Merry happy Easter!  As non-practicing anythings, Amber and I will be celebrating the day with piled up chores and obligations.  We had a little timing snafu last week, and I was under the impression Easter was actually next weekend.  Thank you very much, Lightning, for that fantastic date mix-up.  Now I'm starting to question whether or not we celebrated New Years on the correct Tuesday in February...

There hasn't been an update in Flickr photos lately because we had hit our quota limit for the free account.  Apparently, that's how Flickr gets ya: use their awesome site for free all you want, until you actually need it, and then break out the checkbook to go any further.  I thought I would wage a battle of will against Flickr, to see who would break first; either I'd shell out the $25 for the paid account, or they'd cave under the weight of knowing there was a bookmark out there on someone's computer, pointing to their upgrade page, that would never be clicked.  They won the battle, and in all likelihood when the robots running Web 2.0 turn against their human masters, FlickrBot9000 will see that they win the war.

These pics date as far back as early January.  There was the time Baker used my forehead for a springboard in the middle of the night.  Right after I took the picture (as evidence in my lawsuit against him), I turned around to see where he was.  Out of fear.  On the couch, he showed his might and I have since dropped the lawsuit.  There some more of Baker and Biscuit both - bookends and cuddle puddles - and some of Biscuit enjoying the sun, which are the last pics of our little guy.

Except!...

We picked Biscuit's ashes up yesterday, and brought him home.  We needed some kind of urn, as the branded tin supplied by the cremation service was pretty nondescript.  So we moseyed over to our local thrift store and scoped out other people's disregards in hopes of finding something extraordinarily special, for $2.50.  As Amber showed me an ornate candy dish that would have been a suitable home for all eternity, my eyes wandered down to an old-timey replica tin for Oreo.  I began to speak, to point out it to my gal - "Hey, look, Oreos.  Boy, they're delicious." - for no other reason than the tin's face value.  But then the copy at the bottom caught my eye:

The entire tin has nothing to do with animals - cats or otherwise - and doesn't hold any particular meaning to either of us.  But the damn thing says "Biscuit", on a tin representing a thing we love.  It was right next to dog-eared copies of John Grisham novels, worn out leather shoes, and partly damaged Precious Memories.  If he had started his own corporation, undoubtedly that would be it's name.  So we picked it up for $7, and put Biscuit inside, with a chicken treat and a photo of him and his brother.  We will keep him, and in 40 years, when Baker kicks, we will add him to the ashen collective.

And speaking of the future, Blondie and I signed a one year extension on our lease, so we will be staying at the current 123 Awesome Street location until at least June 30, 2009.  It came up in discussion this week - Amber and I are trying to plan finances for the immediate future, and needed to sort out our living situation ahead of time - and our awesome landlord, who is awesome, was also keen on our staying put for another year, and at the same rate, which is, frankly, awesome.  123 Awesome Street is an absolutely amazing, perfect place for us, and I consider us extraordinarily lucky to live here.  Having said that, and having now signed an extension, I'm sure either the family above with begin breeding Dobermans, or we'll get termites.

The blog will be going dark this week, as we have a trip to Ithaca on Wednesday.  I'm sitting on the advisory council for my alma mater, in lieu of my giving money back to the school.  For some reason, Dean Bitterman & Co. are under the impression I have some valuable contributions to make to the communications school, other than my typical drunken rants about inept politicians, the Yankees, and Rosie O'Donnell.  I'll show them!

Reviews
Books
The Cheese Monkeys: A Novel in Two Semesters:
Eric: "I wanted to like it, but I just couldn't get past the first 15 pages or so."

Movies
Sexy Beast:

(*not really)

I'm sure this has been discussed previously and in excess.  But did you know there are both Flip This House and Flip That House television shows?  Either A&E ripped of TLC, or vice versa, but this much is known: the consumer has won.  At this rate, everyone will be living with roofs buried underground and foundations flailin' in the breeze.

Despite needing otherwise, I willingly subjected myself to the dentist this week.  My office recently switched dental plans and I had to pick a new torturer.  I was afraid terrified scared out of my mind concerned that some sensitivity in Sector 3 of my toothal regions was due to either  some new disease that only I had contracted, that would result in long, painful, and expensive surgery(s), or shoddy work from my previous dentist, who, while gorgeous (as described to me by Blondie herself, as a referral), in my opinion, hadn't performed a thorough enough job with the cleaning.  According to New Dentist, it was neither: the silver fillings in those teeth were likely the cause, and if I wanted to replace them, it would probably result in a root canal.  Since they're not causing any actual damage, and I hate me some fancy dentistry, I'm comfortable living with it, knowing the treatment options loom over me like the Great Eye.

Here's the kicker of the appointment: he's recommended I get braces.  Of all the dentists in my day - five, to be exact - none of them have ever actually recommended braces.  And that includes my original guy, who, when I was about 13, asked succinctly, "Do you want braces?".  As a terrified child who witnessed countless hordes of fellow sullen teenagers whisked away into seemingly endless lives of oral metallics, distorted and pained bodies piling up like sandbags at a levee breach, given the opportunity to decide the fate of my own mouth, the largest and second-most important orifice of my entire body, I chose self-preservation: "No", I replied.  And that was that.

