Blackjack

"OJ" aka Blackjack at THS  (c) Shutterbug

On November 17, I was sitting at my computer and procrastinating about work by checking evil Facebook. I have a variety of friends who are as certifiably crazy as I am about animals, and there were several postings that caught my attention and led to additional clicking. Moments later I found myself perusing the animals available for adoption at the Toronto Humane Society.

I found him in the "Special Needs" section. I don't know what it was that made me click there of all places, and I don't know what it was about him that reached out and grabbed me and wouldn't let go.

His story was short and sad. Seventeen years old, stuck in a cage at the shelter for two months since his owner died, and suffering from indeterminate health issues. He was so handsome, and we were so bereft of a male cat in the house since losing Taz.

My wife and I managed to sleep on it for one night, but the next day both admitted to our inability to get him out of our minds. Another impulsive decision was made. My wife and my house both came into my life this way, which gives a dangerous boost to my confidence in my impulses.

Friday, November 18 we raced to the THS after work, knowing the adoption centre is only open until 7:00 p.m. We arrived at 5:50, hoping that was plenty of time, but were warned at the front desk it may not be. We raced to the new "cat house" on the second floor, took a number outside the office, and waited. We met other people who were there to browse and to adopt, and everyone appeared quite shocked by our interest in this elderly guy. His age didn't phase us; he was exactly what our house has been missing.

Eventually we were seen, the paperwork was completed, a discussion was had, and a tour was given. They led us through the maze of cages to our chosen creature, embarrassingly named "OJ". Let's see, at 17 years old he would have been born in 1995, when a certain black male was in the news...ick. I don't care how old he is and how long he's had that name, he's getting a new one.

He had undergone some serious dental surgery upon arrival at the shelter, and was missing nearly all of his teeth. This caused his tongue to loll out of his mouth, and created a spectacular stream of constant drool, but his eyes were bright and clear, his coat was thick and shiny, and he was ready to get the hell out of that cage. The vet came over to caution us about his health conditions, which turned out to be nothing more than a thyroid condition and mild kidney trouble. A pill twice a day and some expensive food was all it would take to manage his care; a joke, really, after our veterinary issues up to that point. Our last cat had a thyroid condition, and I myself have a thyroid condition. Thyroid schmyroid.

The girls on staff were incredibly sweet, and stayed late to complete the paperwork that would send "OJ" to a good home. As of 7:20 p.m., he was ours.

On the way home, we threw around a few names related to the word "black" for his colouring, and the name Blackjack came to my mind. It's a casino game we love, and the name stuck. It was only much later when looking at the date that I realized it was my beloved late Uncle Jack's birthday, which made it all the more appropriate.

It took him just two days to settle into our home and start coming out of his hiding places. It took less than a week to introduce him to the dogs and have them all make peace with one another.

It took only a minute for us to love him, and know we made the right decision.

Blackjack at home  (c) Shutterbug

Four Legs, Four Toes

Georgia post-surgery  (c) Shutterbug

I knew it was going to be trouble as soon as my wife spotted it.

Even though I am an experienced pet owner, I have given up trying to trim my dogs' nails. The dogs freak out, I'm unsure of how far back to cut the black toenails, and it's just easier on all of us to leave it to the professionals.

Georgia went in for her usual nail trim recently, which includes a difficult rear dew claw. Two days later my wife found a hard, purple abscess where her freshly trimmed nail appears to have cut into her toe, which has swelled to completely encompass the nail. Back to the vet, where my gorgeous girl's tail never stops wagging. She was placed on antibiotics and given a topical ointment as well, which I felt confident would be useless.

And so it was. More appointments and discussion ensued, and we came to the conclusion the only sensible thing to do was surgically remove the dew claw. No admission was made on the part of the vet techs for having caused this situation, which ticked me off.

Our vet had no surgical time slots for an entire week, which wouldn't work when I could tell my dog was in discomfort. Enter my lovely high school chum Dr. Jennifer Newhouse at the Taunton Road Animal Hospital in Oshawa (if you need an excellent vet in the east, do call her). She is an amazing veterinarian and a wonderful person, and she stepped up to fit us right in.

My wife drove Georgia all the way out to Oshawa in morning rush hour traffic to drop her off for surgery...and came home to discover that some brazen asshole had stolen our beautiful new e-bike from under its tarp on our driveway. We live on a main street, with neighbours on both sides who are home during the day, and I can hardly wrap my head around the balls and effort it took to steal this 400lb vehicle in broad daylight on a busy street. It's unreal.

