paul and i have a fundamental disagreement that may one day rock the very foundation of our marriage. he refuses to concede that lunch is the finest cat who ever lived. how can someone i love have such a breathtaking blind spot? it's almost like being married to a creationist. or maybe a republican.
our irreconcilable difference aside, we've noticed in the past week or so that lunch has been behaving strangely. not strangely for a cat, but strangely for lunch. he hides sometimes. he occasionally gets spooked for no apparent reason and hastens away. he hasn't been coming when called, or bringing me his stuffed worm as frequently, and, although he clearly wants to jump up onto my lap now and then, he does not — he sits and considers it thoroughly, but eventually decides against it and lumbers away.
i know what your diagnosis is. "julie, he's a cat." but if you knew lunch well, you'd agree that while he's behaving normally for a garden-variety cat, his behavior does not befit the finest cat who ever lived. concerned, we took him in to see the vet.
the vet stared at us blankly when we described lunch's symptoms. it's not hard to see why; he doesn't look like a sick cat. his eyes are clear, he's not dehydrated, and his color is good. (he's a lovely gray with patches of clean white, but what i really mean is that his gums and nose leather are a vibrant pink.) oh, and he had no fever, measured in the usual way to lunch's great consternation. the doctor said, "he doesn't seem ill to me. i'd suggest that you wait and see how he acts over the next week."
thing is, we'd already waited and seen — in fact, we'd spent the last week saying, "yeah...we should really take him in," but hoping that he'd miraculously come out of his funk and act like the lunch we know and love. we asked the vet if he could take lunch's blood, and he agreed (though somewhat reluctantly) to do a screen for fip, flv, liver, and thyroid.
thyroid. bingo. in older cats — any cat over eight years of age — it's very common to see hyperthyroidism. it's apparently a disease of old age, in fact; if you're a cat and you live long enough, you're likely to have at least mild thyroid dysfunction. your thyroid glands develop tumorous growths, like a goiter, almost always benign. your glands produce too much of the thyroid hormone, which increases your metabolism. if you're not treated, you'll lose weight and muscle mass even as your appetite increases. the disease will take its toll on your entire body: your heart will enlarge, your blood pressure will increase, and your kidneys will fail from the additional burden.
but take heart! you are not a cat. and, more to the point, apparently hyperthyroidism is eminently treatable. there are three approaches a pet owner can take:
- medication. you can experience the thrill of pilling the cat at least twice a day for the rest of its life.
- surgery. you can have the animal's thyroid glands surgically removed (warning: gory photo).
- radioactive iodine. you can have your cat injected with, yes, radioactive iodine, which will destroy the damaged thyroid tissue while leaving the heathy parts intact.
the last option is kind of the gold standard of treatment, although it has the disadvantages of a) being shockingly expensive and b) making your cat glow in the dark for a few weeks. (in fact, the cat must be quarantined for about a week, and then handled carefully for the next few weeks due to, you know, radiation.)
we'll talk to the vet on monday to decide which treatment is best for lunch. i am eager to pursue the radioiodine therapy. although it's expensive, it is the most effective treatment — and, entirely coincidentally, will make for the best journal entry.
paul helpfully reminded me that we do have a geiger counter in the downstairs coat closet. i predict i will swiftly become a menace. "luuuuu-unch! come get your millirems counted!"
update: at breakfast paul and i were wondering how close the nearest treatment center is. at first we thought boston, but then montreal occurred to us as a possibility. "but i don't know," said paul, "if they'll let us back over the border with a radioactive cat."
Polyp Man, a larger-than-life, red-suited 
the load was unceremoniously dumped in the driveway, exactly as advertised. rain was forecast for overnight, so the race was on to get it hauled to the back and stacked neatly before the monsoon swept in. paul stacked in the back while i ran loads in the wheelbarrow.
last night i was thinking about paste. you know, the non-toxic sticky white stuff that came in a squat plastic barrel with a stick in the lid. the first time you opened it, it was all smooth and lovely, with the only blemish being the void where the stick had been. kind of a mineshaft in the motherlode of paste.
just so you know, i am well aware of how gross this is.
for those mac users among you, i have a few gentle words of advice:
