Lazy, Hazy, Days of Summer

Confusion. Sometimes my brain is so confused I don't know if I am coming or going. So what else is new?


I've been tired. Tireder than anything. You know you are tired when you are sleeping more hours a day than a cat. It's not the sleep that comes from depression or boredom it's the kind that comes from being downright tired, worn out, feeling sick but you don't know why everything is hurting. You lie down on the bed and you can feel your insides moving around, you feel them working. There are sharp pains in the kidneys, and the female parts. I've been waking up in the middle of the night with flashes and the only way to feel cool again is to take an ice cold bath and dream I am in Antarctica.

I can't eat, which is not a bad thing. I cannot see well enough to read, so I listen to books on tape. I just stumble out of bed, like after a long ago two day drunk, with wobbly legs and make my way to the toilet. Then it's feed the kitty, water the kitty, change her box, back to bed. Maybe update Facebook or post a lone Tweet, so people know I am alive. Then back to bed. To sleep, perchance to dream. But dreams don't come- or if they do, and I am a very vivid dreamer, - I simply don't recall them.

It's a numbness. My hour of lead, so to speak.

I've been told to see a doctor. I'm scared to. Scared there may be something really truly wrong. Like with my kidneys again, or my white blood count. I know my bladder isn't working at the moment, it's either feast or famine with it.

All you can do is persevere, like Dilsey.

I see my psychiatrist for the last time tomorrow. She is leaving her practice. I have to find a new one. I still have weekly meetings with my state worker, who I think, is nice but I keep her on a short leash. (More about that later). Things with the family are status quo. They don't really ever change. It's like a weird dance where you want to change partners, but you can't. To make matters worse, the band keeps playing the same song. It's worse than Groundhog's Day.

The cat now has hyperthyroid and is on a special diet. She is doing better. I couldn't write about that because she was on pills and doing terribly, and I thought for a few horrible days I would loose her. She is doing much better now, though she's very mad at me she can't have a bit of chicken or some other yummy morsel with her dinner.

When I started this blog four and a half years ago, I never thought I would go a month without blogging. I needed the break. I needed the time off. When I blog, I read psychiatric news stories for hours a day and read all I can to keep my education current. It was getting too much, which I think had a lot to do with my tiredness. My body was tired, my soul is tired.

It still is, but I miss my readers, I miss the process of writing. This is the best therapy I know of- and it doesn't cost anything more than an Internet connection. It calms me down, makes me feel whole. Not many things in life can do that, that aren't illegal, immoral or fattening.

It's no longer a matter of surviving for me. It's a matter of persevering. One step beyond survival.

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For your enjoyment, the latest Holly photo. You can see she's getting a bit older.

Depression-taking hostages

Holly on the fridge

They say depression can leak out to family members, much like the way it's noticed that female college roomates often synchronize periods.

It makes total sense, if you are around someone who is sad and depressed you try to cheer them up. You do everything you can in your bag of tricks. When nothing works, and your loved one/friend/family member is the same or worse, it wears you down.

Next thing you know you are falling into sadness/depression as well.

It's like a cold. Sneeze on me, and I get the sniffles too.

During the last bought I went through, I noticed something strange. My beloved cat, Holly, stopped eating. I would make myself get out of bed every morning, feed her, change her water bowl, clean her litter box. We would spend days together lying in bed, she being cuddled up against my tummy or my leg and I can hear her purr.

She never stopped purring. But on day two of not eating, I knew something was wrong. Holly is like the infamous Garfield- I have never known her not to pass up a meal. Especially if I can coax her to eat a can of Fancy Feast tuna or other fish flavor.

She wouldn't eat. She continued to drink, but wouldn't eat. And I in my malaise, didn't notice it as much as I should have til about day five. I went to pick her up and she felt lighter. I continued to coax her to eat, a bite here, a bit there. In my sadness, I thought she was OK.

Then came the meows and howls at 3 am. It was the worst case of caterwauling I've ever heard, short of a female cat in heat. I would pick her up, cuddle her, hold her, sing to her. The noise stopped but I noticed she was spending more and more time in bed with me, asleep, and less time doing the cat things that made up her daily routine.

To make a long story short, I finally took her to the vet. After some lengthy tests, it was determined that Holly has a hyperthyroid, and will have to be pilled for the rest of her life.

I felt like I had just been kicked in my stomach, and had the air knocked out of me. Did I cause her to get sick?

I know I didn't but I feel like I am responsible. If only I hadn't suffered from melancholy, I wouldn't have a sick kitty.

For those who have had the fortune to have an animal in their lives, these miracles on paws really creep into your heart. They become a member of your family. You love them more than some of your family members. They are your best friend. When they are feeling under the weather, you ache because you can't talk to them and ask them what is going on.

