Final Stretch

Tomorrow is Digit’s last radiation treatment. And we all want to know how it has gone.  Here’s Digit.

So far, all of those well wishes, good vibes and purrs are working.

  

Many friends, old and new, have asked: How is the radiation going? Is it working?

The unfortunate thing with the localized lesion and bonus that I have never been "sick" - is that it’s actually kind of hard to tell.  Wow, that’s definitive.

Mom asked the oncologist today and was told that, basically they will measure the lesion tomorrow on my last  treatment #15. But since the radiation has been making my lip red, swollen and a bit raw it’s going to be difficult to gauge. Of course if there were marked changes, and there isn’t, it would be easier. Over time, the lesion should heal, but that will be after they stop zapping it and it has time to do so.

Like I mentioned, they want to check other places just to make sure the lymphoma hasn’t reared its ugly head somewhere else that we couldn’t detect it before. That would be awful! But that is also the reason why Mom is pushing for chemo. Lymphoma may be somewhere else, but not to any detectable degree.

We have been dealing with this as single site cutaneous small T-cell lymphoma and we are certainly hoping it is, but likely enough if you out there have at least some experience with cancer to know that its a sneaky, evil, deceitful disease, and chemo is the only way to deal with that.

I am sure that doesn’t really answer the question, but there isn’t a mass to shrink or an appetite to gain or anything like that for the doctors to put a finger on

Mom just spoke with the oncologist who said preliminary the slides look reactive - not cancerous. But they would like to send them out for closer examination and, mom being a scientist (has its pluses and minuses) agreed. Those results won’t be back for a week.

I’m looking forward to my last torture ("treatment" they call it - yeah, right) session tomorrow. I overheard mom say they are going to be giving me a good once over in addition to my radiation- ultrasound, chest x-ray, blood work, to make sure there have been no other changes over the last month since I last had all of those things done. So, it will truly be a day of torture.

The oncologist confirmed again today that I am showing a lot of "spunk." They ain’t seen nothing yet.

And my pitch for the auction: ends this weekend. Get onboard with it. Visit https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1509636685929532.1073741830.1509621302597737&type=3

Travel Episode

Traveling with cats is always a challenge. Here Digit explains a little episode that occurred in the car on the way back to Worcester. I've done so much travel I'm use to car rides, boat rides, train travels and now even planes, but I've never seen a peep go to such troubles to transport a kittehn.

Here's Digit.

Back to Worcester and Tufts, but this is the last week of torture...I mean "treatment."
We left the farm at 8 am. We had to make another "pit stop" at our local vet to see if Journey would hold her bladder for a sample this morning. Mom saw her drink before we left so she was hopeful. But what did Journey do?

She was crying like she had to go about halfway there and it’s like a 16 minute drive.  So Mom kept sticking her hand into Journey’s carrier to keep her standing up. After all, Journey’s not a horse so she doesn’t pee standing up, right?  Well Journey did!  History making!  Out the back of the carrier and onto the car door.  Yippee cat pee in the car!  We cats know how you humans can’t stand that smell. 

Bad Journey. (okay, I was laughing)  No sample this week for the vet.  What Journey doesn’t realize is that Mom will not be deterred by such antics.

I was the only good kitty in the car.  Of course I’m getting to be an old pro at this. Whisper and Journey carried on pretty much the whole way. You would think it was them being subjected to torture!

Today is the  eleventh treatment. Making the final turn down the back stretch!
Hope you all have a great week. Don’t forget to check out the auction.  Click Here to see what is available. Remember the proceeds go for my treatment at Tufts.


Hope to have photos of my torture to post tomorrow.

Week Two

You wouldn't hurt a little kittehn. Would you?

It's  Friday. Get it? Fryday – radiation – hehe. I couldn’t resist. 

I am here at tufts for treatment #10.  The end of week II. 2/3rds of the way there. I’m so excited. Cannot wait to get back to the farm tonight- rest and relaxation, peace and quiet. No carriers. No catheters. No poking. No prodding.