Maybe this person did us a favour; I was very concerned about my wife being in an accident in downtown traffic. Perhaps an injury was in our future that has now been avoided. But it was ours, we had saved for it, waited for it, and treated it with care. People are just so disappointing. There have been workmen mucking around with a flip project across the street for months who park across our driveway and behave like assholes on a regular basis, so we think it must have been one of them. It really would have taken two people and a large truck to transport this thing away without a key.

We tried hard to keep it in perspective, and my wife fought rush hour traffic again at the end of the day to pick up our beautiful little Georgie, minus one toe. In the eight years I've had her she has cost me next to nothing and brought me boundless joy. I doubt I will ever know another creature like her; she is pure love through and through.

A $2,000 loss of the e-bike and another $1,000+ vet bill made for a very expensive day when we can ill afford it. Surely there is a winning lottery ticket in our future...

Down By A Taz

Taz  © Shutterbug

The House of Doolittle has shrunk by one.

This was our Taz less than a month before we had to let him go, being the good sport he'd always been for my camera. An ad agency client from work wanted to see photos of a black and white cat licking its lips, so I came home and tried to take some new photos of Taz to send in for the job. He happily ate several treats in my studio, but slowly lost interest in my quest. I ended up giving the client a few older photos I had of him in my archives.

Over the next couple of weeks our boy's respiratory infection grew worse, and he began to lose weight. We were out of options with regard to antibiotics; nothing was working (see previous post here). His breathing was laboured, and he was frequently blowing green snot bubbles from his nose. 

As a last resort we started him on steroids, hoping this would give him just one more remission to enjoy life again. Sadly, this isn't how it turned out. After five days of waking up in the morning to find his nose crusted shut, wheezing and rattling and growing thinner by the day, we knew we'd reached the end of the road. Our vet was the kindest and most devoted caregiver we could have asked for, and he agreed to come into the clinic on his day off to help us say goodbye to Taz.

The same afternoon we made this sad appointment, the advertising client from a couple of weeks earlier called to proceed with purchasing the photo of Taz. The timing was so eerie and emotional – almost as though Taz wanted to help us pay for his final vet bill.

I couldn't sleep that night at all. I sat up reading with Taz on my chest, stroking him and listening to his purr still rumbling away. I counted the hours as they passed, and had a good cry. I took him to the kitchen sink for frequent drinks from the tap now, house rules be damned. The sink where he'd previously gotten into such trouble for kicking dishes to a spectacular crash on the floor was now his domain.

When I went to the bathroom, Taz surprised me by jumping in the tub and proceeding to playfully bat the shower curtain, then stare at me. I wasn't sure whether he was trying to tell me it was okay, or giving me a guilt trip.

Taz in the tub  (c) Shutterbug

Morning came, and although it was cold, it was a beautiful day with bright sun. Taz has always been an indoor cat, but loved to sit at the back door and try to sneak outside with the dogs whenever possible. Sometimes he made it to a safe haven under a bush or the barbecue, seeming quite pleased with himself. This last day we walked him out in our arms to let him enjoy the sunshine.

Then our hearts broke as we said goodbye to this member of our family; my wife's companion of 17 years. He knew things about her that even I will never understand. I am so happy to have known him, because he was truly a wonderful animal filled with personality. He was there for my wife when she had little else, and saw to it that she made it through to a happier place. 

Thanks for being the bridge, Taz. We love you.

Have vet, won't travel.

Ebony after surgery  © Shutterbug

Oh, Ebony.

A friend once suggested I should have named this lovely Lab Paris, since her vet bill at the time was the equivalent of a trip across the pond. "Safari" is starting to sound more appropriate at this point.

Our latest adventure began with the sudden appearance of a cyst on her foot, which was clearly a candidate for surgery. I've started to make a game out of guessing the value of anticipated vet bills. I was a couple of hundred dollars shy this time, because we figured if she was going under the knife we might as well address the disfiguring lipomas on her torso. She was sent home with two unexpected, disgusting draining tubes hanging out of her main incision that the vet said "shouldn't leak much". Our carpet would beg to differ.

At least we're accruing air miles on the Visa towards Paris.