making plans

When I was 13, after months of testing and seeing more of the inside of hospitals I ever wanted to see in my lifetime, I was diagnosed with IBS (which does not stand for International Breakdancing Society, which would be way more awesome). Even though I was in excruciating pain, my doctor treated the diagnosis as if it was what he first suspected: that I was faking being sick. The only reason he had even consented to any tests in the first place is because my father has Crohns disease, which hasn't proven to be hereditary but is likely to be- my father's father and my father's uncle both have the disease as well. So, since it wasn't the more serious diseases dealing with your digestive system, my doctor decided to not give me any sort of treatment plan aside from "take an advil". Great advice.

When I was in my late teens, early twenties, I had another bad flare up. New doctor, but same school of medicine apparently. I went back to the hospital for a ridiculous series of tests, followed up with a colonoscopy in which I almost died (the nurse let air get into the needle, my heart almost stopped, and my doctor told me it wasn't a big deal...yeah. ) and again, it wasn't Crohns, "just" IBS, so get over yourself and get back to work.

So, for the better part of my life, I've just dealt with the pain and need to always be close to a bathroom. I love road trips but only take them if I know we'll be close to a bathroom of some sort. I won't go camping or anything in the out of doors for longer than an hour and only if I don't eat or drink anything hours before. Even then I've had ridiculously close calls. I never feel good, but some days are better then others.

After we moved to Massachusetts, I had another really bad flare up. Went through all the tests again (all to ensure it wasn't the dreaded Crohns, but at this point in my life if I was going to develop Crohns, it would have shown up by now. Most people are diagnosed by late teens, early twenties, and I have had more tests then anyone needs for that to show up.) but the doctor went one step further and had me tested for Cealiacs. Negative, but at least she started looking beyond Crohns for the source of my pain.

Again, at the end of the testing, she came back with the same answer. IBS- but instead of shunting me out the door, she put me on painkillers and told me to find ways to de-stress and even got me in touch with a clinical study out of one of the medical colleges in Boston. The painkillers didn't work, but a few months later I found out about my wheat allergy. Cutting wheat out of my diet seemed to help- the pain remained but it wasn't as debilitating as it had been.

Cut to last week. Work has been more stressful than usual- I received an unpaid 'promotion' in February, which I'm pretty sure is just my boss's way of seeing how quickly he can get me to lose it daily. The later it is in the week, the earlier I break down. I leave work in tears or shaking in anger most days. My boss fought to create the position (after I indicated I wanted to leave the department and move to working as a product specialist in tech support), and once he got permission to create lead positions, he's done everything he can to work against us (the leads). It's been a frustrating, exhausting couple of months. The only person I could go to for help is in China most of the year now, and is scheduled with all day meetings the rare weeks he's back in the country.

Most nights I don't sleep more than 4 hours a night because my anxiety is out of control. I know all of this, yet I was taken by surprise last week when I was down for the count in crazy amounts of pain- pain so strong I couldn't go to work, and I always go to work. Blizzards, floods, no power, flu, laryngitis, fevers, it doesn't matter. I'm always there.

I had made Thai curry the night before with a mix I found at the store. I normally don't like Thai curry (coconut milk is of the devil) but figured almond milk would be a tasty alternative. The mix ended up being too salty for either of us to eat, so I just ate copious amounts of rice...and was sick the whole night through. I thought it was food poisoning at first- but Anton didn't get sick at all. By 6, when I hadn't slept a wink, I called out, wrapped myself in a heating pad and laid in the fetal position most of the day. Nothing helped- Pepto, Mylanta, ginger...nothing. I went back to work on Friday and by Sunday I was mostly feeling better.

Wednesday came around and I almost left work, the pain had gotten to ridiculous portions again. By Friday, Anton demanded I go to the ER. But I am Midwestern, and pain is no reason for an ER visit, so I consented to go to the Urgent Care instead.

The rotation doctor did a quick exam then literally threw his hands up and went "I don't have a good plan for you." Well, thanks for being honest.

So, he told me to reduce my stress (which at this point would mean never leaving my apartment. I don't think my work will pay me not to come in.) and doubled the dose on my pain killers. After I told him the don't work, upped the frequency I should take them as well. I left, dejected- I've been on these pills for two years and they've never helped, and advise to "de-stress" is unhelpful and annoying.