I've seen countless studies how owning a dog or a cat removes stress, creates happiness. Watching a tail thump is pure happiness. Having someone to come home to, especially if you live by yourself, is a wonderful thing. You don't feel lonely. And so on.

I know that pets sometimes take on their owners personalities. By this last depression, I created a depressed cat. I didn't mean to. I had to work extra hard to get out of that dark place, if not for myself, for the cat. I owed her that much when I adopted her and promised her a good life.

Wouldn't you do that for your best friend?

Winter in my soul

I've noticed one thing that's been happening over the last two years. My agoraphobia is getting  worse and worse. I can get out of my apartment one day a week, the rest- the other six days I am too afraid? fearful? anxious? to leave. It was never like this.

I haven't seen my psychiatrist in a month. I haven't seen the state worker since Thanksgiving. I'm overwhelmed. No energy. It's like a Zombie- I'm walking dead.

A well meaning family member begs me to go back on meds. I have scripts for Prozac and Abilify, drugs the doctor wants me to take. The doctor and my family want me to consider out patient therapy. Anything.

I know something's not right. Two days ago I made myself get dressed, and go to the supermarket because I needed kitty litter. I bought some food for me and lots of cat food for her, little cans of Fancy Feast. Milk, eggs, half and half, cheese, bread, coffee. Some pasta and sauce, a box of clementines. I treated myself to a hot dog at the Sonic across the street. As I was driving into my apartment complex, a well meaning neighbor stopped me for a chat.

"You never leave your apartment anymore", he said, solemnly to me.

"I'm too depressed to", I say, matter of factly.

"I get depressed too. I go out to the gym two hours a day and I feel better".

"I can't do that right now", I say with tears in my eyes. "It's not an option"

"Because you're overweight? Most of the people at the gym are overweight".

He doesn't understand. He wouldn't. I need help, dammit. I can't get out of bed. I will to do the most basic functions now. Use the toilet. Walk into the kitchen, feed the cat. Change the litter box. Crawl back to bed.

I can't cry anymore. I'm cried out. I've cried enough tears in the last month I could start the second Noah's flood. Now my eyes are so dry they are bothering me, I had to purchase eye drops for the first time in my life.

I've had depressions before. I've been noting the older I get, the more severe they have been getting. How I am not manic like I use to be. One day of hypomania, and a week of depression that's so bad it's like I am a walking corpse. A zombie, only instead of eating brains, I eat at the dreams I had, now broken.

I've had years of therapy. Most of my adult life- well- my entire adult life minus  two years. I know the tools I need. I just can't move. If the building was on fire- I wouldn't move. Only if the cat moved me to action would I try to save myself.

Cat. Silly girl, the only lifeline holding me up. Just a little 9 pound ball of fur and purr. And even then, I can't move. I will adjust my arm, so I can pet her blindly. I'll rub her and put my finger up to her purr box and listen. She deserves a better human than I.

A well meaning friend is telling me to start a blog about the cat. I don't have the energy. Another one is telling me to start writing a book- but my mind is blank. I've written 3 novels in my lifetime. I burnt two after spending years on them, simply because I thought they were no good. Kafka told his friend to burn his manuscripts. I made sure mine were burnt. I once told a therapist, it was like I had committed an abortion, burning those manuscripts.

It was more than just burning. It was the act of destroying something I loved. My dreams were all destroyed, I might as well finish them. As I write this, my body is taking care that my last dream is dying, as it happens to women in their 40s and 50s.

When I use to read tarot cards, I would see the reaction in people's eyes when the death card came out. No- I would say- it's not your death- it's a death of something, that will be reborn. It's a good thing. From Winter comes spring- flowers bloom and life starts up again.

I normally like Winter. This year it feels like it's in my viscera, my bones, my soul. I just don't think Spring will come. I'm hoping it will I don't like the alternative.

Holly the cat on holidays and writing for the TWIM blog

Meow. Yes, it's me. My human, Susan is reading on the couch, so I thought I would get on line and say "Meowry Christmas" to all my friends on the computer.

Personally, it was a frustrating year for me. I did not become a LOL cat. I did not meet Maru. I did get cans of Fancy Feast though, and much love from my human and her friends on line. So maybe next year I can become a LOL cat. And meet Maru. He's a boy cat you know!

I am what you might call a "therapy cat". Yes, there are therapy dogs, but I keep my human alive and moving. So I am a therapy cat. And she loves me- except when she has to clean my litter box.

My human is doing a bit better than the last entry, but, well, she's sad. She loves this time of year, but she is lonely. I don't understand, but then, I had six kittens, all who went to good homes. And then I got spayed. Mom hasn't gotten that yet. Maybe she would feel better if she had it done. I think they do it for humans. I don't know.

