Cat Chronicler Misnomered as "Beavis" By Own Mother

Thelonious's toys, with beloved cork third from right.

I know "misnomered" didn't used to be a word, but once upon a time I referred to Frank's dog "Poppy" as "Poggy" and he said people have died for lesser offenses than "misnomering" his dog, so now it is.

I ended up getting in a fight with my building manager after all, when I told her I might end up adopting two kittens instead of one cat. For one thing, the SPCA’s web page has an ad that says, “Take two—they’re small!” and the kitten professor had mentioned that they encourage people to adopt two, though they won’t twist your arm.

For another, when I showed an attorney at the Tenants Union my lease many months ago to make sure I’d be able to get another cat after Thelonious was gone, she pointed out that my lease allows for multiple cats.

Having two kittens sounded fun, but also like kind of a hassle. How would I take two cats to the vet? Would I need two litter boxes? I started doing some research and found out that one litter box is often fine for two cats and that many people take two cats to the vet without undue strain.

I also came upon several articles that said it is a myth that cats are solitary and aloof, and that often cats are happier with another cat for company and even stay healthier longer. Also, two kittens can occupy each other, while one kitten alone is more likely to get into mischief.

So it sounded great all around: it would certainly be good for me to have two cute kittens, it would double the number of souls rescued from homelessness, the cats would be happier, and it could potentially be less injurious to my landlords’ property.

Most important of all, I had thought up fantastic names for two little black girl cats: Hammett and Hetfield. “Hammy, time for dinner,” I pictured myself bellowing into the living room. I was looking forward to 19-year-old guys, if I ever talked to any, saying, “Cool names, dude.”

I sent the building manager an email letting her know of the possibility of dual cats, and hoped she would write back, “Well, if it’s in your lease, I guess that’s that.” But she got ticked off and said, “Doesn’t your lease say such-and-such?” I said it does, and that that’s the part that means I can have two cats. She said, after having inquired about the wording of my lease, that she didn’t want to argue about the wording of my lease, that I know how the landlords feel about cats, and that she felt like I was taking advantage of her having been nice about it.

I wrote back that while it’s fine that the landlords’ feelings have changed, they can’t expect people to go by their feelings as opposed to by the lease. Just in case, I called my mother to see if she thought I was being a butthead. She loyally said, “No, of course not—you’re Beavis.”

When she heard the whole story, she said I was being a butthead, though I eventually argued her into seeing it my way (I think). A key difference between my parents when I was a teenager was that one of them was wholly susceptible to logic and would say, “Well, you’re right. OK, I guess you can borrow the car and drive to Chicago,” whereas the one who now thinks I’m a butthead would say, “You win the argument, but you still can’t do it.”

Later my mother suggested trying to find out what the landlords’ actual concern is, in order to put their minds at ease, if possible, but by then I’d gotten an email from the building manager washing her hands of the whole affair and suggesting that if I plan to get two cats, I should notify the landlords myself.

Later I wondered if maybe the whole thing was simply to divert my mind temporarily from Thelonious's state of health. In many ways, she is doing fine. She is more or less active depending on the day, she is eating probably enough to keep going for now, and she seems to be finding some enjoyment in her life. She is getting thinner, but the main problem is the never-ending diarrhea.

I ran it by Dr. Press, who said the blood in her poop is “not concerning,” but he thinks the chances are pretty good that she has a significant cancer.

Along with Prednisone, she’s been taking a Chinese herb formula that is supposed to banish diarrhea, but if a patient reacts adversely to it, one tell-tale symptom is diarrhea, plus it’s homeopathic, so it works by providing a hair of the dog that causes the problem—in other words, something that causes diarrhea.

I don’t know if the herbs are prolonging the bowel problems, or if the herbs have improved her appetite, or if they’re doing nothing at all. I left a detailed message for Dr. Fong, but have yet to hear from him, so I stopped the herbs and will see if that seems to change things.

If the change is for the worse (and I wouldn’t say there’s that much leeway for experimentation here), I will put her back on them and increase the dose a tad, as had been mentioned.