The Skunk Hunter

Seamus decided the other night that he was tired of the skunk who had made my patio his buffet. Cue malevolent theme music...

I fell asleep with just the screen closed, having attended to some overdue reading of Mother Jones. I woke at 1:18 to Seamus's fight growling.

I look out on the patio for the other cat and ran outside to get Seamus. He was foaming at the mouth and shaking his head, his eyes squinted almost shut.

I reached down to get him and froze. Hiding behind the tall plant was a black shape with a distinct racing stripe of white down the side. I saw it precisely as my adrenalin-enhanced sense of smell was finally tuned in.

A fat little skunk. Its black eyes locked with mine and it walked backwards a bit. Seamus went to dart at it and its tail went up just as I scruffed him and dragged him backward.

The skunk came out from the plant just a little, and its tail went down as I retreated, stinking cat in hand, through the screen.

I took Seamus into the bathroom and closed the door, gather up the bathroom rugs and all the other cloth in the area, and locked him in. I checked the screen and it locked when I tried to close it again. He had smashed through it.

I had no tomato juice, no supplies and no idea where to look at 1:20 AM. I scanned the grocery store websites. Ralph's and Food For Less are apparently 24 hours. Off to Gay Ralph's I went.

I grabbed some hydrogen peroxide, standard shampoo, and baking soda, then some tomato juice for good measure. I also bought some treats for bribes.

When I got home, he was screaming to get out. At times like these, I am possessed by an irrational thought... that cats can be reasoned with in a chastening way. It may not be productive, but it passes time and serves as interaction through doors.

"YOWWWW!" he cried.

"Well, you can't just go and beat up every animal you see," I said as I mixed the recipe preferred by mythbusters:

1. 1/4 cup of baking soda
2. 1 quart of hydrogen peroxide
3. 1 tsp of grease-cutting dish washing fluid

"YOOOOOWWWWW!"

"Well, doors that are closed and locked are to keep kitties in and critters out," I said, getting a pitcher to rinse him with and some extra supplies.

When I had a bowl of the secret recipe mixed, I gathered up some disposable linens and went in. The bathroom was safe, as Seamus was simply hovering by the door, awaiting his escape. He engaged me in more heated howling conversation.

"NYOOWWW!"

"Well, it's only for a little while. You need a bath!"

"OWWWW! NgggYOOOOWWW!"

"I know you don't like them, but you can't spread skunk spray all over the house," I said, filling the tub a few inches.

"RRRooowww!"

"Yes, as soon as you don't smell like marching death in a stinky shit band, you can go lay down," I said.

"Mmmmrrrrr," he said, plopping on his belly, panting from the stress.

I gave him a treat and he perked up a bit. The washing began.

I used body-temperature water for the whole process. It helps and keeps a cat calm. Slightly warmer is fine, but even a little cooler will bring howls of disdain and escape attempts.

For stage one, I washed him with pure Dawn. I was careful around his eyes and massaged it deeply into the huge spray-spot on his sternum to break up the greasy base containing the thiols from the skunk.

I rinsed him off, then drained the water and cleared the tub of his massive hair clog, then refilled. The smell was lessening. Seamus walked into a corner and peed, which I mopped up with a throwaway towel. He purred as he was given a treat and then stood by the door.

"YEE-OWWWWW!" he demanded.

"Not yet, you still smell like three-day-old roadkill tartar with a side of shit stew," I said, snickering a bit in my sleepiness.

"YOOOWWWW!" he said, pawing at the door.

I scruffed him and back into the water he went. I finished working out the spot on his chest and soaked him to the bone, looking for scratches or bites all over his body, as skunks are known to carry rabies. No bites. Good news!

The mix went on as a soapy soak, and Seamus disliked the cooler mix of fluids immediately. But he did not lick, and I let him soak for the 10-15 minutes asked. In the meantime, I went into the kicthen and boiled ammonia and set out cheap bowls of coffee grinds.

"YOWWW!"

"I will be back in after you soak, just calm down."

(Tap-tap-scritch) "YOWWWW!"