I've always had disgustingly snaggled teeth (see inset photo [lens flare added for effect]) but this was the first time anyone had suggested - professionally - that I consider them, not just for cosmetic purposes but for long-term comfort.  I want to believe that this new dentist, having never been subjected to my Jewel-like display before, blurted out a reactionary "braces!" without thinking, possibly in hopes of recovering from the mild heart attack I gave him in responding to his "open sesame".  It's not that my feelings were hurt; I've been living with this snarl for upwards of 15 years or so.  But to have to really consider braces for the first time, at ~28 years of age, is a little daunting.  I suppose I will have to mull this over.  My childhood brethren that survived their own Teenage Bracing look great, but they are not the same men.

Amber and I have been doing well in dealing with the loss of Biscuit.  (My hope is that this is one of, if not the, last post about our grieving.  On our Grief Graph, the Curve of Coping would be positive, and in direct opposition to the declining Curve of Sadness.)  We're thankful for everyone's love and support, as well as both our regular vet and the emergency hospital, who each sent us handwritten letters of sympathy.  Amber and I make no allusions to the fact that we are still just numbers, but receiving caring notes is still an extremely thoughtful gesture by those who understand it most.

But the real purpose for bringing the whole thing up is Baker.  He's in a really good place right now it seems.  He's been extremely loving and playful this week, more so than we've ever seen him.  There should be a third curve on our Grief Graph, of which would be Baker's rapid ascent into adulthood, angled steeper than the Solow Building.  The light tinge of sadness that outlines his change is - in my opinion - due to his being finally and fully weaned.  Baker and Biscuit got their names because of Baker's kneading of his brother, typical of kittens taken away from their mothers at a young age.  And now that Biscuit is gone, Baker has had no choice but to cut back on this behavior, though Daddy's bear-like appendages and Mommy's... parts... seem to make for adequate substitutes.  Baker now gets our full attention, yet from early morning to late night wants more.  Any window-peering is essentially bird stalking, and cries are for playful attention.  When Amber spends her weekend mornings sleeping off her whiskey- and meth-fueled nights, he can be a quite a handful for just one person, especially when that one person is trying to blog.  This post alone has taken 23 hours because of constant intermissions for petting, holding, and lasering.  But we couldn't ask for a better little boy, who wants nothing more than to reach out and place his paw on us and look generally adorable.

Reviews
Movies
Rescue Dawn:
Eric: "Kind of a hammed-up block of cheese for such a critically acclaimed movie."

Books
McSweeney's Quarterly Concern #13:

Thanks to pretty much everyone, who have all been so supportive the last few days.  Amber and I really appreciate it - it's good to write and chat about it.

It's a little tough to be at home in the apartment.  I keep looking over to the corner of the living room, where we had had a chair out since the Super Bowl, that Biscuit had claimed for himself.  In the morning, he would usually be sleeping there and after greeting Baker at the door, he'd be my next stop.  I also didn't realize how much of a knee-jerk reaction I have had when playing with Baker.  I find myself petting him when he comes over all excited, and I want to ask, "where's your brudder?".  I think I developed this when Biscuit first began his 'heavy lethargy', right after the initial diagnosis in January, so he wouldn't be left out in the cuddling.  This almost always resulted in Baker's aggressive-style head-licking / -biting and Biscuit's crying for him to get off, so in that regard Baker probably misses it too.

Baker has also definitely been affected.  It's about three days out now since we said goodbye to Biscuit, since we left the apartment with him and returned with an empty carrier.  Baker knows his brother is missing, and continues to spend time on and off in the front window, looking outward.  It's hard to gauge because I think he has always done that.  But now it's more noticeable because we're deliberately watching him for behavior differences.  Amber had a late night last night, and he loves his mudder, so his walking around and mewing might have been for her; it often is.

Overall, he seems okay, and much better than I had dreaded.  (I feared constant crying from him, leading to constant crying by us.)  In fact, the last two mornings he's been trying to figure out how best to lay in my lap as I have my coffee.  His ~10 lb. frame of muscles is much bulkier than Biscuit's 7 lb. frame was, so the only comfortable positioning for him is by splaying his body across my folded tree trunk of a thigh, like a mountain lion basking on a ridge.  It's cute except for the fact that I then have to leave my body twisted 90 degrees to the left as I type and surf.  It's only slightly less convenient than when he blocks the entire monitor, like a black cat-sized censor.  Which is appropriate enough, since most of what I'm engaging with online should be illegal anyways.

Sure enough, through all this, I found an article online that refers to a study claiming cats reduce heart attack risks by about a third.  What they left out was cats, on average, reduce your risk, but also quadruple your risk a quarter of the time.  Like when they pull down vases from up high and you're on the other side of the room, unable to mobilize in time, capable only of bracing for impact and watching the mess unfold.  Or when they attack you from the inside the doorway you're walking past, with all bodily points set on "kill".  Or when they try to eat your nose while you're in a deep, coma-like sleep.  Reduce by a third my ass.  Baker better be careful; site traffic spiked to an all-time high on the post about Biscuit, and I'm trying to generate ad revenue...

Sunday night, we had to put Biscuit to sleep.  He had a really bad day that culminated in our taking him to the emergency room, and when the vet looked at him, she knew he was at a point of no return.  It was a painful day all around, and it hurts pretty bad even this morning, but Biscuit did a few great things before he left us.