This is my favorite time of the year. For those who don't know my back story, I was adopted from a shelter that was planning on putting me to sleep on December 23 many years ago. It was a long time in kitty years, but Mom says it was only 2000. I was heavy with kitten. A very nice lady rescued me, and I went to live with her until I could find a furever home. The problem was- I didn't get along with the other kitties in the foster home, and I didn't place well when they had open houses to adopt the kitties. My kittens were adopted as soon as they were weaned. The other cats in the foster house came and went like wraiths. But no one wanted me. Until my mom adopted me. She needed me, I needed her. She is my best friend and I am hers. We have been together for almost ten years.

I keep my human sane. She is a really nice person for someone who is not a cat. That means I feel sad for her, she doesn't have a tail, she can't rotate her ears, she cannot purr. She doesn't know the sheer joy of having the sunshine on your tummy fur.

It's been a rough year for her. She lost the function of her kidneys last year, according to the doctor they are working ok, but every now and then they "hiccup" and things shut down for a bit .But she is ok. She's having some other health issues, and I know she is in a lot of pain but I think she is doing better. She just passed the one year point being off all psychiatric meds. The only thing we have in the house that alters brain chemistry is catnip.
That's mine!

Mom is doing well with her psychiatrist, but she still hasn't found a therapist. I've been serving as one, but frankly, I fall asleep after a minute or two. I am a cat. I have the attention span of a butterfly. Speaking of butterflies.....

Oh yes. Therapy. Cat's don't need therapy. We would nap on the couch. If the doctor showed us Rorshacks everything would look like birdies, squirrels or tuna. Maybe a ball of yarn. A catnip mousie.

This picture is copyrighted and I don't know how to remove it, but thank you to the photographer

Silly isn't it? Like I said, cats don't get depressed. Unless we think of all the other cats in the world who need homes that are in shelters.

I am grateful my mom did not die last year, that she still is with me. That she lets me snuggle every night with her in the large bed with my stuffed panda bear.

Now for the first time in a while mom is sad. She isn't depressed, she says she just feels out of sorts. Not physically sick. Just sad. Lonely. She has me, she shouldn't be lonely. But I think it's more than that. I think mom is starting to feel her age, and worry about the future. I know she is upset when she thinks of money. Money is nice, it buys me kibble, tuna, and other nice things. A scratching post.

She goes out to run errands and one day gets a lot of things done. Then she sleeps for two days, afraid to leave the apartment. If I didn't wake her by doing the "I am hungry" dance, she might not feed me or water me. She stays in bed, listening to talk radio as white noise. She likes this one station called Coast to Coast that she's been listening for years, but found a station on the internet that broadcasts it 24/7 so she listens to that. I like it too. I wonder if the announcer knows that he has a cat who likes listening to him.

All and all we are doing fine. Mom is  cleaning once a week. She still forgets to shower everyday but she does it every other .She is getting out, which is good for her agoraphobia. It's hard for her, I know. She's always been a homebody and to her nothing is better than reading a book or watching TV with me by her side on the big couch. 

I know writing is hard for her, so I recently wrote a piece that showed up for the Twim blog. It was fun, so many blogs to read. So many bloggers who have cats, dogs or both. If you aren't familiar with Twim, it's done by a group of people in the UK. Most of the blogs are from the UK, and both Susan and I are honored to be the first Americans/Americats to write for them.Right now they are having a vote for best blogs. I wish they had a "cutest cat" blogger category. There are some really good ones there to vote for.

 This is something that mom would like- for the bloggers in all the countries to unite and help each other more. We are all going through the same experiences and maybe we can all help each other by sharing what we've learned on this road we are all traveling together. 

I will tell you what I have learned. I am blessed to have a human, and I wish that all the shelter dogs and cats can find furever homes too. 

Happy Holidays from Susan and me-ow. I hope next year is a better year for everyone, and that Santa Paws brings you happiness. 

Happy Halloween!

I love Halloween! My friend Gianna Kali and I both decided to post this picture on our blogs today to celebrate the holiday and our mutual love of all things that are cat. The link to the Cheezeburger site is here.


My cat, Holly is dressing up for the holiday. Here is a picture of her of what she should look like wearing her costume, but she refuses to wear it. She's either going as one of Freya's kitties, or Flavor Flav. This is not Holly, but a cat named Molly who has been around the interwebs for about 15 years, and is now at TRB. (I apologize to those who thought this was actually Holly. I could never get her to pose that still for anything unless she is sleeping).

On a serious note, please keep your pets inside if they get spooked by the doorbell, and never feed a dog chocolate.