But, after my first higher dose pill, I promptly fell asleep. I've spent most of the weekend in kind of a limbo- the pain is still there, but most of the edge is off so I can actually move and do things and eat (the pain is usually so bad after eating that eating is, for many other reasons as well, my least favorite things to do). I'm going to make an appointment with my regular doctor on Monday, but I'm not confident if she's going to be able to help. The next step from here is to go on an anti-anxiety pill, but I really hate the idea of being medicated just so I can work.

I'm trying to explore my options. I've looked for other jobs, but there isn't much and I don't want to get stuck in the same cycle I'm in. I could tell my boss I need to step back from the responsibilities, but I don't think that would help- the problem is, even if I take a step down,those responsibilities are still mine AND it's the only hope I have for a raise in the near future. But in two weeks I've missed three days of work because of pain related with IBS and the pain is a result from stress and no amount of pills is going to help me lose the stress.

Eowyn, Nayowyn.

Sometimes I find myself worrying about what would happen to my cats should anything happen to myself and Anton. They're all a little weird and have their own special needs and nuances. Chester is clingy and distrusting of anyone but the two of us. Kira is needy and delicate (or so she'd have you believe. Annabelle is straight up crazy and particular, almost to the point of OCD, and Boyd is his own special brand of nut. If any of them was going to do well in another home, it would be Eowyn. She is gregarious- she loves and adores everyone she meets, from friends and family to maintenance or the cable guy. The others I got while they were still young enough to have their age counted in weeks, bu she was almost twice that age when I brought her home. She definitely doesn't view me as a surrogate parent like Boyd and Chester, who were both bottle fed by me.

The spring after Taran died, a coworker mentioned finding a stray gray kitten and thinking it belonged with me. I told her no thanks- three cats was more than enough. A few weeks went by and I stopped at her house after work, just to hang out, and her husband met me in the driveway, a little gray bundle in his arms. I said I'd see. We went in, and she sat next to me the entire night. She was not even vaguely interested in exploring their house or their cats. I left with her, and she sat, very sweetly, on the car seat next to me on the short drive home.

I made a vet appointment, locked her in the spare room, and fell asleep on the couch. I woke up later to find that Boyd had expressed his outrage in the only way he knew how- he managed to get out the window, onto the balcony and out into the world. 

Employing my mom and her husband, we looked all day for that orange brat, finally finding him under a car the next building over. Apparently he decided he'd come back home, confused which building and sat outside the doors on the second story, crying his head of before hiding under the dirty car. He's nothing if not melodramatic. 

Tangent: When our crackhead neighbors burnt us out of our apartment a year laer, the cats moved in with my mom and we went to stay at my grandparents home until our new apartment was ready. The day we went to pick up the cats and move, Boyd waltzed into the room, ignored us as we called to him, hopped up into the tv cabinet and wedged himself behind the cable box and refused to come out. 

After Boyd was safely home and washed, I went back and forth on whether I should keep his new cat. One the one hand, I had room and she needed a home. On the other, none of my other cats seemed to like her at all. But she was sweet and mousy and meeped instead of meowed...

When we picked up the cats at my mom's, and Boyd was such a jerk, Mom happily handed over Boyd, Kira and Annabelle, but offered to keep Eowyn. She wouldn't leave them alone the few weeks she stayed there. She has this annoying habit of poking you and meeping until you pay attention to her, and they ate it up. A few summers ago when Anton's parents stayed with us, she was the same way. She absolutely smothered them (these people who do not like cats, especially not in the house)- she slept in the bed with them, sat on the table while they drank their morning coffee, sat on their laps while they watched tv...

The last week they stayed with us- probably the last night if I'm remembering correctly, Chester, who hid almost the entire time they were with us, cautiously climbed onto the couch, crept onto my father-in-law's lap, sat there, very still, for less then a minute, then went and hid again. Night and day, those two.

But Eowyn is not my cat. She tolerates me, somewhat. She usually only wants my attention if Anton isn't home. She bully's Kira and Annabelle- she even drove Annabelle to destroy our carpet in our last apartment because she wouldn't allow Belle into the bathroom where the litter boxes were. 

She is, for all intents, Anton's cat. When he first moved in with me, she was still in the hyperactive and frisky stage of kittenhood, and the caricature of a cat: destroying furniture, climbing the drapes, eating lasagna... He hated her. But, everyday he was home alone she sat next to him, wouldn't leave his side. As she got older and calmed down he decided cats weren't that bad. Even now he says if we split, he'd keep her and leave the rest for me. 