I mentioned yesterday how we missed our previously scheduled morning appointment due to daylight savings time.  Biscuit had been in bad shape all week, seemingly declining day by day.  We had rescheduled the appointment for Thursday, but even by early afternoon, we were concerned about that being too far away.  He just laid in one spot for even longer periods than normal, and when getting up, he did so very very slowly and seemingly in pain.  But because we missed the morning appointment, when he was better in the day (compared to the evening), we saved, in all likelihood, a bundle of money on superfluous vet tests and fees.  That was Biscuit's first helpful trick of the day.

In the early afternoon, while Amber was out for a few hours, I wandered into the bedroom for something, and smelled cat pee, pretty strongly.  I cleaned the floors and watered down the ficus - and old favorite toilet spot - but the smell didn't seem to go away.  I smelled the bed but it didn't seem to be coming from there.  Once Amber came home and I explained the situation and we were both at a loss, and more concerned about Biscuit, as it was unlikely either cat would pee in that way unless something was wrong.  I don't remember how or why, but I eventually found the pee, all over the bed's decorative pillows, that were lying on the desk next to the bed.  Of the 6 pillows, 5 had been hit, and hit hard.  We had to throw 2 away, and need to clean the 3 others.  This was Biscuit's second help of the day, as I've always hated decorative pillows (sorry, Amber).

Amber and I had both been having pretty rotten days up to this point, separate of Biscuit's situation, and decided to go out for a few quick errands together.  When we got back, there was a poop on the rug, which was another 'never seen that before' situations.  At this point, we're on high alert because Biscuit was obviously in pain and preferred not to move, so we figured he was doing his business close by, instead of meandering to the bathroom and climbing in and out of the litter box.  We gave him special attention and tried to feed both boys, but Biscuit was not interested at all, which was the final straw.  Even in his worst moments, he'd be excited in the kitchen for either wet cat food or snacks, and he didn't respond to either.  He was barely moving and laying around in unlikely places.  I called the vet emergency group and double-checked their availability for walk-ins.  We picked up the little guy, put him in the carrier, and hailed a cab.

Thankfully - for us, and for all pets in the neighborhood - the place was empty so we were seen immediately.  The vet on call was extremely nice and sympathetic, and after looking at him in the back, explained that she was very concerned for him in the immediate short-term and didn't think he would get over whatever he was dealing with at that moment.  She knew he likely had FIP, and maybe even leukemia, and that there was a mass of some kind which we had discovered a while back with an ultrasound.  She explained some of the other symptoms we hadn't known, like very pale gums and yellow under the eyes, which were both signs of possible liver or kidney failure (I forget which).  The whole time leading up to this point, Amber and I had known the likely outcome, so when the vet concluded with the idea of euthanization, we knew it was best for Biscuit.

The vet gave us a minute together alone, just Amber and I, and then the tech brought him in.  He was wrapped up in a towel, with a little catheter in his front paw.  The tech left the room, and I held him as we both pet him and talked to him.  He was squeaking quietly, and we pet him and hugged him gently until he began to purr deeply, as he often did.  As much as we didn't want to let him go, we could see he was probably in pain and didn't want to prolong his suffering for our own emotional benefit, so after just a couple of minutes, we called the vet back in.  We wanted him to be past it all as soon as we could.

We put him down on the table on the towel as the vet administered the anesthesia.  After a few seconds, he fell asleep and she continued to administer the rest, to put him to sleep entirely.  We just kept petting him and held his paw through the whole thing, until he was gone.  We said goodbye to Biscuit, the vet quietly left the room, and Amber and I had our moment in the room alone together.

The vet had mentioned earlier that we could have him cremated and obtain his ashes.  I jumped on the opportunity.  The idea of taking him home again was too great to pass up, even if in ash form, which I just thought was pretty cool.  We should have him - 'them'? - in a couple of weeks, and the vet group was nice enough to give us the cremation and hand-off at no charge.  I don't know if it's commonplace, but it's nice nonetheless.  When I was paying for everything, right before we left, the nurses were whispering about cost of the euthanization, and I heard one say that it was based on weight.  So, for the third and last time on the day, Biscuit again helped out his mom and dad by being slim and keeping additional costs down.  Thanks again, little buddy.  Though even euthanization comes at a hefty cost, so it was sort of also Biscuit's Last Stand.

We walked home together in the cold, talking about Biscuit, and Baker as well.  About how they were so tiny when we brought them home, and their relationship and distinct personalities (all the stuff cat owners discuss when describing their cats that they think differentiates them and their pets from others, but is really the exact same story for everyone).

By the time we got home, we were pretty exhausted.  Baker was (thankfully) pretty mellow.  At first, we weren't sure if he knew something was up, but we did notice on at least two occasions that he was hanging out in the front window, as though he was waiting for Biscuit to return.  He was pretty affectionate for the rest of the night, and we decided to let him in the bedroom, which we had stopped a while back because of his energy.  Baker slept with us in the bed, incredibly and adorably relaxed and loving, full-body hugging our limbs and resting his head on our shoulders.  Eventually, he started eating Amber's hair again, so she kicked him out around 2am, but it was a nice start to the night.  I wasn't falling asleep any time soon, so it was nice to have him to pet in bed.

Pets are a tricky lot, it goes without saying.  As of this morning, it's still incredibly painful.  (I said again to Amber last night, 'no kids'.)  Biscuit was the sweetest little kitty we both have ever known.  As I type this, I'm missing his morning ritual of jumping up on my lap while I have my coffee and blog.  And Amber said Baker was in the window again this morning looking for this brother.  We're sure he misses him as much as we do.

