I wonder if there is something genetically wrong with me.  Besides the obvious, I mean!  I don’t have a Twitter account.  I don’t have a Facebook account.  I don’t even IM any more.  Looking around me, the vast majority of people I know - even those who aren’t all that computer-savvy - have at least a Facebook account.

So what’s wrong with me?

I really feel no need to communicate with anyone that way.  You’d think this blog is a similar device but it’s not.  First of all, there are only three people left in the world who ever read it, but that’s beside the point.  A blog is not interactive the way Facebook and Twitter and IM are.  It’s passive.  And so am I. 

Years ago, I took the Myers-Briggs test and scored, expectedly, extremely high in the “introverted” section.  (Please see name of this blog.) One of the characteristics of an introverted person is that they prefer time to think about responses before speaking.  Because of this, the highly introverted tend to work better via e-mails than phone calls or face-to-face.  That’s totally me!  The blog is the same way.  I get a chance to think and re-read before posting.  (Sometimes it doesn’t seem that way, as I tend to ramble on and on and on.)

I think that’s probably the crux of the matter.  But still.  Don’t you think I’d at least be curious about certain people?  I mean, I could be out there following Elizabeth Taylor or Ashton Kutcher on Twitter (they’re really the only two I’m sure have Twitter accounts ‘cause I read about it in the news).  But I really don’t seem to want to.  Curiosity is not a strong trait of mine.

And that’s the part I can’t figure out.  That’s what I’m curious about!

Well, we have been living the life of diabetic-cat-owners for almost a week.  I thought I’d write down my observations as one from the trenches.

Phoebe does not mind the insulin injections in the least.  She doesn’t even notice them, actually, and she comes running at the sound of the box coming out of the refrigerator.  She’s very excited for the 15 or 20 minutes we let the bottle sit out to come to room temperature.  And why is she so excited?

She gets treats!!  And lots of them!!  She hunkers down and eats her little treats and we just pop the insulin in her scruff and that’s the end of it.  This is WORLDS better than trying to pill her. 

In the morning, she gets some treats and her injection right before breakfast.  (At this point, we’re still only feeding her canned food once per day but she goes in for her first monitoring on Monday to see how her glucose level is.  Then she may be getting her canned food twice per day.  We’ll see.) In the evening, she gets some treats and her injection and then she gets brushed, which she now totally enjoys.

So we have a routine.  And it’s not too bad.  The worst part is making sure we are home at 6:30 to give her her evening injection.  We work until 5:00 and if we want to stop somewhere on the way home (or have to roam far and wide to get a 365 picture), it’s sometimes tough to make it home by 6:30.  But we’re doing well so far.

Life goes on.  Phoebe seems happy.  Let’s hope it stays that way!

I sat in a meeting today and listened to two people repeat the phrase “cut and dry”.

It’s CUT AND DRIED, people!

CUT. AND. DRIED.

Sometimes certain things really bug me.

We’ve had quite the time of it lately with our elder cat, Phoebe.  She’s slowly deteriorating but nothing terminal yet.

Today, we got the word that she is diabetic.  So opens up a whole new world for Buzz and Empress!  We have never had an elderly cat before.  For one reason or another, our cats have all died fairly young and intact.  The closest we got was Phranc who developed a fibrosarcoma in 2003 and, once we got through all of that, lived another two years before suddenly developing a recurrence of cancer that quickly took her life.  In one day, actually, from symptoms to euthanasia.  She was almost 14.  So we never really nursed her through any of that, save for the post-op in 2003.

So, now we have an almost 16-year-old cat with newly developed diabetes.  We are going in on Tuesday to be taught how to inject her with insulin twice a day.  And she has to go on Atkins, basically.  (I knew I liked that diet!)

This, combined with keeping puppy training pads on the laundry room floor for her, is sure to keep things interesting.

Poor Phoebe! 

Poor us!