Not that I don't love that cat. I do. Around Christmas I found a bump on her side. I tried not to panic- the cats are always giving each other nips and knocks. A month later, it was still there. Thankfully, it turned out to be nothing but she still had me up nights worrying about her. Right now, she's got our whole household topsy turvy because Ms. Thang still thinks she lives on the streets and has to eat ALL THE FOOD. When Chester was still young, she was able to keep the weight off because he tormented her, but now both of them are a wee bit chunky. So, now, the cats are on a feeding schedule which my older cats absolutely hate. They've always free fed and it's always been fine. Now, Boyd wakes me up at 5 in the morning to remind me that he has not eaten since 8 the night before. It's so. Much. Fun. 

But I'd like to keep them all around as long as possible, so if I get less sleep so she can continue to pester us for the next decade or two, so be it. 

Jealous of normal people

I need to hurry up and find a way to be a brilliant author and/or Mega Millions winner so I can have absolute control over my workspace.

It's not uncommon for me to have mild allergic reactions at work- I work with people who like to eat, and eat a lot.And eat everywhere. And are terrible at cleaning up after themselves. I'd say I get hives at least once a week from either something in the air or food that people don't clean off surfaces. It's never that bad, and I just go on with my itchy day.

This week, we had a crap ton of snow, again, and since the people I work with are too retarded to go "oh, it's going to snow a shit ton tomorrow, I should probably take a lunch since eating out won't be an option." EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. the company orders food for these idiots to eat.  Every time, it's pizza. And every time, I have a mild allergic reaction. I don't eat the food.I don't touch the food. But my dairy allergy is severe enough that the smell (which is it's ickly little proteins floating in the air, and it's the ickle little proteins I'm allergic to) can cause a reaction. I have to take the long way to the veg section at Whole Foods because their open air cheese area has been known to make me develop hives in my throat.  It's just crap- if I eat something knowingly, that's my own damn fault, but to not be able to be in a building because it sets my allergies off is just plain stupid.

So. Tuesday, they order pizza. I had a mild reaction (just hives on my arms) itchy, but meh. Wednesday, they order pizza again. And this time, I broke out in hives from my scalp to my feet. My eyes itched, my lips itched. Everywhere fucking itched. I thought about taking an antihistmine, but I didn't want to drive while doped, as Benadryl tends to make me sleep, and sleep hard. 

Then my breathing got worse. I started to wheeze. My throat got tight and my chest became swollen (usually happens when I have a bad asthma attack) and then the hives in my mouth and throat turned up. Fucking. Party. I wheezed my way over to my boss and asked to leave, and he asked if someone should take me to the hospital instead. 

Had I been thinking clearly, I would have just taken the antishistamine at the first fucking sign and had Anton come get me, but nooooo. I waited until 3 hours after the first little hive broke out, and narrowly avoided going to the hospital when it took the second Benadryl to get my breathing some what normal.

I spent most of my night itching and wheezing, and chugging on Throw Back Pepsi because Anton was too nervous to let me sleep. Using my handy Epi pen would have probably done the trick, but it would have meant hours at the ER and as I was already in a state of panic, spending time in a place people go to die was at the bottom of my list. I ran out of Benadryl last night, so early this morning Anton drove me to CVS and stocked up on it, along with Cortizone cream and Dramamine (aside from only working in four hour shifts, Benadryl makes me insanely nauseated and dizzy). I called out of work and slept most of the day. 

I'm feeling mostly better now- my chest is still swollen and I'm still a bit itchy on my arms, but compared to yesterday, I'm fine. 

What I'm mainly struggling with is how to make sure this doesn't happen again. I don't think I can get away with banning dairy from the workplace like people have been able to ban fragrances, but it's not right that I should have to put my health at risk because people eat it. I'm taking my test Epipen to work tomorrow for people to practice on, should something like that happen again, but it's not enough. I lost 10 hours of vacation time because people are too stupid to prepare their own lunches. Had I waited any longer to take my first Benadryl, I would have had no choice but to go to the ER. I have no idea what to do to keep this from happening again that doesn't alienate people or hinder their right to eat what they want. 

Vegan, Gluten Free curry roux

So. I love Japanese style curry. I could eat it every day, all day. We used to buy a roux by S&B, and both Anton and I could polish off a package alone. That's like, 2 family portions.

After I was diagnosed with a wheat allergy, curry had to go along with bread and other things that taste good. Jamie was a very sad panda.

While I haven't found a decent vegan gluten free bread yet (SERIOUSLY WHY IS IT SO HARD), I have managed to perfect a gluten free curry that is oh, so good. A friend on Facebook asked for the recipe tonight, and since I had to type it up, I thought I may as well share this deliciousness with you lovely people as well. You are welcome.