Amber had to pull an all-nighter at work.  As of Wednesday morning, she's still there putting finishing touches on her designs.  It's a deadline for a big, big project, and she's got a serious enough work ethic that she wasn't leaving until it was perfect.  I don't know what that's like, having ethics, but I hear it's great.

I couldn't find her on IM when I got up, so I figure I'd just blog to her.

Hey sweetheart -

How's everything going over there?  Are you propped up against your chair with one eye open?  I envision you sitting there like a lobotomy patient, staring and drooling.  I got your text message this morning, that you were staying all night.  It's always tough sleeping when you're not there, but it wasn't too bad.  At first, I had paranoid thoughts about you spending the night at strip clubs and napping at Mary Kate Olsen's apartment (too soon?).  But then the whiskey kicked in and I passed out.

You didn't miss much last night.  I watched some Office reruns, and spent some time at the Ale House before that, reacquainting myself with their quesadillas and IPA.  When I got home, before I could just on IM and say hi, I sat on the couch with the boys, which turned into a big 'ol cuddle puddle that I couldn't disturb.  They really miss us when we're not home before 8pm.  I have the bite marks to prove it.

Remember how the other morning, when I couldn't find Biscuit, and he had somehow trapped himself in the cabinets?  Well, I wake up today to find the cabinet door open again.  They weren't inside but they probably were earlier.  We should remember to clean out the pots before making pasta again; I don't think there's an Italian phrase for "loose, with black cat hair" but I'll Google it.  Also, the crappy kitchen drawer broke again, so add it to your Saturday to-do list, after you clean the gutters and do the floors; I have a nail appointment so I can't help.

It's going to be windy and wet today.  I'd say "dress appropriately", but you're stuck wearing whatever you put on yesterday.  And probably smelling like, well like an art director who just pulled an all-nighter.

Baker is ecstatic to be alive and awake and strong enough to beat up on Biscuit, so he's tearing up and down the apartment, jumping up and onto the chairs and desks and keyboaaaaabdshobrhndjskdl sdjdak;kslk;;;;;;;llkj j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j j

Presumably, when you have a baby and that baby gets sick, money is no object  ...because it's an object you will have none of once the tests are done.  Pets, on the other hand, have costs attached to them.  I wish those prices came on the little name tags when you first take them home with you, but instead you get the great pleasure of calculating the costs on your own.

On Friday, I spoke with Dr. Shaw, who handled Biscuit's FNA.  Our last big investment for our little man came back empty: inconclusive FNA results.  Today, I spoke with Dr. Young, Biscuit's regular doctor at our regular vet clinic, and unfortunately she didn't have much insight to add.  I also think she was eating food, which doesn't mean much, other than she probably didn't want gloomy 'ol Eric ruining her Pad Thai, and kept the conversation as middle of the road as possible.  So Biscuit's path is that of another 2-3 weeks of antibiotics on a full stomach with a gargantuan portion of finger-crossing.  I guess we'll take it from there.

Baker, on the other hand, has a few appointments lined up.  First off, he needs his blood analyzed - a "CBC" & coronavirus exposure test - to get a full picture of his situation.  If he looks okay, regardless of Biscuit's state, then he's up for his second appointment, which is - finally - his snip-snip.  And not a moment too soon.  Friday night, one of the two boys (we're looking at you, Baker) sprayed in our foyer, directly next to the door connecting our apartment to the landlord's house upstairs.  The poorly constructed doors have gaps large enough to pass through them strong odors of cat spray from our apartment and up into the house, which led to an extremely embarrassing email by our landlord, asking us to clean up whatever stinks (in much more polite terms).  So now there's a real motivator behind reconciling the cat(s) situation - our potential homelessness - and now that our pet insurance is ready to go, Baker, you're up to bat.  And you better swing, cuz you ain't takin' home any balls.

Right before the spraying incident on Friday night, the woman and I finally got around to seeing Juno.  Here's what I learned from it:

• Even hipsters can over-hype their movies (it was still, however, very good).
• Jason Reitman hath redeemed himself from the ho-hum Thank You For Not Smoking
  
• Contrary to what Candee, Alexa, Mystique, Ginger, and Fantasy have shown me, strippers can write decent screenplays.
• JK Simmons is all-around awesome.
• Kimya Dawson deserves all the exposure coming to her.
• Seeing Amber simultaneously and violently reel, wretch, and cringe at the sight of birthing blueberry-tinged, slime-covered sacs of life in a movie reminds me how much I love the sunshine coming out of her butt (see the movie).

When the new year came out of it's groundhog hole on Jan 1, I had made a few pseudo-resolutions.  I wouldn't call them actual, de facto "resolutions" because a) that would require full commitment, which I cannot possibly provide; and b) New Year resolutions are stupid.  These pseudo-resolutions are:

1. Eat healthier food
2. No beer until the Super Bowl, and cut back afterwards
   
3. Stop spending money like an oil baron and get rid of the debt pile
4. Only buy books from independent booksellers
5. Only buy coffee from independent coffeesellers

The first three have all gone the way of the do-do.  When Biscuit's situation first came up, I was kind of a mess, ate a bunch of comfort food (I should never, ever go to Mexico), drank a lot of beer (I should never, ever go to any establishment with a liquor license), and spent a bunch of money on vets (worth every penny).  I got the food back on track with my "Weekday Salads" Plan, and I'm trying to address both beer & spending by not buying 6-packs for home.  But all three come Friday nights?  Cinco de Mayo, every weekend!

The other two - books & coffee - are going great.  For Christmas, I received two Starbucks gift cards, which I used.  Had I not, it would've been giving Starbucks free money, so I milked them for all they were worth.  But I haven't thrown them a dollar since, and I'm doing the same with all of my Barnes & Noble credit.

The reason for these pseudo-resolutions is murky and hard to express clearly.  Like when I had to explain to my parole officer why I had chewed through my ankle monitor, when I was clearly hammered; the words just wouldn't come out right.  It has something to do with my Eye-Opening Read of 2007, and my desire to move far out of the iron grips of the corporatocracy.  It also has to do with my desire to use my spending power on the little guy, as I one day hope to be the little guy, both in business and in girth.

I love books and I love coffee, so I thought these two aspects of my life would be good places to start.  I was a little worried when I thought that in the cold winter, Starbucks is RIGHT outside of the building where I work, whereas the local cafe upon which my targets had landed was a bit of a hike, and I tend to easily forget my mantras.  But I've since adjusted and found an even better spot for better coffee, and it's much closer.  On the apartment front, I've been buying from Tazza, a sweet cafe a block away (no cell phones!), and more recently from a coffee, tea, and spice specialty shop around the same place.  If there were a homeless guy growing a coffee bean a day, I'd probably go to him.  In the cusp of February, pseudo-resolutions 4 & 5 are rock solid.

This week, all eyes on the Fed.  At 123 Awesome Street, when there's talk of our cat situation, there's the inevitable talk of dog potential.  And once we're talk dogs, we come back to houses and finances.  If Bernanke is going to continue to punch me in the nutsack on a monthly basis, the least he could do is to keep rates super-low two years from now, once we've sufficiently heated our home-owning iron.  I'm willing to accrue less compound interest if he's willing to say the 'R' word and create a housing vortex in which Blondie and I can capitalize.

Reviews
Juno: (4/5)  Amber: "It was witty and funny, face-paced and worth the money.  Hey, that rhymes!"  Eric: "If you only see one movie about a girl named Juno ever, make it this one."
Star Wars, Episode 2: Attack of the Clones: (1/5)  Eric: "It just gets better and better in Bizarro World."  Amber: "This whole experiment better be worth it.  My eyes and ears are crying."

Biscuit
The little guy has an appointment on Wednesday with another doctor, to do what's called an ultrasound ($)-guided fine needle aspirate, or FNA ($$), which will result in a biopsy of his lymph nodes ($$$).  This will - cat-god-willing - give us much needed insight as to what is causing his physical abnormalities.  And not a day too soon; I'm pretty sure those tentacles weren't there when I left for work this morning.  Again, this could be FIP on one end of the Possibility Spectrum, or it could be allergies to humans on the other end.  Tomorrow will cross the $1,000 mark from the Eric & Amber Foundation for Biscuit Medical Research & Keg Parties (he barely touched his Miller Lite!), so once the results are in, regardless of their nature, it's going to require some serious decision-making on the humans part.  But we're not at the end of our ropes by any stretch of the means.

Nabe news
(BTW, 'nabe' means 'neighborhood'.  And 'BTW' means 'by the way'.  lulz.)

At one of my favorite blogs - and part of the inspiration behind discussing more hyper-local topics - Brooklyn Heights Blog, it was reported that a local lunatic was found to have stockpiled and created all kinds of pipe bombs and weaponry.  The guy lives around the corner!  You can read about his arrest at the NY Sun.

What makes it even more interesting is that he apparently admitted being behind some other crimes, familiar to locals and probably other outside-BH Jews as well.  Last summer, someone defiled a bunch of synagogues in the area, and no one was ever caught.  It turns out it was this guy, and that he was probably planning on using the afore-mentioned arsenal on them as well.  It's a weird story - he was roommates with a well-renowned AIDS researcher - and slightly freaky, but no more so when you think about the fact that the world is filled with crazies, they're all around you no matter where you go, and you can't trust anyone.  Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Dr. Young called this evening with the ultrasound results.  There are two items of note: there is no belly liquid build up (which means probably no 'wet' FIP = a good thing), and enlarged lymph nodes which are probably indicative of feline lymphoma.  Now, whether the lymphoma is isolated and of it's own accord, or whether it's been induced by 'dry' FIP, we don't know.  Dr. Young believes because Biscuit is so young, it's more likely FIP; that is, lymphoma in a kitty is very rare.

So what's the next step?  More tests!  Hope Vet is referring us to a lab close by, who will perform a fine needle aspirate / biopsy, to closely examine the lymph nodes, and hopefully get a clearer read as to what's going on inside little mister Biscuit.  Amber and I are close to the point of needing to really analyze costs relating to these tests: Biscuit's insurance (our wallets) only pay for so much before we need the patient to begin chipping in, and between no job, no money, and no opposable thumbs, poor Biscuit is relying heavily on us.  So we will discuss these options with this additional doctor.

Dr. Young called us when we were out and about - in the ~20-degree temperatures - and it was hard to have a clear, well-thought-through conversation with her.  But we got the gist of the situation.  What is positive is that feline lymphoma is the most treatable form of cancer in cats, so in the chance that he does have an isolated case, we have a fighting chance.  Again, FIP is literally a dead end, so as long as expenses allow, we want anything but.