Rerun:How I Stayed Alive While My Brain Was Trying To Kill Me

(I am working on two writing projects, and going through a blue patch. So I thought it would be time to repost an oldie but a goodie. This is an older piece, I am at present, sleeping seven hours a night, and not in the black place. This was originally written in January 2010)

I am currently on two anti-depressants with black box warnings. And for the last three days, all I can think about is suicide. Namely, just crawling into bed, and stop breathing. Just not existing anymore. Yes, I know some how there might actually be people who will give a damn if I go-like my parents, but I just don't care, my brain is teasing me like the Sirens sang to Homer until he chained himself to the mast so he couldn't hear them.

The last time I actually got any sleep was Wednesday night/ Thursday morning, since then, I have been averaging about two hours a night. Not good. Mild hallucinations, both visual and audible. I begged the pdoc for something to make me sleep. Nothing doing, he doubled one of the anti-depressants. I told him the anti-depressants are making me manic. I don't know what to do. If this continues, I am scared to death I will go to the hospital.

It's a pretty hospital from the outside. It's just not nice from the inside, I cannot have my panda bear, my clothes I want...

a picture of my girl, a radio, my ipod, my cell phone. nothing......the only time I will be allowed outside after a one or two day hold- will be to smoke..... they will confiscate any shampoo, conditioners, sanitary napkins, or tampons, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, toothpastes, makeup, soap, the whole thing is ridiculous. It's like going to jail, not a hospital.  No watches. No jewelry allowed cept a wedding band. I couldn't even have a scrunchie the last time I was in there, and my hair fell all over my face and into my food.

Speaking of food, since Monday til Friday I lost 6 pounds cause I cannot eat. I am living on Gatorade, I just cannot eat. I am not complaining about the weight loss, but that's a lot of weight to loose in five days,

The idea of being separated from Holly is too much to bear. She sleeps with me. When I write she lies next to me, on my right side or my left side, purring softly. When I look up, I see her. She knows I am depressed, when I take a bath to sooth me, she goes in the tub with me, balancing as like an Olympic gymnast as she puts her tail in the bath water. Right now I am on the couch watching "Cops" and she is by my side, half awake, no doubt thinking 'how stupid humans are".

We have been on the couch all afternoon, watching a marathon of one of my favorite sitcoms, "Arrested Development". Normally the show would have me laughing out loud, but I cannot. I had the San Diego Panda Cam open so I could watch baby Son of Cloud and his mom frolic, and it wasn't cheering me. The thoughts of death- my death, keep going through my head, and the only thing stopping me is, NO ONE, not even the people I would leave Holly to, would love her and care for her as much as I do. I have to buck it up, and get better for the striped one. For my readers. For my family, my friends. And for the most helpless, she who needs me to open the tuna.

So I keep breathing, deep breathing. I think of "Everybody Hurts", the good version, the one by R.E.M. Just think there are people worse off then you, and it's the voices in your head making you think this way. Breathe, keep breathing, relax, chillax, and as long as you keep breathing, you aren't dead. And as long as you keep breathing, you cannot go into the hospital. And you can get better.

It's an uphill climb. But you've done it so many times before. By now it should be second nature.

Tales From A Therapy Cat- On Helping My Human On Depression

Meow! For those who are not regular readers of this blog- my name is Holly. I am a 12 year old tan tabby cat who lives with Susan. I am not trained as a therapy cat, but I take care of her and keep her alive. She adopted me when I was four, and considered unadoptable. I love her more than anything except when my head is in a bowl of tuna.


My human is just starting to get out of her depression. At least that is the word she uses. I don't know what it is, cats don't get depressed. We might get sad if it is a rainy day and there is no sunshine to nap in and warm our fur. We might get upset right before barfing a hair ball, or the mean doggie across the street barks at us.

All I know is my human wants to stay in bed all day. That would be fine if she was a kitty like me, but humans can't sleep all day. They have to get up and feed us, change our litter box and adore us, lest we let them forget we were once worshipped as Gods in Egypt. So I bite her arm or her leg, to get her up, and go to the kitchen. Those cans of tuna don't open themselves.

She stumbles around and feeds me, changes my water and my litter box. She makes a cup of coffee for herself. When it's ready, and she adds the sugar and cream, she sits at the table. I jump on the tabletop and look at her, staring until she pets me. She strokes my fur and I purr for her getting louder and louder. Eventually she smiles, and tells me I am the best cat in the world. She's feeling a bit better. I am happy.

When she adopted me, I did not purr. I lived in a house with a foster mother and 14 other cats. The other cats didn't like me, I spent a good deal of my time under the bed, cowering in fear. I would only eat when my foster human would walk me to the kitchen and make sure the other kitties wouldn't interrupt me. For years after mom adopted me, I would only eat when she walked into the kitchen. I still am partially like this, I need her to walk to the kitchen so I can eat, but I can eat now if she isn't with me. But I would rather eat with her in the room. It's comforting.

