Posted 8:20 PM by Michelle

After three phone calls, my vet finally called me back to tell me that Zooey doesn't have cancer, nor diabetes, nor a thyroid problem. His kidneys are failing. He is only elimintaing water, not any of the toxins, which is driving his thirst, which is why he is peeing on everything. All I can do is put him on prescription food that will manage his problem, but obviously, there is no cure. My brother Ian had a brilliant idea to keep him in a big cage, with pillows and a little litter box. It's the only way I can keep him, and when he becomes miserable, well. Then I'll know what to do. Meanwhile, just in the few hours I've been home, he's ruined... oh, it doesn't even bear going in to. He just can't control himself.

I rode my bike to work this morning for the first time this year. It was raining, and forty degrees, but I figured it was time to start. I got lost a couple of times and still made it in less than forty minutes. And I tell you, it makes all the difference. For the first time in ages I wasn't exhausted before the shift even began. I know there are favorable statistics about people who ride their bikes to work- more productive, better attitude- and I tell you they speak the truth. Of course, it doesn't hurt to sleep nine hours, either.

Posted 6:44 PM by Michelle

I don't know what to do. My old, sick cat is ruining my apartment. I just washed everything- rugs, pillows, floors- and I was cooking dinner and looked down to see a huge stain on one of the fresh rugs. He can't make it another three feet to the litter box. I've had this cat since I was a teenager. How can I possibly just get rid of him because he can't control his bladder? But how can I live like this? The thing is, I can't. I don't know what to do.

In other, more pleasant and less smelly news, I did a great audition today. And that is saying a lot, because my last few auditions have been just terrible. It was for a national tour of "Sound of Music", and although I'm not perfect for any role, I thought I'd try to look sixteen going on seventeen rather than thirty going on thirty-one. Funny how I always thought I'd have kids by the time I was thirty. Ha Ha! Anyway, I get to the Equity center before 8 AM, get my slot, wait forever, and then get called to sing. As I was waiting in line, the fact came out that the only person listening to the auditions was the assistant choreographer. Yeesh. But event the assistant choreographer has influence over the show, so I really wanted to do well. And I did. So much so that my song ended and I giggled. I was walking over to the accompanist to get my music and the auditor said, "Wow, what a beautiful song!" and I said "Yep. My mom wrote it." I smiled at their "really?!" and their baffled faces and said, "Yep!" and marched out the door. How many others will be singing a song that their mom wrote? Ha Ha!

I spent the rest of the day at a salon. What, you might ask, was a poor person like me doing at a salon? And I tell you this: Pink House movie reshoots are happening in the next couple of weeks and my character was quite blonde. Since, it's gone that sort of adult blonde, which translates to lightish brown if one does not spend some cash on highlights. Also, doing this audition today inspired me to take a little better care of my appearance. This can be hard for me, as most clothes that I think are cool or sexy can be described as "wicking", and if I had my druthers I'd always be wearing a sport top and pants that can get ruined by bike grease. But I'm going to dive back into the acting world. Plus I can write off every cent I put on my credit card today. Ha Ha!

Best news yet: warm weather is just around the bend. Next week? Over 70 degrees!!!! HA HA!!! Best news ever: maybe this war will be over soon.

Posted 6:59 PM by Michelle

I'm a little sickened by the latest American war coverage. I'm sickened because I, too, want to believe that the Iraquis are celebrating our arrival in Bagdad. But here's the thing: I don't believe it. Not for a second. If you look at CNN or the NY Times, most of the pictures show Iraquis waving their shirts and giving flowers to soldiers. And the pictures that they show of the injured Iraquis are placed and phrased in a way to make the reader think, "oh, look, how sad that that boy doesn't have a mother, father, brother OR legs anymore, but I'm sure he thinks it's alright cuz here's the Americans!" And our troops are also doing nothing to stop the armed raids of hospitals and stores happening all over the city. I just don't buy it. I'm sure there are some people somewhere who are happy that Saddam will no longer be gassing them, but at the same time, they are also probably terrified of what my government might do to their country. I'm just sickened by all of it. I feel powerless and ridiculous. I was in yoga class last night and all I could think was half a world away people are blowing each other up. And I'm sitting with my eyes closed, chanting, in a small pink room with twelve other women. I just can't figure all of this out.

The Roid Report? I am convinced that I am willing it away. It's not so bad today, which is really wonderful. The Zooey report? Well, he doesn't have much control over actually making it to the litter box, but no change since yesterday. Tomorrow I will call and get the results back from the lab. Tomorrow I also have an audition for a national tour of The Sound of Music. I really, truly hope I don't suck.

Posted 6:44 PM by Michelle

The last few days have been one of my work blurs, when nothing else seems to happen other than that in the tiny cosmos of my restaurant. This morning, after the first terrible insomnia I've had in weeks, I had to get up at 7 to get to the Park Slope Food Coop at 8. I spent a full five hours there, since I missed my slot last month and had to make it up, and saw about a hundred cute babies. One was in line with his mom, and she was handing him everything out of her cart so he could toss them onto the register belt. He did so, with glee, and with some distance and arc, until he handed her a big bag of corn chips. "CHIPS!" he screamed. "CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS" on and on and on until they paid and were out the door. She even let him hold on to them and he stared at the bag as big as he and hollered "CHIPS CHIPS CHIPS".