For now, another small glimmer of hope.  Also, I decided Saturday morning that Biscuit doesn't have FIP.  It's just a feeling in my gut, and my gut has done me right for almost 28 years straight now.  In Dr. Young's words, "a lot of this is more art than science", and I've always felt the only thing you needed to do to be an artist was to declare it.  And my artistic gut rejects FIP.

We're awaiting the ultrasound results, which should be in on Saturday.  Little guy has a little shaved belly and an aggravating brother, but otherwise he's good.  The technician said his temperature was 99.8 earlier today, which would be good normally, but I would wager he was in some shock (when I left him this morning, he was pretty shaken up).  Who the hell knows.

Still waiting for the miracle...

I spoke with Dr. Young about Biscuit's test results.  His test came back "positive", which means he had a statistically high probability of exposure to the coronavirus.  We talked in length about a number of things; most immediate is his going in for an ultrasound.

FIP is still at the top of the list of probable causes: he's a young cat with a weaker immune system, and his globulin level is high which means there's something in his body that he's fighting off.  There are two kinds of FIP: wet and dry.  Without going into too much detail, the wet could be found in his belly in the ultrasound, though Dr. Young admitted she felt his belly the other day and she doesn't believe he'd have wet.  The dry is pretty impossible to prove / pinpoint, so if we walked away from the ultrasound with a negative on the wet, there's still the open possibility of the dry.

There is still some hope, and I'm clutching to it tightly.  He's been on antibiotics for 4 days now, and his behavior is the feistiest we've seen in weeks, maybe months.  His temperature is also good.  102.5 is the high end of normal for cats, and last night he was just that; this morning he was lower - 101.8 - and then tonight it was a little high again, 102.9.  (The first two, Dr. Young said, were very good signs; I'm not sure about tonight's, but we'll re-test in the morning.)  Dr. Young confirmed that these were definitely good signs and that they - to a degree - lessen the likelihood of FIP.  Some of the other possibilities are a strong, mutated coronavirus, an abscess or cyst, or just some mysterious illness that we never quite figure out.  Regardless, we will pick up more antibiotics when we get to the vet, in hopes that we're able to kill whatever it is with a month of strong drugs.  On the "hey, I hope this is what happens" end of the spectrum of possibilities, 4 weeks of antibiotics and a re-test of his blood show that his globulins are low and we're hopefully in the clear.  The second-best scenario is that the ultrasound shows something other than a wet FIP indicator, like a small cyst.

While costly (why, oh why didn't we get the pet insurance earlier?), Amber and I are in agreement that the expenses up to this point are definitely worth it.  But not being too foolish and trying to keep our heads through an emotional time, we know there will be a limit to how far we're able to go.  I felt I grieved most earlier in the week, though not completely by any stretch, and can deal with it all less emotionally.

We talk about it, and we know that not only was there nothing else we could have done - there was no way for us to prevent it, he would have received FIP before we took him in - but we're also giving him the best life and the most love he could've received, irrespective of how much love he shows us in return, which is tons.  The two most difficult parts of the whole endeavor are the possibility of us losing him well before his time, and the prospect of our subjecting Baker to the same thing for Biscuit's sake of living out a full life with his brother.  We can only hope that if we do lose Biscuit, that Baker is spared the disease, and is also able to function the same without his brother.  His little "where's brother?" cry that he has would just be too much to handle.

No real news to speak of.  I spoke with Dr. Young Tuesday night hoping to hear of some test results, but they won't be ready until Thursday.  As I mentioned previously, FIP is not directly testable, but its close relation to the coronavirus makes a test for exposure to the coronavirus a reasonable indicator of likelihood of FIP.  If the test for coronavirus comes back negative, it much less likely he has FIP - in Dr. Young's words, it "pushes it way down the list".  She has been in touch with the lab folks who are testing Biscuit's blood, and they've been kind enough to rush the test for us, but it's still a 3-day test; I thought we'd have an answer yesterday.

In talking with Dr. Young - who is a fantastic veterinarian at the (previously-discussed) fantastic Hope Vet clinic - I think we got a little more hopeful of Biscuit's case.  She said the fact that he has taken well to the fluids they gave him and the antibiotics we're administering at home is a very good sign.  While it might mean he just staved off a low-grade infection due to FIP, it could also mean his situation is due instead to an abscess.  His fever is either very low or nonexistent - we'll need to pick up a thermometer for him to test accurately, but you can tell he's cool in a number of ways, compared to what he was - and his activity and energy levels are noticeable higher than before Sunday, more closely matching his brothers.  Dr. Young said the energy would be due to the fever gone - he's feeling "10 times better without it and wants to run around" - and, contrastingly, if the fever reappeared while on antibiotics, it'd be a bad sign.  But an abscess would be much more likely to be treatable.  In fact, we could keep him on antibiotics for 3 weeks and it could theoretically fix it.

So there's hope here.  Amber and I are both much more hopeful having spoken to Dr. Young last night.  Obviously nothing has really changed, other than Biscuit staying in relatively good shape the last couple of days.  He still has his strange behavior, which, as I discussed in great detail with Dr. Young, may or may not be a) typical cat behavior, or b) typical Baker's brother behavior (i.e. the non-alpha cat, the one who gets harassed all day and seeks refuge around the house).  When I leave for work in the morning, he's been hiding behind big vases in our front hallway.  And he's on my lap right now as I type, as he usually does in the mornings, as Baker runs around causing mischief.  But when we get home, he's been spending his evenings alert, lovingly, eating, playing, purring - right alongside Baker - until we all get on the couch, when he - right alongside Baker - takes a nap on our laps.