I bite her, not hard, on her arm or feet. Her feet are all swollen with edema, from her kidney medication. She is sad because her feet don't fit into her shoes, and she wants to wear something more than flip flops.

Usually her depressive episodes don't last more than  few days at a time. This last one lasted over a month. She just lies in bed, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and cry. I try to make her happy, I lie in the bed next to her, trying to snuggle, trying to get her to pet me to make me purr. I bite her softly to get her to feed me when my tummy rumbles. She doesn't get it. She won't pet me. Cats may be aloof, but we want to be petted and told we are wonderful. She doesn't want to eat, or play or do anything with me. It makes me sad. Even my cutest faces don't make her smile.

I feel bad for her. Then I purr a little louder, nudge her and meow. I bring my catnip mousie to her and plop it on her face. She moves closer to me, holds me and tells me what a good kitty I am. I follow her to the bathroom, and do my  cute dance in the bathtub. She finally gets it, and takes a bath. She feels better. I watch her clean herself off, put on clean clothes, and make her go to the kitchen. She feeds me, and changes my box. I eat some,wash the bits of food off my face and whiskers, and then run to the couch, meowing at her to sit down with me. She turns on the TV and we watch something, not really watching, but she starts grooming me, and tells me I am keeping her alive and she loves me.

She loves me. I love her. She starts to feel a bit better each day- just for a little bit, but each day the little bit lasts longer and longer, until finally this week, she's moving around on her own for most of the day, and taking care of herself without my help. That makes me happy, to see her happy. When she's happy she gives me hugs and when she goes to the store she comes back with more Fancy Feast and a brand new catnip mousie for me to shred.

I love her. She says that I keep her alive, I am her therapy cat. I don't know about that, but she also keeps me alive. She needs me as much as I need her, I love her as much as she loves me. She saved my life, I help her reclaim hers. That is all I can do as a cat.

Guest Blogger- Bailey the cat ponders on his human's depression also

This was submitted by Bailey the cat two days ago. Bailey's human dad, R- is a member of my Depression Support Group. 

Hi.

I never thought kitties could write, but after I read the story by Holly, I figured I would give it a shot.

My name is Bailey. I'm ten years old and I live in New Jersey. I'm gray and white. I want to tell you about my brother, my Daddy, and me.

I don't remember much from before Mommy and Daddy brought me home from the shelter. I was happy to go with them because I didn't like being in a cage. The trouble started when I got home. There was another baby kitty there, this one named Jackson. He told me I was going to be his brother. Then he ate all my food. Later on we wrestled, and then he ate all my food again. That went on for about ... well, it's still pretty much going on today. He's over 20 pounds and I'm only 7 pounds, so we don't wrestle much anymore.

Daddy never liked cats before Jackson and I came to live with him. After that, he loved cats. He even went to volunteer at the local shelter. He set up all their computer and networking systems, and even bottle-fed baby kitties who were smaller than even me! Every time he went to the shelter, there was one kitty who would go crazy jumping up and down, and he only did this for Daddy. That kitty was named Claude, and he was born in the shelter. His mommy was in a nearby cage. He drooled constantly and was very big. Also he was very clumsy. Nobody wanted to adopt him, but he and Daddy became good friends at the shelter. Daddy wanted to take him home but Mommy said that two cats was enough for a small apartment. Jackson and I agreed. Daddy used to use his lunch hour at work to drive to visit Claudie and play with him. Then he would drive back to work, hungry and drenched with drool and covered in cat hair. Then he would go back to visit him after work. When he came home, Mommy would accuse him of being with Claude again, and Daddy used to try to say he was out with another woman instead so Mommy wouldn't get so mad! Daddy promised Claudie he would find him a home, and called everyone he knew. But nobody would take him, so Daddy brought him home anyway. He became my brother too. Next time I will tell you about the time that Claudie farted, and he was so suprised that he jumped 3 feet in the air!

Then Mommy's tummy got big (like Jackson's) and we heard there was going to be a new addition to the family! We were so excited. I was hoping for a girl cat, but instead it was a little monster who only wanted to drink milk and pull our tails. Jackson swiped at it, and I ran away, but Claudie didn't care if his tail got pulled. Once the tail-pulling stopped, Mommy's tummy got big again. This time I was hoping for a boy cat, but we got another monster, just like the first. This one also chased me and tried to pull my tail.

Now, I have to tell you, I've always been a scaredy cat. For the first 10 years of my life, I never went outside except in a kitty-carry to go to the vet (not fun). I hide when people come over. I lived in a closet for most of my life, nestled up in sweaters and coming out at night to eat. Later I lived in a dirty basement, and one time I hid under the insulation in the attic for 4 days. Boy did they send out the search parties!

