It's been three weeks now that I've had new kitty and things seem to be going very well. I did have embarrassingly bad stuff with the ferry on the way over, less said about that the better, but I did make it down to Gig Harbor and the instant I met her, I was in love. She had been sitting in the foster person's window well, and as soon as the door opened, she came running to meet me, and loves to head-butt and rub her face on yours. She's such a lovebug that it's bananas: she just wants to be next to you or on you or rubbing against you at all times.
So it was no question that she was coming home with me. The person who runs the group and the foster coordinator had said something funny to me--"I'll go get her from the prison and we should be back in plenty of time"-- and I thought maybe that was their inside joke about a shelter with cages or something. But as I was driving down, I went past a sign that said "Women's Correctional Facility Purdy" and multiple signs saying "Do not pick up hitchhikers." I still didn't quite put two and two together but at the foster's house, she mentioned the prison again, and at my confusion, she finally said "Oh, did she not tell you about the prison program?" Apparently this rescue group has connections with one of those prison programs where they train dogs (most commonly) or work with cats to make them adoptable (in this case, they work with feral kittens and feral adults who show interest in being with humans, as well as other cats that are going to be adopted).
The first time I saw one of these programs was on Pitbulls and Parolees, and I thought it was so cool--the inmates learn really valuable skills that can translate to the post-prison world, and they get to take care of another being that depends on them. Most of these programs have waiting lists, because everyone wants to be part of them. The inmate who cared for Hazel (what I have named her) gave me a great list of things she likes, her behaviors, etc. I've always thought these programs are so cool and I've been joking that Hazel was in prison before she came here, but it's the first time I've had direct experience.
She settled in really fast. She's just really even tempered, and she loooves to chase her tail, anywhere, any time. (She even chased her tail inside a paper bag that I was putting clothing to donate to the food bank's clothes line and fortunately didn't destroy the clothes, but did destroy the paper bag.) She desperately wants to go outside, so I have to figure out some kind of catio situation--she escaped the other day and immediately beelined under the deck, so this needs to be addressed. But she was a perfect angel on the drive home, not even making a peep on the road or on the ferry, which is loud and stinky.
She has the tiniest, sweetest meow, and dainty little feet like Olive's, but they are deadly when she puts them on like my femoral artery and it reminds me a lot of my dear miss Ollie. At night, she wants to be so right up on my head that she does this Alien face-hugger thing and it's this horrible battle of wills because I cannot breathe but she just tries over and over and I have to keep pushing her away. I do love her, but she has definite opinions. She is a bit of a chonk, but I think I can get her weight down a little. And she had all but her bottom canine teeth removed because of dental disease, but she can still bite, as my nose can attest. Her finickiness with food is slightly annoying, though.
( Pics of Hazel )Yikes, can someone tell me how the hell to make those pictures normal size??
In other news, I had chemo last week and Dr. Li came in with "big news": the fuckers who bought the Polyclinic, where I have been going my whole adult life and which had a great reputation around the area for like 80 years, are shutting down his department. So no more hematology oncology. So he has two months to find placements for all his hundreds of patients, and there are limited spots where those of us in active treatment can really find this type of care. It's not that you can't go to a general oncologist, but they don't know the ins and outs of this very weird rare cancer, and blood cancers have their own special needs. I really don't want to go to Fred Hutch, despite it being a premier cancer center, for various reasons, so he's going to try to send me to the system I had radiation at and still see a doctor as well as a physical therapist at, but I don't know how long they're going to maintain their identity, since they "merged" with a large Catholic hospital system a few years back (I have very strong feelings about women's health at Catholic hospitals and am really angry that multiple Catholic systems are now running most of the hospitals here). I have no idea what to expect, if I'll get another horrible oncologist like the one I had at the beginning, or what. I'm filled with anxiety.
Because he's a great doc, though, he was careful to go through the calendar and my treatment schedule to make sure my prescription for pomalyst, the thalidomide analog that basically keeps me alive, will get phoned in before shuttering the office so my treatment isn't interrupted (though I have no idea how this whole thing will work and how soon I would be able to see my new doctor). So as of July 31, he's in early retirement (as is his great receptionist), and I will have to get used to a new normal somewhere else that I know nothing about.
Man, I'm so glad i have a cat with all this happening. I would hate to not have something to snuggle (her fur is SO SOFT). I still miss Blues like mad, and I still cry a lot about him, but it helps so much to be able to kiss a kitty head.
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awesomeers