Curry 

2 Tbs butter o' your choice

2 Tbs flour (I use brown rice, adds a nice flavor)

3 Tbs brown sugar

1 tsp grated ginger*

1 tsp grated garlic*

1 onion, thinly sliced

2 Tbs curry powder

2 C. broth (more if you like your curry thinner)

1/2 tsp garam masala (if you don't have any, substitute with chili and red pepper flakes)

Salt to taste

*if you use fresh ginger/garlic, cook with the onion. If you use the powder equivalent, add in with curry powder

Saute onions on low heat until brown

Meanwhile, heat butter until melted, then add in flour. Saute on low. Add curry powder. Slowly add in broth- mix well, and take your time so the curry gets thick before each addition of broth.  Simmer until desired thickness, add onions. 

If you like your curry with vegetables (potatoes, peppers, corn, whateves) in a more stew like fashion, double the recipe above and add the vegetables when you add the onion, and cook another 20 minutes. 

Serve it with rice or quinoa, or just eat it straight out of the pan. I like mine with rice and edamame. 

Oh My God.

So, It's Christmas! I tried, but never really got into the Christmas spirit this year. I think it was because we did absolutely nothing with family (or friends, I guess), and as Anton isn't big on celebrations, everything was just....meh.

I don't want to turn this into whine fest, so! I have absolutely no idea why I'm here. We're watching one of Anton's presents (season 2 of the Clone Wars) and as a birthday present to him, I'm doing my best not to criticize it. I like Star Wars proper, but I don't like the prequals at all. The series gets on my nerves, but. Birthday present.

I think I may have mentioned this a hundred years ago or so, but I think I have ADD- I had all the classic symptoms that girls present as kids, and I certainly have all the adult symptoms. Anton wants me to see a doctor to see if there's non-medicated way to treat it, but me sitting down, finding a doctor that treats adult ADD and takes my insurance and make an appointment with them is the same as tasking me to organize an expedition to the moon.

I've been trying to type up my NaNoWriMo story, but it's been slow going. Writing by hand is comparatively easy. I can change position and location quickly and easily. Typing in the same posture for hours is torture, especially considering I spend 8+ hours a day at work doing a similar thing. But I am going to finish before the end of the year-ish, so I can spend the early part of 2011 editing, re-editing and editing one more time, and seeing where I want to go with it from there. And starting a few more stories, too. My writing may be crap, but in it's rough form is still better than Twilight (hi, hubris!), so there's no point in being modest. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway. I know -these- posts are rambling and hard to follow sometimes (again, ADD. Writing on the computer is dumb.), but my fiction writing isn't- and even if it isn't the next Harry Potter (which it isn't), it's still better than Twilight. (Or Ballad, for that matter.) The only difference is they were published and I haven't tried to be yet. So. Yeah.

In other news, I have a migraine and this show is NOT HELPING. Off to smother some cats.

You may already be a winner!

So. It's December 4th, in case you don't have access to a calendar. Which means this year's round of NaNoWriMo ended 4 days ago. And guess who was a winner for the first time in 8 attempts?

If you weren't bombarded by my tweets and Facebook statuses, let me inform you that I, Jamie, your fearless blogger, finally. fucking. finished. a NaNo. FINALLY.

I'm hoping this weekend I'll finishing typing up the second of two notebooks I used during November. I'll have ample time- the husband is out visiting family in Arizona until next Friday, so no distractions other then then ones I make up myself, and, you know, work.

I managed to distract myself pretty well today. After waking up far too early to take Anton to the airport, I came home, decided that even though I haven't had my hair cut in nearly two years, now would be a fancy time for one. Once that was done, I went and got nacho fixin's and some Seagrams 7, came home and crawled into bed with the cats. I've nearly watched the entire season of Firefly, read a book and managed not to do any house work other then cleaning the litterboxes. I'll get to that tomorrow, but tonight I'm just worried about talking myself through my first night alone.

Since we moved in together, we have spent all but 6 of the last 1850 nights together. That's just WEIRD. It's like I've forgotten how to sleep on my own, even though I've slept on my own a lot more then 1850 nights. Thank the universe for 5 obnoxious cats that haven't left my side all day. Mad props to the people who have spouses who travel for work. I think it would drive me batty.

Worse, however, is now I think Anton really, really, really wants to move to Arizona. Rampant racism and no water? SIGN. ME. UP.