One day, Claudie got sick. They took him to the doctor but we never saw him again. When Daddy came home, he was crying. He cried for 4 whole days, and didn't eat or go to work. I guess he was really sad. He cried a lot for a whole month. He still cries sometimes when he sees a picture of Claudie. Come to think of it, he's always been sad a lot. He cries sometimes for no reason at all. We kitties don't think about things when they're gone. I guess people do.

Well, here's the part I really wanted to tell you about. About 2 months ago, I decided to go outside. I don't know why. It was a little strange at first, but now I spend most of my time outside. Me, who spent 8 years in the hall closet. A few days ago, there was nobody to let me out, so I took a running start and leaped at the screen door. It tore away from the frame and I got out! Mommy and Daddy were pretty mad though - I don't think I'll do that again. I run and chase bunnies but I let them go. I sneak under the fence and go exploring. Everyone says it's really amazing the way I changed. I guess I'm just not scared anymore.

It's hard to change, but I'm much happier now. I guess it's really hard for some people to change. But I think if I can stop being scared, then maybe my Daddy can too.

Bailey is a newly syndicated columnist and professional outdoorsman in Central New Jersey.

 Claude the cat on the day he was adopted

Bailey, Jackson and Claude

An Update Written By Holly The Wonder Cat

Dear -

It's Holly.

Mom is not doing well from her lithium and other med cocktail. (Abilify, Rispardal, Topamax, Trileptal) I am glad I am only on catnip. The weather went up to 104 degrees F, we are on the top floor so it got over 110 at one point, and mom was just too hot. She tried cooling off in the bath tub with ice cold water but that didn't work as long as she wanted, so she was just walking around with her flip flops so she didn't step on any of my mousies. Then she tried to lie in bed and got really sick. Sick to her tummy, started to shake, grabbed the bucket and started to sweat really bad. And shake. She could barely hold the bucket.

But what scared her and this is why she called you because she couldn't call grandma- is mom started seeing bugs. Not like Mr. Bunny, but the creepy crawly kind. And she thought they were on her skin, and were creeping up all over her.

I can tell you, I have never seen a flea. So it's not fleas. Mom is scratching herself raw, going in the bathtub in the oatmeal bath, just crying absolutely miserable. When she closes her eyes she sees bugs. And she is sweating and shaking and keeps the bucket next to her.

She looks this up on the internet, and finds out it's a rare side effect from her meds. This is the second time it's happened to her, but it happens from the heat. Her skin is on fire. And she won't let me touch her, or lie next to her. I have to snuggle a few inches away from her. If my fur touches her skin, she literally cries. She is still drinking her water, but her urine is coming out black this afternoon, and she is crying in pain, doubled up when she is trying to pee.

Not like me. I use the box like a trooper. I am a good kitty.

She has to get a lot of water in her today, and it has to stay down, and she needs to pee normal and not see any bugs, and stop scratching. I know she needs/wants to changing the bedding, it soaked through with sweat. I hope she has a better day.

We are sorry we bothered you last night, I was just scared for mom, I really didn't know who else to call. I wish you lived closer so you could have come over with some fish and we could have tried to feed mom and I could have eaten off your plates. When mom feels better can you come over and we can rent a movie and the three of us can chillax? And I can show you my new catnip duckie.

I love you very much, you are a good human bean.

Your friend Holly.

I Got A Video Camera-Here's Holly!!!

Ok... Cannot resist. Happy Weekend. Back to regular blogging business tomorrow. Enjoy my girl today.

Guest Blogger- Holly The Cat. A Cat Ponders On Depression

Hello. For those who don't know me, I am a tan tabby cat, ten years old. I've lived with Susan since January, 2003. The woman who rescued me named me Holly since I was rescued a day or so before Christmas, heavy with kittens. A Christmas miracle. But Susan says it's really Holly because her favorite TV show in the entire universe is "Red Dwarf" and she couldn't name me "Cat" now, could she? And "Dave", was out of the question, since I am a girl cat. And if she named me "Rimmer", the ASPCA would come and arrest her for animal cruelty.

My human's been really down in the dumps the last few days.

Susan's  also been feline poorly the last few days. She struggles to get out of bed just feeling tired and has a fever.  She's seen her GP who said she has a cold- and did some blood work. Her white blood count was elevated and she has to see her Oncologist next week. She isn't happy. Meanwhile her head aches more, and she has terrible night sweats so she has been running the air conditioner, and it makes me cold. I go under the covers, and she just sees my tail. Brrr. She says I look like a metronome, only fuzzier. 

It makes me wonder, what is depression, and why my poor human has it so badly.  Susan refers to it as a "Black Dog" an idea she got from someone named Churchill. I don't know about Churchill, other than he lived a long time ago in a place called across the pond. Does that mean he lived near ducks? And it's called "Black Dog". You wouldn't call it "Black Cat". Poor Mr. Churchill. I wonder if dogs get depressed. Cats don't really get depressed. Not like my human, if she can be an indicator.

