I tried "unagi." Nothing! DANGIT! What's up with the U.S. government, anyway? Don't they get out? Do they have a bias against Japan? I tried "monkey" and the site suggested I try a manwich instead. Let me tell you, as soon as one of the people I'm living with kicks the bucket, I'll try myself a manwich. Until then, I'd appreciate not being taunted with things I can't have.

By this point I'm starting to suspect that the site doesn't have anything I might eat. I tried "cat treats" and it suggested catfish, double hamburgers, and frankfurters. Hey, maybe the feds understand what cat treats should involve after all. Maybe they're okay in the snacks department.

I tried "milk" and got 193 hits, one of which was "milk duds." I may have to start wearing clothes after all. I selected four cups of milk and nine milk duds (hat, shirt, vest, jacket, pants, and shoes) and told it to analyze my meal plan. It crashed. I tried it several more times. It kept crashing. I went back to make sure I hadn't used metric anywhere, but I'd been careful. I'm guessing one of the programmers accidentally used some.

Then I went to the more generic site to see what they would recommend. They're obviously on crack. They suggest 5 oz grains, 1.5 cups vegies, and 1.5 cups fruit every day. Ick. On the other hand, they suggest 2 full cups of milk and a whopping 4 oz of meat or beans. If I play with the numbers a bit, I get 5 cups of milk and 9 oz of meat every day. Yep, now I'm eating like a sailor.

Now, how do I get the elite USDA commando teams to come and enforce this diet? I don't think the goobers I'm staying with will go along with it unless they know they'll be struck down by a sharpened, frozen chicken if they don't.