"Leave the door alone, that's how you got into this mess!"

"Mrrr.... Mrrrrowwwww... Mmmff"

"Good boy, I will be back soon," I said, opening the door a crack and tossing in a treat.

Once the vinegar was boiling and grinds were out, back in I went. Seamus put up with the indignity of yet another rinsing, his coat now a bleached, lighter shade.

I ran more water after cleaning the drain and soaked him in tomato juice then left to check on the other measures, adding candles and incense to my smell battle. I stopped and tossed a treat to him in the back corner. He ate it and laid back down, sighing big.

After soaking him for 15 minutes in tomato juice, I washed him off completely and patted him until he could take it no longer. The smell was almost completely defeated.

I went to sleep at 4 AM. Seamus hid in the closet with his mother's old clothes, but it smelled clean he next day. I worked a long day exhausted, but he seemed fine. Joy.

I need a new screen door.

Update issues

The photos are overdue. I'll get to them, but it's still hard to look at them and see her face so many times and keep it together. I'll probably end up posting the last two chapters on Otto
first. I have been home today from work, and not at the top of my game, so no update today.

The biggest kitty heartache ever (conclusion)

We sped to the veterinarian's office as quickly as we could. Before we left, we gave Seamus some Bach flower essences, which did seem to calm him. We expected to wait, but were dissuaded.

"It will be a while," the tech said. "Go home and relax, we'll call you when you need to come get him."

I wanted to wait, but Marcie convinced me to get out of the office and to the car. We went home and worried for a while, made love to comfort each other and fell asleep for an hour or so.

When the phone rang, it jarred us both awake. Marcie grabbed it from her side of the bed.

"Hello?" she asked, very tentatively.

"Yes, hold on, Dr. Mason," she said as she then hit the speaker button.

"Well, it does not appear to be a tumor, it appears that he simply has a collapsed lung," Mason said. "So, it could be asthma, but I would like to do a biopsy before I start giving him any medicine."

"I think I want him to have medicine and then you can biopsy him if it doesn't help," I said, holding Marcie's hand tightly as she rubbed my arm.

I had decided that I did not want him to go through anything else, and he would be treated however it was possible. All I heard was "not cancer."

"Well, I am not sure that he is really going to respond to asthma medication, so we should just eliminate even the chance of..." Mason's voice disappeared as I kissed Marcie.

I heard her giving points to consider as the kiss broke, more reasons to wait and see him suffer. I cut her off.

"Thirty years ago, would a vet give a cat an ultrasound to diagnose a breathing problem?" I asked.

She was silent.

"Would a veterinarian 30 years ago hold off on trying a treatment just to be so sure that the cat wasn't dying?" I asked, now angry, as my first belief had been he was suffering asthma, but we had to pay to be allowed that relief. 5 weeks later, no less.

"I understand. He'll be ready when you get here, he's resting in his cage and there is a little bit of fur missing from his belly where we did the ultrasound. I'll send him home with Theodur and start him now."

I felt scammed, I felt relief, and I felt great grief welling up within me, all relieved for the moment. Marcie and I held each other.

We brought him home. That night, we fed him teriyaki salmon. We amusedly noted that Marcie's father and Seamus were now on the same medication, and we wondered which of the two was better behaved.

We had no idea that, just a few months later, we would be given far worse news and Seamus would be the least of our worries.

The biggest kitty heartache ever (pt 2)

We were tense for weeks. We did everything to try and keep Seamus' coughing to a minimum. But as we tried to save up the $600, Marcie became more and more distraught, and I became less convinced that it would all work out.

"He's getting worse," she said. "Honey, he's punky all day now, and he even coughs when he's try to eat."

I nodded and stroked him as his wheezes cycled in again and his limp, ever thinner body shook with each breath. He was down a lot of weight. But there was life and love in his eyes, and he could manage a purr until the built-up liquid went down the wrong tube.

"I know, honey," I said. "He's fighting, though."

She slid onto the couch next to me and cupped and rubbed my hands on him. A talk was coming. Marcie knew that, whenever she told me anything, she needed only rub and hold my hands to express how hard it was to say. She was rubbing very hard.

It meant she was going to upset me. It also meant she needed me to console her when the shock had passed.

"We can't give him chemo if it's cancer, honey," she said, her voice trembling. She squeezed my hand earnestly. "He hates the doctor, and his poor little body just won't take it. I don't want him to be miserable."

I looked up and felt hot tears as I nodded. She needed to know I was with her, but I couldn't say it. I could express only my pain and grief, so I did.

"He is my little gift from you," I said. "He used to sleep in the palm of one of my hands, or in my shoes when I went to school."

I had more to say, but my voice cracked and I couldn't. Seamus stirred. I pulled him in close to me and began to rock him, and Marcie stroked my back as I bit my lip and gulped. I turned away.

Marcie stroked my arms and back as she slid close. "You have to promise that if it's cancer, we'll take him and put him to sleep, no arguments."

I considered my little buddy's state as he coughed into my chest and mewed pathetically at me, his eyes a little dull at the moment. I could in no way let him suffer even worse, on one lung, just to prolong his time with me.

"Of course we will," I whispered, kissing his head as he complained at the sudden hugging. "The last thing he'll hear will be us, and the last thing he'll feel will be us holding him in his blanket, okay?"

She couldn't handle it and broke down completely, her forehead in one hand, her other hand squeezing mine tightly as she sobbed. "He never did anything wrong," she wailed. "This is so horrible."

I consoled her as best I could as Seamus squirmed free and tried to lead us into the kitchen for food, stopping to wheeze as he did. We went for a long walk at Cabrillo National Monument that evening and just held hands.

As the weeks passed, we endeavored to make him more comfortable and to bring him things to enjoy. He had jerky, catnip of all kinds, his own patch of wheat grass in every room and ate whenever he wanted. He sill lost weight.

I had stopped smoking the year prior. Marcie finally joined me, saying, "If we gave it to him with our cigarettes, I'll just fucking kill myself, I swear to God."

Her light habit and the sad circumstances made the quitting easier for her. She walked more often and I went with her. We became closer still.

Every day, I would get home and see him outside onto the patio, where he would loll and roll between hacking fits. When Marcie was not home, I took him downstairs to walk around in the complex.

When the week came in which we would have enough to get his ultrasound done, I quietly searched and found an in-home euthanasia service. I printed the page, with its comforting but solemn graphic of a sun-drenched room and an empty cat bed.

Marcie hugged me and shook. I stroked her back, something my hands remember doing so often, and massaged her gently as I kissed her neck and tucked her into my chest.

The morning arrived. Seamus had coughed all night the night before. When he quietly walked into and he plopped his body heavily into his cage and on the blanket inside, we looked at each other.

He never wanted to see the doctor. But he was so scared he wanted to, or he wanted to hide.

"I'm ready," she said. "Let's go."

We kissed first and our solemn parade took a long walk to either certainty or relief. We did not expect the latter.

The biggest kitty heartache ever (pt 1)

There was little on the Seamus front after his urinary tract infection. Certainly, Marcie had her arguments with him and his wild streak shot out whenever he was allowe outside, fixed or not. But one day, that all changed.

"Mao hooooff!" Seamus coughed.

He was barely able to breathe.

"Mu HOFF!" he coughed again, his head sagging to the floor pitifully as his eyes closed a bit. He coughed hard and his tongue came out.

"Spit it up, Seamus," I said, half expecting a gigantic mouth-turd of fur to issue forth like some ungodly spawn of feline spite and hell. I was happily disappointed at first when one did not.

My relief would be short-lived. Seamus began coughing again later in the day. It was the off-season for my day job, renting and manning inflatables, but I left a note for Marcie as I went off to my job with Pavia-Volpe, a finance company.

"Look out for hairballs. Seamus is coughing," I wrote. "Probably will be huge, so watch your feet"

When I got home, I opened the door to Seamus's coughing and Marcie holding him, rocking him in our couch and holding him close.

"Honey, he hasn't stopped coughin all night," She said. "I don't know what to do."