It’s been a good week. As I have mentioned, I have become resigned to the fact that Mom is going to get me here one way or another so I haven’t hindered the procedures. Neither hiding in the box spring nor frozen car doors were any match for Mom. I think she wants this to be over with as much as I do.

Spring is in the air. You can smell the snow melting. The birds are happy and chipmunk sightings are becoming common as is the smell of skunk. I hope you are enjoying it as much as I am - my nose is in overdrive as I go between house-car-tufts-car-house. Can’t wait until we can open windows in the house!

Not tuna juice

 

Mom gave them the camera for pictures today. I said, “You wouldn’t hurt a little innocent kitten like me would you?”
The tech said, “You won’t feel a thing.” She was right

We are now back home at the farm for the weekend Mom got the fire in the wood stove going right away as it was 55 degrees in here. Thank goodness a Snuggle Safe only takes 4 minutes in the microwave! Journey’s got her spot in front of the stove. I’ve got my spot on the couch and Whisper is in Mom’s lap.  Can you guess who's a momma’s kitty?

We arrived to find the driveway plowed in and drifts up to Mom and Dad’s knees. we hiked into the house leaving the car parked in the road and then Dad went to work with the tractor. I guess there was lots of snow, then sleet and rain and more snow. I am so happy to be an indoor kitty!

It’s going to get cozy in here and I will be dreaming of the week after next when I will not have to go back to Worcester or Tufts, hopefully ever again.

Sleep well everybody. Stay warm and snuggle up to your humans. Where would we be without them?

Radiation Begins

 

 

zonked out for radiation

 I’ll tell you how that first week went.  Pictures say a thousand words.  I got one. Yuck. 

 I don’t know if this was before being zapped or after. As you can see, I was sleeping. We have made it to the 1/3rd mark - WOOHOOOOOO!! I had enough poking, prodding, stabbing, zapping for one week. How I looked forward to two days off.

But I  had to endure the dreaded carrier again for 4 hours to make it back to the farm in New York. I don’t see why after having been crammed in there 10 times already this week (2x/day) I had to go through the ordeal again? Whisper and Journey threw a fit and they hadn’t been captured since Monday. Oh how I felt sorry for them - NOT. Suck it up.

under the machine

I was back on the back at the farm for the weekend.  Thank goodness. Room to roam (inside only of course).

 
I think I did great this week. All things considered. Monday was understandably rough. I didn’t eat after I got home after my first treatment. It was a long day and I was pretty fried (no pun intended). Tuesday was better, but still wasn’t feeling my usual self. Thankfully by Wednesday I had regained my appetite and I have been wicked spoiled with canned food. I try and hold out for that, but sometimes I have to break down and chew the hard stuff. Mom’s been adding, flortiflora, fish oil, nupro nuggets and l-lysine to my food - sometimes I don’t mind. I’m kinda picky.

On Thursday I tried to avoid the whole thing. Mom got out of bed and I never budged. She went about her busy coming in and out of the room.  She was all the way down the hall in the livingroom when she said to Whisper, “Okay, I’ve got to go get stink bug, her pet name for me.”  I slipped off the bed with a thump and began to slink under the bed. Rats. She reached under the bed and pulled me out. I hugged her but didn’t make a peep and with great reluctance went into the carrier. I never said a word the rest of the way. By Friday I had to be a chow hound. This is the routine for the next two weeks. I might as well eat.

One third of the way through.

Mom and Dad are a bit frazzled. The whole moving the household (them, me, Whisper and Journey) back and forth. Monday through Friday to Worcester. Journey and Whisper have not been too happy with the whole situation. I’m trying to go easy on them. I’ve only hissed at Whisper three times this whole week.

Mom’s been trying to get the auction items photographed and posted and finished before we head back to Worcester as we are without internet there. Dad’s been trying to get four days worth of work done around the farm in two days. He likes to play on his tractor, but kept getting it stuck in the deep wet snow. I could hear him grumbling out back all the way inside... Dad my ears!

Now almost half way through.

