Diary of a SubUrban Housewife

Alas

It is with great sadness that I announce that my girl Stacy was booted off the SI Swimsuit Model Competition. She made it to the final three so go her.

I will admit, that though she had a "look" she totally blew it in the clinch--the final photo shoot in Bora Bora.

So Stacy and her oversized mouth, undersized breasts, and enormous Midwest account will toddle back to South St. Paul. But do not worry for my girl. She will probably breeze through her half of the Twin Cities on her way directly to fame and fortune.

My new pick: Alicia. She's very smoky. Chuck has changed horses too and is now all about Shannon. We'll see.

Oh The Drama

Today marks the one week anniversary of my cat Gable dropping dead. And then being brought back to life. Did you know that the cost to resuscitate a cat is $198 US. Well, there's an interesting bit of feline trivia for you.

I sound so laissez-faire about the whole dead cat thing. But I can only because he is once again alive and back at Casa de Atkins terrorizing all in his wake.

It went a little something like this:

Last Saturday we were all out and about. I came home at about 4:30 and sat down to catch up what was on the TiVO while I had a few minutes of peace and quiet. Gable came into the family room to join me. I noticed he was breathing a bit oddly, but it sounded like he was in the beginning phases of coughing up a fur ball. I gave him some love and he went on his merry way

I mentioned this odd breathing thing to Chuck when he returned home.

At about 7:30 Chuck heard a funny sort of mew noise and went to investigate. Gable was lounging on the living room floor but still doing that weird semi-fur ball breathing thing. A brief discussion ensued about what was going on with him and whether or not a trip to the emergency vet (read $$$$$$$ vet) was warranted. We agreed it was, and off Chuck went with the Big Man.

Well, apparently it was just in the nick of time. The car ride was very stressful for Gable and by the time they arrived at the vet the breathing thing was even worse. The cat was whisked back to the emergency treatment area where he proceeded to “crash”. (Yes, I watch too much ER.)

What followed was three ours of tearful phone calls back and forth between Chuck at the vet and me at home as he kept me up to date on the status of the cat and his prognosis.

It seems that Gable had a pneumothorax: his lung had a hole in it so his chest cavity was filled with air and the lung had collapsed. This resulted in the cat breathing but not actually being able to fill his lungs with air and actually breathe. They inserted a chest tube and drained off the oxygen filling his chest cavity and had him in a kitty oxygen tent (you too can have your cat in an oxygen tent for a mere $110 per day).

While they had brought him back to life once now did we want a DNR on the cat?

We agreed that if Gable died again that would be the end of it. I wanted them to help him, but did not want him suffering any unnecessary indignities or pointless surgeries. He lived with grace, I would let him die the same way. And this, my friends, is a decision you never want to make.

Chuck got home about 10:30 or 11. Gable had been stabilized. They inserted a chest tube so that they could siphon off the oxygen as necessary. He was in the kitty ICU getting the best care possible. That night would be pivotal. We should call first thing in the morning to check on him.

When I called in the morning he had spend a peaceful night and though he was still in ICU, he was resting comfortably. I could come visit if I wanted to.

To make an already long story short, it all worked out in the end. We knew it was going to be fine when we went to visit him Tuesday night and he was back to his usual grouchy self and was hissing at the vet techs. It was just a matter of time before the lung healed up and we could bring him home.

Though we (and he, no doubt) had a very stressful week, Chuck and I brought him home Thursday morning. He’s got a pressure dressing around his middle because they had to stitch him up when they took out the chest tube. He’ll have that removed today.

And everything is once again good here at the ranch.

8 is the New 16

I often look at my daughter and wonder where the time has gone. There are days when I can see the hormone-filled evil spawn teenager lurking just around the corner (which is totally not fair since it seems like just yesterday she was a tiny baby).

But then I go to check on her at night and find this

and I know I still have a little more time.

Tilting at Windmills

I started the laundry rather late today and washed every single bra and sport bra I own (OK, maybe it just seems that way). Anyway, I started washing late and as the bras cannot go in the dryer they must be hung (for those of you less "in the know", bras should not go in the dryer, nor should anything with spandex or latex in it if you really need to know).

Anyway, I need a sport bra at 6:00 tomorrow morning and as it is cold and damp tonight, I could not be certain I would have a dry bra in the morning .

Well, they say that necessity is the mother of invention.

Yes, I'm all about the "air dry".

Manly Man

The discussion at dinner last night:

Chuck: I am going to get a kilt.
Beth: You're not Scottish.
C: Not a tartan kilt, just a plain one.
B: So you mean a skirt?
C: No, a kilt.
B: So a man skirt?
C: No, a kilt.
B. Yeah. A man skirt.

I swear I don't make this stuff up.

Pause for Thought

A story in Sunday's Los Angeles Times cited this an "oddly mild" flu season, "despite the fact that thousands of doses of the flu vaccine remain unused."

Then there's a story today (granted it's from E! Online News, but a story nonetheless) that Jacko couldn't make his trial today because he's, "being treated for a "very serious case of the flu," ". (OK, that whole quote the quote thing has my punctuationally challenged, but you get my point.)

It just makes me wonder is all.