"Oh, honey, it's just stuck is all," I said.

She nodded and set him gently on the couch. His eyes looked a little glazed, I noted. But he recognized me and let out a rather pathetic "mrrrr."

I spent the night petting him and calming him when he coughed. He coughed all night and through friday. By Saturday morning, we had to take him into the vet. There was one sure sign of a problem.

"Honey, he didn't eat all his food," Marcie said, in tears. "What's wrong with him, why is he so sick?"

"The hairball probably is filling up his stomach," I said, beginning not to believe myself one bit. "But let's take him in, okay?"

He did not fight as we put him in his cage. That was bad. He did not yowl as we went to the vet's. That was worse. When he did not hiss at the vet tech, we feared the worst.

We were told to leave him there, they would call us. When they did, the vet tech asked us to come get him, the doctor was done with him.

We rushed over and waited, holding hands and nervous that they had said so little.

Dr. Mason, our new Normal Heights vet, sat down. "I am not sure how to tell you this, so I will just say it. Seamus has a collapsed lung with a mass on it, according to his X-rays. I think he may have cancer."

We were devastated.

"What can we do?" I asked.

"Well, I am not sure what you can do," she said, looking at us. "But if you want a better look at him and a diagnosis for certain, we can bipsy him or we can get an ultrasound of his lung done.

We nodded, but the doctor shook her head. "You may want to put him down, it's not cheap to get an ultrasound for an animal at all. Chemotherapy for him would be hell, and may not be possible. Once he got his wind today, he started lunging in his cage at us. He would have to be sedated for it, which he is a little old for..."

Marcie squeezed my hand and looked at me, about to fall apart. I tucked her head into my chest softly and kissed her hair as tears flowed, then croaked out, "Please make sure he can't be helped. He is the best friend we have, and we need to be sure."

She nodded. "You'll need to have $600."

I nodded back, then asked, "What is the chance he has something else?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to tell, because his lung is collapsed. If it's asthma, we may get the lung back. If it's cancer, then it's almost all cancerous now."

Marcie was wracked with a sob and curled into me, clutching my shirt. I stroked her back and breathed her hair in, her scent. Dr. Mason mumbled about getting Seamus back to us now and left, uncomfortable. I noted it.

I took him out of his cage and he crawled into my lap and went limp. He was almost damp from stress. I kept him in my lap all the way home.

We slept together on the couch and we fell asleep, exhausted with grief and fear, in the middle of the cold and clutching his soft fur and each others' hands in it.

Looking for you

Looking For You

Just half a year ago today,
You broke your bonds and slipped away.
I nearly went with you that night,
Sometimes I hope that I still might.

Five months ago I was alone,
Left here without you, on my own.
You'd come to see when I'd dream,
To comfort me, or so it'd seem.

Four months ago I traveled North
to see two friends your life brought forth.
Among your angels, I did start
to see a future for my heart.

Three months ago I knew despair.
I dreamed but did not feel you there.
Then back you came to see me through,
and give my soul a taste of you.

Two months ago I looked for light,
But you had gone beyond my sight.
And so, with heart and dreams bereft,
I wondered if your spirit left.

One month ago you came to me.
You said you were not sad, but free.
Insisting that you felt my love,
but soon would be too far above.

This month I waited for your voice,
your touch, your taste, your scent so choice.
I caught them in the morning's mist
A fog around me, coolness kissed.

Today I look around and live,
and try to share what I can give.
Sometimes I do and feel your soul,
and for a moment, I am whole.

But half a year ago today,
You broke your bonds and slipped away.
And one of those was in my heart,
It's simply called "the missing part."

Marcie's kitty heartaches

Seamus is not in the best of health, but he is doing well enough. It was not always so, and Marcie and I both had serious scares over his condition. The first once came early on.

"Frank! FRANK!" she screamed from the passage between the buildings. "Frank, please come help me! Seamus is under the main house and his paw is huge. I think he's hurt!"

Seamus was just out of reach under the house, avoiding us because he knew it was a no-no. He walked, limping on his left front paw, then holding it up.