I mean, cats do get depressed. This past winter I was sad because it snowed so much and all the birdies and squirrels went away and I had nothing to look at from my window sill. There wasn't enough sunshine to stretch out and languish on my tummy fur. But I didn't cry. I slept and  and played with my toys, dive bombed my human's mail, knocked over some books and cd's, and meowed at the TV. I may not be a kitten anymore, but I still know how to play and get into mischief. Susan on the other hand spent days in bed not sleeping, not doing anything, just listening to the radio and not happy. I am always happy if I am not sleeping, or eating or using my litter box.

I think the difference between cats and humans is simply this. Cats live in the moment. We don't think about yesterday or tomorrow. It's all about the moment we are in. Right now, I am on the computer. In a moment I will be in a fluffy comforter, in a nice warm bed, in a patch of sunshine with my stuffed panda bear.

That is nice. I guess we are all Id.  Maybe if humans were all Id, too they wouldn't be so sad. Humans should be more like cats. Or the Cat from Red Dwarf, just live in the moment, and think about eating little fishies. And looking cool.   Something like that.

I won't comment back but paw hugs, head bonks, scritches and tuna is appreciated.  I got some serious nappage to do now, I've missed two naps, and it's almost bed time.  Meow.

One Great Book To Read During A "Snurricane", & A Sick Cat

I love these words that were just invented in 2010, "Snowmageddon", "Stormageddon" and now "Snurricane", which is what happens when it snows with a hurricane, as it did yesterday. Today it's just more of this white stuff, lots and lots coming down hard on the sleet an rain, so it's going to be a mess when Mr. Plow finally arrives to clean this mess up. If Mr. Plow should come. NJ is saying they are broke and have no money for the plows, and are begging FEMA to help. And we all know what a mess FEMA made with those poor people from Hurricane Katrina, right?

So this week, if that wasn't enough, the cat's been sick. She eats but won't drink, she poops but won't urinate, sleeps for a day and a half, then when I call the vet, she plays, eats, drinks.... all is well. Then when we cannot get to the vet, she cries a howl from hell when she tries to urinate, won't eat, won't play and sleeps under the dripping water faucet. Ignores me. Then decides to stay in bed all day with me watching the snow, as I read, and write. ....will eat some tuna or other fish, but still seems off. Uses the litter box reluctantly. How I wish I was Dr. Doolittle and could talk to the animals.

On another hand, one of my best friends in the world is severely depressed as indicated in his latest blog entry. I hate depression, it can really destroy us, as seen by the recent death of Andrew Koening.

But all is not lost...I have been reading a great book, and hope to get a review up in the next day or two. Bob Fiddaman has written a real gem of a book "The Evidence is Clear- The Seroxat Scandal" - available for download here- which I am having a hard time putting down. It's currently an e-book and I spent 5 quid on it, still trying to figure out what that is in dollars these days, but it's really good. Still, it's an e-book and I cannot wait for the printed copy, to hold in my hands and read properly. Seroxat/Paxil isn't a drug that didn't do anything for me, I have my own drug nemesis, but I know several people who were really maimed by this drug. So if anyone else out there is snowbound, and wants something good to read, this is one I do recommend. Preferably with a cup of hot chocolate.

You Are Invited To Holly's Tenth Birthday Party!

To All Cats and Kittehs in Cyber space- and their humans too-

It's a birfday party! On Super Bowl Sunday!

Holly will be turning ten. There will be lots of food!

Lots to play with.....

To get past the Doggeh Butler at the door, must bring a can of Fancy Feast Tuna!

RSVP.

How I Am Staying Alive While My Brain Is Trying To Kill Me

I am currently on two anti-depressants with black box warnings. And for the last three days, all I can think about is suicide. Namely, just crawling into bed, and stop breathing. Just not existing anymore. Yes, I know some how there might actually be people who will give a damn if I go-like my parents, but I just don't care, my brain is teasing me like the Sirens sang to Homer until he chained himself to the mast so he couldn't hear them.

The last time I actually got any sleep was Wednesday night/ Thursday morning, since then, I have been averaging about two hours a night. Not good. Mild hallucinations, both visual and audible. I begged the pdoc for something to make me sleep. Nothing doing, he doubled one of the anti-depressants. I told him the anti-depressants are making me manic. I don't know what to do. If this continues, I am scared to death I will go to the hospital.

It's a pretty hospital from the outside. It's just not nice from the inside, I cannot have my panda bear, my clothes I want...
a picture of my girl, a radio, my ipod, my cell phone. nothing......the only time I will be allowed outside after a one or two day hold- will be to smoke..... they will confiscate any shampoo, conditioners, sanitary napkins, or tampons, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, toothpastes, makeup, soap, the whole thing is ridiculous. It's like going to jail, not a hospital. No watches. No jewelry allowed cept a wedding band. I couldn't even have a scrunchie the last time I was in there, and my hair fell all over my face and into my food.