One minute I'm okay

Twenty minutes later...

What a difference 20 minutes makes.

As you can see, I was pretty good even after they put the catheter in. I’m kinda getting use to these folks, but I’m not sure I would ever consider them "friends."

Today was treatment #7. Half of 15 is 7.5. I am so close to being half way done with this ordeal. 

I must admit to being a bit of a stink bug this morning. I thought I would lay low and hide up inside of the box spring in the spare bedroom. I was quiet. Mom started looking for me. I didn’t say boo. Unfortunately this wasn’t the first time I hid there so it didn’t take Mom long to find me. Whisper was hiding with me so I was hoping maybe Mom would take Whisper instead. No such luck. Mom had to bring out the big guns - the vacuum cleaner! Whisper was gone in a flash, but I remained still and quiet. Maybe she would go away.  Can you believe Mom actually got a pair of scissors and cut me out? I think she ruined our hiding place. Something tells me she’s going to finish the job when we get home and take the whole netting off.  Mom is taking desperate measures. 

Hope you are having a great week. Thanks for all the love and support. Thanks for hangin' with me. I’m amazed by the response on my Facebook page, Digit.  A great shout out to Hemi the CH Kitty and his mom for doing the lion’s share of work on my page.

Back to Worcester

Digit continues her journey to beat lymphoma...

Now that I have caught up on my extra hour of sleep (funny how that works with us kitties), I continue…

Off to Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University we went.
I  hadn’t been in Worcester since October and I thought I had seen the last of it. I’m really liking the farm life and there was no looking back as far as I was concerned. Hw little did I  know!

We left on a Wednesday and spent the night in the old house. Journey was already there as she had gone out with dad Tuesday morning. We left whisper at the farm. Mom figured we were only going to be gone 36 hours so she gave whisper extra food (she was in heaven) and water and left her in charge of the place.

On Thursday I had to fast. That’s getting old.  What is it with this withholding of food?  We arrived at Tufts and checked in and waited for Meagan, a fourth year student, to escort us into an exam room where she asked Mom why we were there. Personally,  I wasn’t sure yet why I had to be there. They were talking about me like I wasn’t there.  They never asked me a thing. But then I  got dragged out of my carrier, poked, prodded, my temperature taken and my face examined. Meagan left and we were peacefully alone for a while. then Dr. Kelly O'Neill came in, asked a few more questions, gave me a once over and then discussed the options.

Surgery: while maybe a fabulous way to rid me of the lymphoma was not a viable option because of the location of my lesion. As noted previously, surgery would remove about a 1 inch square from my face - a sizable chunk for a wee one like me. While I am not particularly vain, I do think I look better with my whole face.
Chemo: while possibly curative, would treat the whole body and this thing seems to be isolated to my lip. We were told lymphomas respond well to chemo.
Radiation: recommended because of the location and size of the lesion and kind of lymphoma (believed to be single site small t-cell - not systemic). Very likely to be curative.
And Do nothing: the lesion would become larger, erosive, potentially infected and it would eventually become painful. the visual wasn’t pretty.
we were told the cost of the radiation 15-16 doses once a day, Monday through Friday for three weeks would be $5000.

Then the doctor left and were left alone to "discuss it." Except no asked me. Mom had her mind made up and Dad said nothing. It was a lively discussion.  What was behind door number two, we will never know.

Dr. O'Neill came back with Dr Mc'Neil, the radiation oncologist. Dr. Mc'Neil explained more about the procedure and asked if we had any more questions and what our decision was. My vote was for calling it a day, getting something to eat and taking a nap on the way back home to the farm, but no one seemed interested in my opinion. Instead, they signed me up for radiation and decided we were going to be moving back to Worcester for the next three weeks.

the *Neil Doctors took me away for a tour around the place, some more poking, prodding, sticking a needle in my lymph node again, a quick consult with the other radiation oncologist and then brought me back to Mom and Dad.