It looked like he was wearing a big pink catcher's mitt with claws. He wandered just close enough that I was able to catch him and drag him out, complaining in low growls. Marcie snatched him away immediately.

"Oh, my god, he got bitten by something," she said. "Look at how red his little paw is. I can see his skin it's so swollen."

I had seen this before, at the egg ranch my grandfather owned in Campo. Cats would get bitten by spiders, stung by bees, even bitten by rattlesnakes. Whatever part was hit, if they lived, would swell up.

But this looked bad, and I knew we had everything from wasps to widows under the rickety old house in front of us. We also had no idea what his allergies were yet.

"God, this is why you should have let me buy a car," I said. "How are we going to get him to a vet, honey?"

Marcie looked up at me and handed Seamus, who was either enjoying the attention and had begun to relax, or was falling more ill as we spoke. He was almost limp and only murmured as I took him.

"I'll call my mom, she can come pick me up," she said. "You'll have to help me get him in his little cardboard carrier then hide until we leave."

I was still hiding my presence from Marcie's parents. I nodded. I put Seamus in the house while she made the call. It was Saturday. The ritual day-long shopping had already begun.

"Honey, what are we going to do?" she asked.

I looked at Seamus closely, searching for a stinger or bite mark."He seems fine," I said.

Just then, he chose to retch and vomit his entire breakfast onto my arm. Marcie covered her mouth as i went to get a towel. Seamus sat, his eyes looking a little glazed.

"Oh my god, he's going to die," she said. "Honey, should we ask the neighbors?"

I nodded, more worried about her than the cat. I knocked on doors, checking with the neighbors one by one. No one was home.

I was about to give up and call cab we could ill afford when an unlikely savior arrived. Andy, a cheerful gay man whose late-night romps in the apartment above us sounded more like fights than anything else, was walking down the stairs.

"Oh, god, pleeease," he said. "I'll give you two a ride, just stop pounding on everyone's doors and making such a fuss!"

And he did. Marcie clutched Seamus in her arms the whole way, I later learned, refusing to let me take him in the carrier and piling into the little Miata before I could offer to go.

She came home an hour later, having been dismissed from the veterinary hospital with a cursory exam, a shot of benadryl and a $50 bill from Dr. Dixon, which included a cardboard carrier.

"Oh, my god, what a production," Andy said. "It's a bee sting or a spider bite, and he'll be fine, the doctor said. Stop already, Marcie."

"I know, I know, I know," she said, carrying Seamus in her arms, squeezed against her until his little cries were muffled by her envelopment.

Andy followed behind, and I thanked him.

"Oh, you're welcome, but next time let's call the vet first so we can be calm and let our neighbor's guests sleep in peace, okay?" he said.

I nodded and Marcie brushed past wordlessly. Marcie was still upset and fawned over Seamus the whole night.

When the next day came and the swelling was gone, she alternated between castigating him and scooping him up in her arms near tears.

It was to be the mildest scare and only the first of a few heartaches for both of us.

A tough time to wed (Pt. 6)

We were on our way to the land of married respectability in the week before the wedding. Everything was arranged and we were set to travel. Our suite at the Monte Carlo was reserved, plans for entertainment firmed up and our flight was reserved. One last thing before we left was a late lunch the day before our departure.

We chose Indian. We'll call the restaurant "Bombay Barf," as its choice would turn out to be a bad one for me.

Marcie enjoyed a curry dish while I had chicken tandoori. Unfortunately, I took a big bite of the chicken before I realized that it was lmost wholly uncooked in its center. If you have ever had frozen chicken that is tossed into the oven unthawed, then you know the sensation. I tasted cooked goodness then squishy, almost gelatinous inner meat.

I spit it out and sent it back. I was served, some 15 minutes later, a fully cooked tandoori by a scowling and curt subcontinental who seemed to think I was putting him out by demanding properly prepared food. Never mind. I left it on the plate and Marcie accepted that.

The damage had been done.