We're trying to be optimistic without being too much so.  FIP is, as I've been analogizing, like HIV/AIDS in the late eighties, and we don't want that - you wish for "anything else".  Work has been a good distraction (for me, Amber's having a rough week), and when you get out of the house, you get a better perspective on everything.  The things people tell you immediately after you get bad news that you don't want to hear start to make sense, and you get your wits about you.  Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive and who are thinking of all of us.

I took Biscuit to the vet on Sunday, they ran some tests, and Dr. Young just called me back with some results / conclusions.  It looks very likely that Biscuit has FIP, which is a non-treatable, fatal disease.  While his temperature is pretty much gone since he received fluids, and he's been on antibiotics for a day, that's most likely working on whatever low-grade infection the FIP might have caused.  The biggest hope we have now is that when she speaks to the lab tomorrow, they will run a test for a similar disease, which, if it comes back positive that he's been exposed to, would be a bad sign; however, if he hadn't been exposed, it greatly decreases the likelihood that he has FIP.  The biggest pain about the whole thing is that FIP is not something that can be directly tested for - it's just the last remaining possibility after a slew of others have been discounted.  So we'll never know for sure, but his symptoms and his blood tests have been pointing in that direction.  Hopefully, we'll get better news on Tuesday.

All eyes on the boys this week, as Monday kicks off the "Say Goodbye to Your Balls" back-to-back extravaganza.  Biscuit is actually going to the vet today to get a check-up, to make sure he's okay to go under the kitty-knife.  He's been sluggish for a while now, and we'd like to know he's okay shape for his Tuesday appointment.  Baker got the Monday slot, and not a day too soon.  Just about every other night is spent waking up throughout, to spray him with water for harassing Biscuit / climbing the fan / biting our heads.

Amberino is stuck working this weekend, all day both Saturday and Sunday.  It gave me time to take care of some things Saturday, and frees up my binge-drink, tailgate playoff party this afternoon.  She's working on a gigantic endeavor (TWSS) that, if it comes to fruition, you will most likely see on a regular basis on this thing called the interweb.

We've got some New Year's photos up on Flickr, courtesy of Dan & Lauren.  As first reported on this blog, there was both eating and rocking, proof contained within these undoctored photos.  (Side note: check out this great Flickr 'Help' question.)  Saturday night was spent celebrating their semi-official forever-togetherness, as well as this good-looking couple's newly-acquired engagementdom.  Did 123 Awesome Street feel like the odd man-and-woman out?  Goodness, no!  These people are our people.  They understand that some of us have deep-seeded commitment issues that may prevent us from ever fully dedicating ourselves to a cellphone plan, never mind another human being, and who's to say what this 'love' really is, if it exists at all, and why is everyone looking at me and why is it so hot in here is it hot in here it feels hot in here...

Other than that, just utilizing our DVR - to the extreme!!! - plunging into the depths of intellectualism with killer robots and howling cavemen named Wolf.  But skipping over their commercial sponsors?  Priceless.  We're also - f'in finally - catching up on last season of Battlestar Galactica.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: if you get SciFi or have access to renting previous seasons on DVD and you're not watching it, you have a disease of the brain-hole.

Reviews
Sweeney Todd commercial trailer: (0/5)  Amber: "Ooh, yeah, I'm definitely never going to see that."  Eric: "Can you hand me that bucket?  This one's full.  Oh god, quick, he's singing again..."  *wretch*

The boys
Ah, the boys...  Increasingly sweeter by the day.  For about two weeks now, they spend the majority of the weekend just snugglin' and sleepin' on our laps.  Or on their own in hilarious poses:

Or with their Ugly buddy:

Yes, I uploaded new pictures this weekend (the stream is on the right of this page 24/7).

They're just super-awesome perfect amazing fun love-cats.  Baker seems to be able to handle his IBS better now - though still not perfect - and Biscuit is calming down and thanks to fake moss, not peeing in Mommy's ficus anymore.  We think.

The apartment
So our new landlords have been in the house for about 2 weeks now, and it's going pretty smoothly.  Their 18-month old son tears up and down the main floor in the morning, but damn if it ain't adorable compared to full-grown construction workers jackhammering directly above us instead.  Their 4-year old daughter runs around and laughs too, and we can hear them in the main foyer-y area, close to the stairwell, but it's pretty pleasant.  Having people actually living in the house almost makes it more comfortable.  We've had to adjust a little ourselves, and turn down our ongoing 123 Awesome Street Rock Opera Melodies - especially since they tend to include a lot of swearing.  But overall, super nice people, and great landlords.

And now, the issue.  Which isn't an issue with them at all, as much as it is with the building.  And also, it should be pointed out that there is no blame here whatsoever - if anything, it's my own damn fault for not bringing it up earlier.  But anyhoo, the issue: the heat.  This weekend was the first heating system-inducingly cool weekend, so, like caring parents and people with working central nervous systems, they turned on the heat at some point between Friday night and Saturday morning.

But let's digress for uno momento.