The one major concern was my "mental state." For some reason Mom has it in her head that I don’t adjust well or tolerate being manhandled. It was decided that if I didn’t tolerate the treatments (started withdrawing, hiding from mom and dad, beating up on whisper) we would put an end to them and switch to chemo.  The chemo would be oral and I am like a raving insane maniacal lunatic banshee cray-cray cat when anyone tries to pill me. Do you need another picture?  I had to promise myself I would be a "good little girl" for the duration of the radiation treatments. I am going to miss beating up Whisper.

How it Began

Well, The Dij, as Digit is affectionately sometimes called, has made it through the first week of radiation treatment.  That little cat has proven tough, handling not only all the vet needles, prodding and other indignities, but being crammed into a pet taxi twice a day and then enduring a four hour car ride back to the farm with her two sisters who by the sound of things thought they were being tortured.

Digit has a little community pulling for her now that she has her own facebook account and the website administration and up coming auction being managed by Hemi the CH Kitty’s mom at Facebook, https://www.facebook.com/HemiTheChKitty.

Here’s Digit in her own words.

I will share my story…

Basically, I started out with periodic weepy eye/runny nose sometime in November after that glorious wood stove got running in earnest. I love the thing. It’s awesome and sometimes I can’t get close enough. Anyway, no worries. The weepy eye/runny nose came, went, came, went, off, on, no rhyme or reason.

As my sister, Journey, (a cardiac patient) was to have her yearly echo, Mom made an appointment for all of us (thanks Journey!) to see our new vet here in New York (we moved last year). Blood work for Journey along with physicals and shots for the rest of us. About a week before the appointment, Mom noticed I had a little lesion on my right upper lip. No biggie. During my check up the vet (Dr Mary Mernard Borador Animal Hospital, PC) mentioned I had a bit of tarter build up on that side and maybe I was rubbing my face. I have to admit I am a bit of a clean freak. Anyway, pre-surgery blood work revealed high calcium, high WBC. Specifically, lymphocytes, monocytes and eosinophils, not neutrophils. (did you just fall asleep?) Well, Mom has had experience with cancer with an older brother, Dino (named after Dino Ciccarelli), who I never met, may he rest in peace. Red flags went up everywhere, and Mom said I didn’t need to have my teeth cleaned if I had cancer. So, the investigation began.

The Investigation...

 
After the first screwy blood work, mom wanted to biopsy my lip, or should I say she wanted Dr Mary to do it. I was suppose to have it done on a Wednesday, but we had a snowstorm and Mom couldn’t get the truck started. I had to wait until that Friday and go through the fasting again. Along with the biopsy, I had some x-rays of my head (yep, my brain cell is there despite what Mom says), and a nasal lavage to send for cytology. No boney changes in my head - yay and cytology of mucus came back negative. The biopsy, however, showed what we were dealing with- small cell lymphoma. So mom hit the Internet to see what had changed in the nine years since Dino was diagnosed. Then as now, the research that’s out there about us kitties is woefully and (in Mom’ss opinion) inexcusably insufficient.

As she researched, she posted on her Facebook page and a friend of hers, Chenoa - an "old" vet friend, came to our rescue!  Chenoa wondered if I might have a rare form of single site cutaneous t-cell lymphoma that was not systemic. If so, she said Mom would have to forget everything she had learned about lymphoma. She advised checking some more places for icky cells . If her suspicions were correct she thought surgery, radiation, and chemo would give the best results...and not to worry.

To try and determine definitively what we were dealing with, Mom took me to Upstate Veterinary specialties for an ultrasound to check for any bad stuff in my abdomen. They also did some needle biopsies of my lymph nodes. Did I mention I had started to have fun at this point?

The test results: 

Ultrasound - "boring" to quote Dr Bay. Never been so happy to be boring.
Needle biopsy - negative - woohoo!
Dr Bay consulted with a surgeon and was told he basically would  have to take half my face off in order to try and get clear margins. Then I would still need chemo and/or radiation.