In the morning, I woke feeling slightly woozy and a little tired. I also had an urgent need. I ended up spending a painful half hour  there. I will spare you the details. Nausea was not alone in keeping me company, though. I wanted to stay a bit longer, but was informed that might lead to some worse pain.

"Honey, I am sorry you feel so sick, but you'll feel better when it's all over with and we're married," Marcie said through the door.

"Great!" I thought. She believes I am faking illness or suffering from nerves.

As if to test me, Marcie proceeded to cook a hearty, massive breakfast for us, the last thing I wanted at that point. I poked at my eggs, ate my toast and drank my orange juice, and tried to avoid looking at the bacon, whose usual greasy, salty goodness was vaguely, nauseatingly repellent to me. She noticed.

"Frank," she said, clattering her fork. "Would you eat your goddamn food? I swear, you are being such a baby. This is what you wanted, too, right? Or were you just trying to appease me? No, tell me so I don't get my hopes up and end up left at the altar, because I swear that will be the end for us."

I looked up at her and I croaked, "Honey, I am just sick. I think the chicken did it. I don't want to cancel our wedding, I just don't feel well. I'll be fine, though."

"Yeah, the chicken did it," she said, narrowing her eyes and tapping her fork angrily on the plate. "You only had one bite of that fucking chicken, I watched you, so don't tell me you were poisoned from that little bit

But my temperature climbed, reaching 102 that afternoon as I finished packing. I tried a cool shower, adding a good half hour to my considerable time in the facilities for the day. No dice. Later, I even had to invade and take over the kennel's bathroom when we dropped Seamus off, and spent a good 15 minutes there. Things were getting worse.

"Stop it," Marcie said under her breath, her ferocious glare and tight lips showing her at the end of her rope with me. "You need to buck up and be my man, not wimp out and play sick. And if you are sick, you need to try to get it under control."

So it went. Eventually, she realized this was not playing sick. But by that time, we were in the air. She was pleased to be on the way and overwhelmed with giddiness, and that change in her attitude opened her eyes. Maybe I was sick, after all.

As she looked over at me on the plane, she leaned in and whispered, "Oh, honey, you are sweating so much," she said. "Are you okay?"

I squeezed her hand and was more relieved that she realized I was not faking my illness than concerned with telling her I was sick again.

"I'll be okay, honey," I whispered. "I think the sweat is because my body is fighting it off."

The second we were in the terminal, I went into the bathroom. I took time to, after my more urgent need, wash my face and make myself presentable. I was very pale and remained so for the whole trip, as the wedding video shows. But when I came out, she took my hand and squeezed it, kissed me and leaned into my chest, and I knew she understood how sick I was.

We had a wonderful night despite my illness, and gambled a bit to boot. We came out $200 ahead, but I demurred on visiting the steak house we had planned to. She understood. But my illness would interfere with other activities, which her little notes remind me of. Those, I will post tomorrow.

F.

Home sick

So, I am home sick AGAIN. I started coughing late last night and the hacking just did not stop. I slept three hours and woke with my voice going out, almost late for work, with a massive headache, the pain of which went from my sinuses to the back of my neck. I hate the polluted, Santa Ana-blasted Southern California deathscape we call the environment, I really do.

I seem to have dried out, but I wake up every morning clogged, drain by noon, then just cough and try to stay hydrated. That is hard to do at a school district office where the heat is on even if the building is warm enough for reasonable people. It just dries me out.

I hope I wake up in passable form tomorrow. We are supposed teach a grant writing class at a school. I love that part of my job, actually. We'll see.

This is not today's post, but yesterday's needs a makeup, so I will post later (maybe twice). I'm a tired, sleepy guy right now. I wish Marcie was here to take care of me. She was always good at making the sympathetic noises I needed to hear when I was ill, whether asked to or not.

*Sigh* *COUGH!*

The hiatus is over

So much for a break.

I am still sick. I apparently ate some rye that had developed penicillium mold of a type that caused an allergic reaction. I have been fevered but not infectious, and my workload has been heavy. I am down sick, but not out, and I am yet productive.