Birthday time again

I'm finding this hard to write because half of today's subject won't stop insisting that I rub her belly.

Kira and Annabelle, the only cats I have that came from the same place, are 8 now. MY CAT'S ARE GETTING OLD WHICH DEPRESSES ME. I may have to console myself with a basket of kittens.

It's not a great secret that 2001-2002 was pretty much the worst time in my life. I've had depression (been dealing with depression? Suffered from depression?) since I was 8-9, and received zero treatment until I was 19. That's... too long. 2001 was just a cluster-fuck in regards to my mental health and treatment. By summer of 2002 I had been cycled through 9 or ten different medications, none of which had worked very well for me. I went from a huge manic phase (my freshman year of college I was taking any where from 18-22 credit hours a semester, working several jobs and sleeping maybe 2 hours a night, if at all.) to a major depressive one- the medication made it so I slept...all the time. I barely passed winter semester that year- and was on my third college. I was back to living with my mom and her new husband in Port Huron, a town where I knew no one but.my mom and her new husband, and one ex girlfriend of my cousin's. She and I had a sort of friendship...we hung out at school and we both worked at the same store, and would go watch my younger cousin's basketball games back in Brown City. When my mom finally was fed up with me, Erika was the only person I had to turn to. I moved in with her, which was probably one of the worst things I could have done- I would have been better off living under a bridge.

Except for the fact that Erika tried really hard to bond with me for a time. We worked different shifts- I worked midnights and she worked days, and in between we had school, so the rare occasions we were both home, I was usually asleep. Her stealing my clothes and various things didn't really help foster the the sister-friend relationship she wanted. Her last ditch effort was to get a pair of kittens from another co-worker because she knew I liked cats. Really awful reason to get pets (kind of like- our relationship is on the rocks, let's have a baby to save it!), especially considering she'd never had an actual pet before.

Her father was like a lot of other men where we grew up- a total douchenozzle who hunts for fun. Her parent's house is one fucked up house of death, with stuffed 'trophies' everywhere. Bears, deer, pheasants, fish, bobcat...it's creepy. When their barn cat population got 'out of control' he would use the cats as target practice. Erika wasn't a hunter, but she had her father's detachment to the pain of living creatures. She had no idea how to care for cats, and wasn't interested in learning. Why she thought getting kittens would be super fun, I have no idea.

Did I mention the kittens were a surprise? And that they hadn't been socialized at all?

Our co-worker, Melissa, wasn't supposed to have cats because her dad hated them, so her cat was kept in her room at all times. Except that time she escaped while she was in heat. The kittens were kept in secret in her room- under her bed. They never saw anyone but Melissa, and when they were finally big enough to eat solid food, she got rid of them. I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE AT ALL.

So, these two pathetic black fluffs of fur were brought into our apartment, and hid under the couch for the first few days. They started to come out if I was home alone, but not if Erika was. She was fed up with the litter box existing after a week, and the fact that the kittens wanted nothing to do with her, and demanded I keep them in my room...

Let me explain about my room. Erika was in a one bedroom apartment when I moved in with her...into her boiler room. There was just enough room for a twin bed and a tiny white rack where I kept my clothes, and that was it. The kittens didn't seem to mind, but I felt bad about it and only kept them in there when I was at work.

I don't know how to explain how messed up I was at this time. During the months I lived with Erika I was on Lithium, which took my barely manageable depression and turned it into my own personal hell. I had started cutting the year before and that behavior hadn't lessened at all. I was a walking suicidal zombie. I had to drop out of school (again!) because I had lost all my financial aid when my mom got married, and was stuck working midnights in a grocery store where another employee was stalking me. Everyone thought it was funny. I was terrified. I had a falling out with my father the year before, and now my mom didn't want me around either- the reasoning for both was for something I had no control over. My father said my depression was a sickness that was going to infect his other kids (and then chased my out of the house with a knife and almost ran me off the road with his truck. True pillar of sanity, that one.), and my mom thought depression was something I was making up for attention (which is funny, since I didn't want to be around anyone, let alone draw attention to myself.), and that I was sabotaging her marriage.The only one who understood at all was my grandmother, but I wasn't about to move in with her unless I could be stable.

All I had at that point was those two kittens- Kira and Annabelle. They didn't blame me for anything, they just gave me undivided and devoted attention and love. I was the center of their world, and I truly believe that without them I was probably weeks from committing suicide, if that. The self harming behavior gradually decreased.  I started being able to push aside suicidal thoughts because if anything happened to me, I was terrified at what their future would be with Erika. They were completely dependent on me, and I couldn't go dying just because it hurt so hard to be alive.