And then I carried what felt like three hundred pounds of groceries home. And from home, to the vet. My cat Zooey has been ill lately, but not violently so until a couple of days ago. He seemed like he lost some weight over the last year, and that he was getting a little lethargic, but then a couple of days ago I picked him up and was shocked at how light he was. Zooey has always been an incredibly fat cat- one of those little-headed giant-bellied monsters- but part of what made him look even fatter than he was (if this is even possible) is his fur. Long, curly on his belly, with a proper lion's mane. It was his fur that hid his shrinking body. And then, two days ago, he had some intestinal problems, and I mean to say, he had them all over my apartment. Chairs, rugs, bed, floors, etc. Problems everywhere. So even though I hate going to vet, only because it always costs $300 and they say, "Well, I'm not sure what's wrong. We'll give him some fluids and call if it gets bad again". Literally every time I've had a sick cat, this is what they say.

So I took Zooey to this little place on 6th Ave here in Brooklyn that I heard was great. The vet, who seemed very competent, and who was very nice, was shocked by his weight loss- over half of his body weight- and confirmed that something is very wrong So... $300 of tests later, we are waiting to find out what his blood tells us. And he was so good during the whole exam. Zooey is the kind of cat that purrs if someone is in the room with him. He is the most adaptable, the most affable, the funniest cat in the world. He's like a dog that doesn't need to be walked. If I have a party, he wants to hang out with everyone. He responds to his name, and nothing scares him. Last time he was sick, five years ago, he purred through the entire vet visit, including when she was trying to get a heart rate. She kept nicking him on the nose, trying to get him to stop purring, and he only purred harder.

This time was no different. He purred even as he mewed softly through her physical examination, which was so thorough it would've made me cry out. She said his bladder was tiny, his intestines too hard, his breathing a little labored. She also felt something funny in his stomach. At the end, she said it could be one of three things: diabetes, a thyroid problem, or cancer. If it's diabetes, he'll need insulin every day to get better. If it's thyroid, he'll need to take a bunch of medicine. If it's cancer... well. None of the three are good. The blood tests will tell us all we need to know, but not untill Friday. She said if the blood tests show nothing wrong, it's cancer, because she felt little grainy things that could be little specks of cancer in his stomach.

They had to take two big vials of blood from him, and he was so good. He was purring even then, and when the vials were almost full he would cry out, wail at the top of his lungs, but still purr. He breaks my heart.

Posted 9:13 PM by Michelle

I'm thinking about renaming my blog "The 'Roid Report". I think it's catchy. And really, everyone is terribly interested in the goings on of my bum, right? Well, here's today's forecast: bigger, more tender, and more painful than ever!!! Thanks very much!!!! Actually, that's not the forecast, that's the hindcast. The present-cast of midnight Sunday. I'm thinking about going back to my primary doctor to see if she has any brilliant advice. I refuse to miss my bike, my yoga, and my lyfe in genrul for another minute. There must be something I can do.

Need I mention the "heavy snow" predicted for tomorrow? Hmm? April is such a tease. Although I just got a really ridiculous image of running out into the snow, dropping my pants, and cooling my bum in the flurry whiteness. Perhaps some thoughts I should keep to myself.

Working the bar today, I met a French woman who owns an antique shop on 10th Street. She spends five weeks here, then five weeks back in Paris. We talked about why my restaurant is slow: bad economy, bad war, bad weather. I hesitated to ask her about the war, since I wondered if she has already been harassed, when my co-worker Stephen asked her flat-out if she had suffered since the war started. Yes, was her answer. No one is buying anything from her, and the day before, she was ordered out of a taxi. "What is your accent?" the driver asked. When she replied "French", he pulled over and made her get out.

This makes me furious. Everyone else, my other co-workers, listening in, were sad and consoled her but I was beside myself. I don't think that the kind of people who read this blog are the kind that would EVER do ANYTHING like that, but just in case: I say to you, taxi driver, french-wine boycotter: grow up. Grow up. Think for yourselves. Think just one original thought. Or go live in a cave. If you are going to boycott French products, do two things. First of all, pick up a paper or do all of five minute's research online and figure out every other country who did not support this war. Boycott all of them. Except, first, find out how many Americans are employed by those companies. For just one instance, Michelin tires. Guess what? Huge plant in the south! Tens of thousands of Americans employed! Oh, and Perrier, and all those French wines? Imported by local American buyers, who make their living off of those liquids! Seriously. I mean, I know the knee-jerk reaction to do SOMETHING, however small, to feel like you are part of something, but rather than be reactionary, be informed.

I bought the French woman dessert (Meyer Lemon Icebox Cake) and gave her my card and told her whenever she wanted a table, give me a call. And I reminded her that not all Americans are alike. "I know zat, " she said. "I love ze Americans. Zey are just being foolish. And I know zat many are smart and educated and beootiful like you." This woman was seventy going on, quite literally forty-five if a day, and I knew for sure that she could take care of herself. Oh, god, another thing she said: "Ve (meaning New York) vere ze ones who vere attacked. But zis war? Bush cares not vat ve tink. Ve get attacked, ve say ve don't want zis war, Bush invents connection to 9/11, he goes to var. Who cares vat New York thinks. Stupid. But I still love zis country."

I'm off to bath and zen to bed.