Yes, that's right. I went to work sick (mostly to make sure a couple of projects did not founder), though I took Tuesday to rest.

The hiatus is over because I am being bombarded by Marcie moment dreams. One of those I have shared with a friend who had a cameo in it and should share with another who was also in the dream. If they are okay with it, I will post that one, though it was a fever dream, and a very odd one at that. I remember it vividly.

The other dream concerns our secret signal, though I admit that dreaming the secret signal to indicate life after death is not exactly the strongest of proofs. Nonetheless, I had a dream in which Marcie sent our prearranged secret signal, and I will share it tonight.

Caveats in place, of course.

Until then, my break at work ends and I must go. Check in later...

F.

Possible hiatus

I am pretty ill at the moment and may need to take a break from blogging and life in general to deal with it. Then again, maybe being sick will inspire more nostalgia and the time to think will override the fevered state of my mind. We'll see.

Six Hours Later

It took six hours to get the oxygen concentrator. The medications came shortly after that. On one hand, the gurgling is gone. On the other, there is now a tube on Marcie's nose. It isn't breathing for her, but it's there.

No food for Marcie tonight, but she did have some orange juice with the new antibiotic, which was prescribed to fight off her new fever. It was prescribed as a 10-day course, but arrived with only 7 pills. I will try a late meal.

On the Outside

I spent the night turning Marcie from side to side to keep her from gurgling when she breathes. She has not been swallowing, so some of her food and soup may have gone down the wrong pipe. Later, I am going to make Marcie a little cocktail of honey and a drug we were prescribed to help cut down on the secretion of mucus into her throat.

Marcie is occasionally lucid, but so far has not taken in any water, or has tried but cannot swallow it. According to the hospice nurse, Marcie has two weeks, and that is "at the outside." I am doing what I can to make that not the case, but without some intake of water, death could come at the hands of an infection and a fever.

Thank you for all your thoughts and prayer of support. I share them when she is lucid, though all she can really do is nod in response.

The Vigil Begins

Marcie is not taking liquids of any kind now. She's awake, but she is refusing. I can't blame her. She has a lot of trouble breathing and has liquid in her chest, from what I hear. I do not believe Kaiser personnel who told me it was in her throat yesterday. She takes shallow, rapid, rattling, ragged breaths.

Keep her in your thoughts, if you are not dodging fires and sorting out evacuations or cancellations of them. Her mom, Barbara, is here and watching her with me.

I am able to administer some medication by crushing the drugs, suspending it in honey, then putting it under her tongue with a syringe. It was my own idea, and it works fairly well. Just a tip for anyone visiting from outside our circle of friends.

Jane leaves, Marcie slips

So, Jane is on her way back to San Francisco. Marcie is not doing so well, despite wonderful care from Jane and a delicious homemade soup she brought from her mom (which Marcie ate and kept down quite well). So she ate something very good for her today, but not much of it.

Her turn has been noticeable as it came on. Marcie could not talk very well, and it was hard to understand her. Now she is mostly indecipherable. She is also having hallucinations, has some tics in her face and is waving her hands.

I'll keep everyone posted.

A Good, if Busy, Day*

Visitors

Marcie had a good day, including two visits from her friends. Our former neighbor and close friend Tanya stopped by in the morning and did a wonderful job moving some of our neglected plants into bigger pots. She also helped make Marcie's view through the less staid by helping me arrange the plants. Marcie's childhood pal Jane also popped in to help out, watching over Marcie while I was out hunting down some cat food.

The *

No dinner for Marcie yet. I should have known when she was enthused about the offering (vegetables) that it was a trap. She was about ready to eat when she became nauseous. I'll keep trying. She's resting now and seems ok. Medicine for nausea is on the way.

A Rough Night

Hi, folks. Marcie is having some trouble keeping food down. I have tried to feed her today but I can only get enough down to give her her medication. She's lucid but nauseous, so I hope she will wake up hungry, and more stable, later (as she is napping right now).

Thankfully, I am home all day tomorrow, though I will be working my normal hours via telecommuting. I think she'll need me. F.