Speaking of food, since Monday til Friday I lost 6 pounds cause I cannot eat. I am living on Gatorade, I just cannot eat. I am not complaining about the weight loss, but that's a lot of weight to loose in five days,

The idea of being separated from Holly is too much to bear. She sleeps with me. When I write she lies next to me, on my right side or my left side, purring softly. When I look up, I see her. She knows I am depressed, when I take a bath to sooth me, she goes in the tub with me, balancing as like an Olympic gymnast as she puts her tail in the bath water. Right now I am on the couch watching "Cops" and she is by my side, half awake, no doubt thinking 'how stupid humans are".

We have been on the couch all afternoon, watching a marathon of one of my favorite sitcoms, "Arrested Development". Normally the show would have me laughing out loud, but I cannot. I had the San Diego Panda Cam open so I could watch baby Son of Cloud and his mom frolic, and it wasn't cheering me. The thoughts of death- my death, keep going through my head, and the only thing stopping me is, NO ONE, not even the people I would leave Holly to, would love her and care for her as much as I do. I have to buck it up, and get better for the striped one. For my readers. For my family, my friends. And for the most helpless, she who needs me to open the tuna.

So I keep breathing, deep breathing. I think of "Everybody Hurts", the good version, the one by R.E.M. Just think there are people worse off then you, and it's the voices in your head making you think this way. Breathe, keep breathing, relax, chillax, and as long as you keep breathing, you aren't dead. And as long as you keep breathing, you cannot go into the hospital. And you can get better.

It's an uphill climb. But you've done it so many times before. By now it should be second nature.

A Very Happy Holiday To All

On behalf of Holly the cat and I, we would like to wish everyone a very happy holiday.
This is my holiday card sent out to friends and family- I wanted to share it with my readers....


(Made by Peter's Internet Designs)




HAPPY HOLLY-DAYS!

This has nothing to do with mental health, it's a PSA for something else

see more Lolcats and funny pictures


Doesn't everyone want a save a cat's life? You get a best friend and comedic actions, and save a life.

And for what it is worth, I got Holly through Petfinder.

Taking Care of a Sick Cat.

Who ever decided that cats can be pilled and what not, must have been a few fries short of a happy meal.


Holly has an open sore on her neck. She keeps scratching it and scratching it, and it's getting worse, bleeding, lasst night it started to puss. Pus, not puss.


The vet said to get some neosporin spray on it and some bandaids.

I bought the spray at CVS and then bought some band aids. Hello Kitty band aids. What else would you put on a baby girl cat? Dora the Explorer?

Her antics trying to get the bandaid off are worthy of a You Tube Hall of pussy cat fame- right up there with Ninja Cat and Little Sparta.

And it's keeping me up from my sleep. Poor girl.


Anyway, I close with a picture of the true definition of a House CAT.

Today is Respect Your Cat Day!

Did you know today is Respect Your Cat Day?

Maximum people love to celebrate cat day, if we spend a day on our lovely cat then it will became beautiful. For this reason every year we celebrate Respect Your Cat Day on 28th March, so just pamper your sweet cats with loads 'n loads of love. Take some time out of your busy schedules and cuddle up these cute, furry creatures. Spend some time with your loving pets and make others do so too. However don't miss this day without celebration make the day beautiful

Photo of Holly sleeping.

Send Chicken Soup! Stat!

Mom/Susan is running 102 today and feels worse than she did yesterday. So she apologizes for not blogging the last couple of days. I, on the other hand, have free reign over the computer, so I emailed my beaus, Michael and Shen, and and then I sent memberships to the mouse of the month club for all my feline friends. .....

And am answering mom's email, and reading mom's friends blogs.

So if you haven't heard from Susan- or are wondering why she sent a silly email, know it is me.

And no, Virginia, Cats do not watch the Oscars- why should we? The only dress than any cat ever liked was Bjork's Swan/Duck dress.

Meanwhile, gentle kind humans, enjoy this pretty picture of me-ow.

Love,

Holly the cat aka The Striped One .

It's Holly's Birthday!

February 8, is Holly's 9th birthday!

All are invited to come. Humans will be served cooked salmon, and steamed veggies, all kitties will be served dry Hills and wet Fancy Feast Tuna.

The birthday girl requests cans of Fancy Feast Tuna for presents, or donations to the local animal shelter. RSVP.

Below are pictures from a prior party, you can see the cake she had, minus the candles, and the birthday girl herself. Enjoy.
(Click on pictures to see Holly in all her glory)