Last winter was our first in the apartment, and while the construction guys were working, they would turn up - and occasionally crank up - the heat.  Our apartment is connected to the central system, and heat is provided through two radiators - one in the bedroom and one in the living room.  These radiators are very old.  Like, grandma stuck in a wheelchair old.  But said grandma is still sharp as a tack! (i.e. still kicking ... heat.)  When the system is turned on, the hot water heater in the sub-basement - directly below us - kicks on and steam is sent upwards, first hitting our radiators.  If the radiator valves are closed, the radiators don't heat up at all, and the only thing we feel are patches of light warmth on the floors; the bedroom floor stays lightly warmed (directly above the heater) and emits some heat through the floor cracks (big ol' pine planks are pretty leaky), and the 'master bathroom' floor tiles are also warmed (which is awesome during ass-freezingly cold winter days).

Note: heat is stopped from hitting the radiators if the valves are closed.  Well, the bedroom radiator isn't a problem, as the valve's knob is still there.  But the living room radiator doesn't only not have a knob, but the valve itself won't close all the way anymore, try as my superhuman upper-body strength might.  To make it worse, my good monkey wrench was swiped by our maintenance guy, Jesus, the same person came last season and diagnosed the radiators with the recommendation: Full Replacement.  At that time, our solution to turning off the heat was to just go upstairs where no construction workers worked or families lived, and tick off the thermostat.  But now, we have no control.

So this Saturday, a gentleman - presumably (sexist, yes) - from Vigilante Plumbing is going to professionally diagnose, and hopefully fix, the valve problems and/or replace the radiators, as they are apparently in the 50-year old range, which is the mark of an "old radiator".  This Saturday can't come soon enough, as the house heat is on - we're experiencing nice days but cool nights - and the living room right now is a sauna.  If contractors come from Dante's hell, at 123 Awesome Street, you get to experience it firsthand.

On a lighter note - pun intended, as you will read! - they made an awesome upgrade to the backyard.  I've been waiting for it to be turned back on again to photograph it, and last night it was.  During the day, our sweet little view.  And now, at night (when the owners turn it on for entertaining), a restaurant-esque romantic mood-maker!  Tres chic!

Not much else to report, other than a sweet, relaxing weekend, catching up on Heroes so we can start watching in (DVR) real-time.  And now the lady of the house has come home from her first French Class ... class ... spouting basic verbs and counting to 10 over and over, so it's time to dine.

Bon soir!

Update: I forgot to mention the best part.  Over the weekend, we strategically placed mothballs in parts of the house, to keep the cats from encroaching, like the fireplace mantel (supercats fly anywhere they please!).  Mothballs are kinda smelly; when heated, they're incredibly terrible.  So when you walk into the living room, it's like going into an airplane bathroom.  It smells like the room is encrusted in blue toilet water.  At 85 degrees.  High-livin'!

On Saturday, August 4,2007, we took home two kittens from Kitten Little Shelter.  They're about 10 weeks old, all black, and are brothers.  The smaller one, formerly called Pepito, is most likely the runt of the litter.  Besides his size, his other distinguishing feature is his more triangular face.  His brother, formerly called Cosmo, is larger and rounder, in the face and the body.

The first thing we were told, and saw firsthand, was the little guy's love of kneading his brother, in a very kitten-like manner: kneading with his little paws, and burrowing in his face, like he was feeding from their mother.  Big brother doesn't mind it too much, though on occasion he'll get up and move just out of reach, before both falling asleep.  So, in our quest to find cute-but-fitting names, we've named them Baker and Biscuit (Biscuit is the one underneath in the picture, being kneaded by Baker).  Their full names are Baker Miles Davis Thunderclaw and Biscuit Sniggles Thunderclaw, but the records at the vet will just read "Baker & Biscuit".

These boys are, so far, just about perfect.  Biscuit runs around all the time, tearing up and down the apartment, on the furniture, in the bathtub, then Baker sometimes follows chase close behind, just like a little brother.  Once Biscuit is drained of energy, he collapses on your lap, where Baker is usually already snuggled up and purring.

The first night involved lots of playing throughout the night, running up and down the house, over and around the bed, and all over us, especially on our heads and faces.  The second night was much quieter, with Baker showing up around 6am, sleeping with us in the bed, and then the playing started with both of them around 7am, on and off.  They spent this first weekday morning with us playing around until about 9:30am, before ending up together on various pieces of furniture, cuddled up, napping.

Behavior-wise, they're both fantastic and both pretty easy.  Baker spends most of his time lying around, and periodically he'll want to be comforted by your hands as they type and use a mouse.  Biscuit bides his time playing and running, and periodically does so with or on things that aren't really cat-centric.  They came pre-litterbox trained, though Baker is having occasional difficulty with taking care of business IN the litterbox instead of next to it on the floor.  We're working on figuring that out with him.  (The feline toilet trainer Amber ordered might do the trick.)

Biscuit is known to cry a little here and there, but for reasons we can't really figure out.  When he plays really hard and it looks like he's playing with some invisible thing (gnats, maybe?), he might let out a little yelp-y cry.  On one occasion, he cried a little when he didn't know where Baker was, which was super cute, and another time when Amber got up to use the bathroom.

Overall, our kitties are great and we got really, really lucky with them.  They're our little boys, and nothing makes us happier than hanging out on the couch with them, kneading, purring, and sleeping.