My life started to get better little by little after that. I managed to make some actual friends that weren't just being pseudo nice to me to try to get back with my sleazy cousin. My mom took pity on the kittens having to live in that crappy apartment, and took them home with her. A few weeks later, she did the same with me. I got off lithium and stopped taking anti-depressants all together- I realize that anti-depressants help thousands of people. I wasn't one of them. (The only time antidepressants did anything positive for me was the first two weeks I was on Zoloft- after I had to sit and watch my apartment building go up in flames with my cats inside. After those two weeks, though, it was useless and I had to come back off it. My brain hates pills.)

After getting a new job and finding a place of my own, I was planning on just taking Kira, as my mom was very insistent on keeping Annabelle. She also told me if I didn't take Boyd, he'd find himself on a farm far far away. (Everyone says they love that cat, but no one likes to live with him.) After my first night away, I received a call to come get Annabelle, too. She had spent the whole night sitting at the door, crying for her sister.

Belle and Kira may be sisters from the same litter, but the most they have in common is their color and their love of Boyd.

Belle and Boyd

Boyd and Kira

Kira sleeps more than any cat I have, and is the biggest bully, too. The first time she met my mom's bully cat, Mia, she clocked her in the face and walked away- mind, Kira was about 3 months old at that point, and Mia was full grown. She puts up with no shit from anyone, but loooooooovvvveesss baby animals. Loves them. There was a bunny in our apartment for a day and she spent the hole day just cleaning him. A few months after I moved out on my own, my mom came home from a trip to her sister's with two kittens. She kept one and brought the other one over- a little gray blue kitten who I named Taran (because if I was already one cat over the 2 cat limit for my apartment complex, what was one more, right?). All three of my cats took too him, but he was Kira's little baby. There was never an acclimation time like there has been introducing any of my other cats to each other, they all took to him right away. I might write more about him later. After he died (he was a very sickly kitten), Kira herself fell into a deep depression. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't drink, she just wandered the house looking for Taran and sleeping in his favorite spots. She lost half her body weight and it was a fight to keep her going (especially since the vet said there was nothing wrong with her). She pulled through, but she hasn't taken to any other animal she's been introduced to since.

Also, she loves water.

She's never been too impressed with other people, either. She used to sleep on the pillow next to me at night, but since Anton came along she won't get on the bed with him there- he apparently doesn't understand that's her side of the bed. She looks like a dragon, and while she's black, she has this warm chocolaty undercoat of brown fur that's almost red in the sunlight. She also has an obsession with water- the fresher, the better. She won't drink out of the same bowl as everyone else, so she gets her own bowl in the bedroom. Heaven help anyone who thinks they can go to bed without filling it.

She lay like that for hours.

Annabelle is a lover and a talker. She talks. A lot. I think her favorite time of the day is when everyone goes to bed- Boyd and Chester sleep in bed with us, and Kira and Eoywn sleep on either side of the bed. Annabelle takes that time to sing, in her fashion. Loudly. It's adorable. She certainly takes Boyd on a run for his money for goofiest cat, as well. When I get up in the morning, she's always found a new weird spot to sleep, and when I get home at night she's waiting by the balcony door asking to go out. Conversations usually go like this with her:

A: Out?
J: Not now.
A:....out?
J: Not now. Later.
A:...........now?
J:No, not now. Later.
A:..............................now?

I'm not one of those crazy people who think they hold conversations with their pets, really. I promise. But cats  have a wide range of vocalizations and can mimic human speech. Boyd and Annabelle love "out". They'll sit hopefully by the door and parrot it all day if they think there's a chance they'll be let out. Annabelle started with the "now" this summer. My mom's cat Mal will tell you "no."  Dogs, in comparison, have about 12 different vocalizations. Dogs are crap.

She's also crazy picky. She can't abide a mess. Just now, she came to sit next to me but the remote and my phone where there. Any of the other four would gladly kick the stuff out of their way as they jumped up, delighted to be inconveniencing me. Annabelle waits until you move it. She won't even step on rumpled covers on the bed- the blankets must be smooth or forget it. She's got several neurosis, and as long as you're prepared for them she's the best cat. If you try to change or fix her, forget it. She'll have none of it and will just make you miserable.

I love my girls. Happy birthday to the best little Halloween cats ever.