It was a team effort.

All four cats like the balcony, but Roary LOVES IT. He would live out there if he could. He (and Sunny) love hunting and eating bugs, and I’m sure if Roary were an outdoor cat he’d be doing some serious harm to the local bird population. He hasn’t tried to go over the balcony railing (yet), but he’s had a few close calls when chasing after a bug that goes over the side. It hasn’t helped my anxiety.

Unfortunately, Roary has somehow figured out how to get past the screen door on the balcony. Both kittens have been climbing the screens since they got here, no matter how hard we try to dissuade them. They’re both at least 9 months old now, but where Sunny is a squat little round potato, Roary is a Large Cat: he’s all wiry muscle and weighs around 13 pounds. He’s discovered that if he climbs to the top of the balcony screen, his weight causes the door to sink just enough for the track wheels to retract and the screen pops out enough for him to jump through the gap and escape. Since yesterday afternoon, we’ve done near-hourly head counts on the cats and four times now have found Roary (and once, his sister) outside on the balcony even though the door is mostly closed and the screen barely askew.

This morning, we did a test. The screen was shut completely tight and the door left ajar several inches. All cats inside and accounted for. Not long after I went upstairs to start work, I heard some scrambling noises and then suspicious silence so I went downstairs to check: Roary was on the balcony railing, digging in the flower box. He at least had the good sense to look guilty when I found him. Only issue (other than the fact that my cat is fucking Houdini): this time, he hadn’t popped the door out of the track. The screen was completely in place. How did he get outside?!

I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know what he wants. If he’s looking for bugs, I can tell him I don’t have any available. But what I do have are great deal of internet-connected devices, devices that will detect motion, devices that will record his every move. If he leaves the screen door alone, that’ll be the end of it. I will not scold him. I will not post the video of his escape. But if he doesn’t, I will yell at him, I will take pictures of him being a Very Bad Cat, and I will post them online for everyone to laugh at.

I will also shamelessly crib text from a movie because I am too annoyed to come up with my own words to convey the Liam Neeson-esque measures I am taking to deal with this.

There’s a camera set up on the floor with full view of the balcony door. A motion sensor has been set up just outside the door to alert me if it detects motion, which will be recorded on the camera. The video feed is streaming to my phone, and when I need to use my phone (or Roary is on my chair chewing my head so I know the coast is clear) I send the feed to my Alexa Echo. I WILL figure how he’s doing it, and then I WILL set up an elaborate and needlessly complicated solution to stop him (or at least watch).

Sasha’s been taking a series of pills for the last couple weeks in an attempt to combat the various things inhabiting her body. As soon as she started feeling better, her appetite was frankly hilarious – she would eat upwards of a can and a half of (very expensive, damnit) specialty food a day and STILL scream at us for more every time we went near the kitchen. She would even take her pills with hunger, because of these little things called Pill Pockets – a treat with a hole in it for you to drop the medicine into. Things were awesome. She was hungry, she loved the treats,  I didn’t have to struggle to get pills down her throat, and the vet was buying a new Ferrari every week.

Sasha’s appetite is finally slowing down, which means she isn’t eating everything in a 3 mile radius. Unfortunately, this is allowing her to be more picky with her food. She now KNOWS that there are pills inside the treats, and will do one of two annoying things: refuse the treat outright, or eat around the goddamn pill. She spits them out and looks at me as if to say “I know what you’re doing, and I will not play along”. Last night she would. not. take her medicine, and this morning – because I’m not running around trying to get to work on time; I have the day off – I tried to bribe her with her favourite treat: tuna. 1/4 can and 30 minutes later, the tuna plate is clean save for three little partially digested chunks – she spat them out. Fucker! I hand-fed her two of the pills wrapped in tuna, but the last one I had to bodily force into her mouth. I don’t think she’ll let me do that again – this is the cat that made the vets settle for less-than-ideal x-rays because she would not allow them to put her on her back. She’s like an angry old lady who hits people with a cane.

How the hell am I going to get all her medicine in her? She’s got at least two weeks of pills left, and I can’t spend half an hour each morning fighting with her. If she’s spitting out tuna, it’s going to take an act of frickin’ god to get those pills down. Any cat owners have any tricks for me short of heating the damn things up in a spoon and making her freebase them?

brat.

I think Sasha’s feeling better – she’s growling at the other cats again.

In a fit of wanting to be a children’s book author, I made Sasha her own page: it is here. Cans for Comments was such a success that now I’m doing Kisses for Komments – each comment left for Sasha will result in extra love and belly scratches for her. So, y’know, comment. Think of the children, by which I mean the cats.

Unfortunately, the vet is almost certain Sasha has cancer. Her blood work came back yesterday, and it’s not good. She wants Sasha to get an ultrasound immediately to find out how bad it is, but there’s a catch: an immediate ultrasound will cost $1500. On the other hand, if Sasha can wait two weeks, it’ll be $300 – there’s a traveling ultrasound technician who does vet visits, as opposed to taking her into the animal version of the Mayo Clinic. The thing keeping us in check – other than the incredible expense – is that we don’ t know how badly or how quickly she’s failing. I’m taking her in on Wednesday for more blood work, which should tell us if she’s getting rapidly worse or if it’s a slow decline. Once we know what she has and how bad it is .. well, I don’t know what comes next. How do you treat cancer in cats? I’m afraid of the answer.

Miranda and Jeanie surprised the hell out of Ed and I by setting up a donation page for Sasha – the link is at the bottom of Sasha’s page. I’m blown away by their generosity and the gesture itself – it’s very comforting to have all of you around, virtually or otherwise. Please don’t feel obligated to donate – every little bit helps and we absolutely appreciate it, but even just knowing people are thinking of Sasha is amazing.

My mom is here, and we’re going to do some wandering around town. I don’t know that Ed is aware he will be coming with us yet – he’s very comfortable watching HD sharks (much more scary than regular sharks), but he’s going to have to get off the couch soon. I don’t know why he’d be so reluctant – isn’t it the dream of every guy to take his mother in law and petulant wife to the busiest mall in the city on a rainy Saturday to wander around looking at shoes and purses all day? He should be thanking US!

Poor Ed.

I love my dead gay son evil cat:

evil, but that's okay

I hope I look that good at 98.

The old cat eats the kitten’s food.

The fat cat eats the old cat’s food.

The kitten eats the fat cat’s food.

CUT IT OUT.