The nearest radiation centers are in Newburg, NY  (2+ hours away), Tufts (3.5 hours away) or Cornell (4+ hours away).  I was hopeful.  Maybe I would be excused by virtue of having moved to the middle of no where last year. No such luck. If radiation was the way to go, I overheard Mom telling Dad, we might be moving back to Worcester in order for me to go to Tufts. 

snoozing in Worcester, MA

 

Mom wanted more info and that made me the guinea pig. She asked for immunohistochemistry staining of lesion cells and wanted flow cytometry done on my blood. She pretends to be some kind of scientist and I am some kind of lab rat!  With the investigation over we were almost certain I had a single site, small t-cell lymphoma. No cancer cells have been detected in blood, lymph nodes, or nasal passages. My internal organs all look fine.  Mom scheduled an oncology consult at Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University.

Mom has been encouraged through all this. She sometimes calls it delusional optimism because I was never sick. I was eating like I was suppose to. Drinking as I was suppose to. Acting like I was suppose to. Playing like i was suppose to. No one would have ever suspected a thing. I don’t know how long she would have let me have this silly lesion without hauling me off to the vet.  Timing was everything, I guess. Remember, this all came about because Journey had to have her blood work before her cardio appointment.

The Decision...

We moved back to Worcester for March and I get 15 radiation session treatment at Tufts.

I’ll tell you how that first week went next. 

Diablo: hope that didn't get too technical for you. I told you the Little Sister, Digit's mom,  was a scientist. It rubbed off on Digit. 

Serious Stuff

Back home after Sochi. Raised hell. Broke a lot of house rules. Basically, acted like a rock star.

Digit at Thanksgiving table with Little Sister's pottery

Now, I have to be serious. Serious matters ahead.  You’ll probably hate me when it is over, but I feel I owe this plug for my cousin, Digit. She’s The Little Sister’s cat who lives on a farm in Upstate New York, not too far away from where I live with the Old Man. I mentioned on Twitter a couple of weeks ago that she’s got lymphoma. Because she lives with a couple big-hearted peeps she will get loving and compassionate care and treatment as long as no quality of life issues interfered.

Let me give you a little background about my cousin. You know this is going somewhere.  Digit was adopted along with her sister Whisper about the same time Goddess took off to join the Peace Corps. So that makes them about ten years old. Kittens compared to me. At the time the family lived in Worcester. That’s in Massachusetts. Is there any other Worcesters in the world? And you better be pronouncing that like a native. (Wha’str)

At the time these peeps, The Little Sister and the Bro-InLaw, both worked in genetic engineering. When it comes to bugs and genes they know their fields and if they don’t know it, they know how to research it. But the Goddess’ little sister had a dream to live on a huge farm and after years of saving and toil last year she made it happen. So she quit her lab rat job and moved to the farm where she bakes bread and makes home made butter… from real cows, Oh My Cow! The farm has the perfect place to set up a pottery studio a love The Little Sister has had for years. And she is pretty darn good at it too.  But quitting a job and moving to a farm to pursue a passion can only be done step by step so the studio is not yet set up.

Digit's oral lesions. Gross

Now Digit is sick. I can get all technical on you because like I said the two peeps The Little Sister and The Bro-inLaw, both are scientist. But when they talk this stuff, my eyes roll and I tend to fall asleep.  However it is serious. She's got lymphoma, but test showed there is no cancer in  lymph nodes. So that was a yippie, give me TUNA moment. So the peeps took Digit to Foster Hospital for Small Animals at Tufts

for treatment options.  Lymphoma responds well to both radiation and chemo. The short of it is that Digit will receive 15-16 doses of radiation starting tomorrow, Monday March 3. Chemo may or may not be added towards the end of the regime. Fortunately, she is otherwise healthy so she is expected to respond well, outside of maybe stressing with all the car rides. I know I failed to mention Digit is a mental case of a cat…a bit spazzy.

But this means The Little Sister needs to move back to the house in Worcester during treatment, to avoid carting Digit across The Bay State.  It is perfect timing.  She’ll be done with treatment before the end of March. Spring planting and other farm chores will be ready and waiting when the family returns.

Why the story? ‘Cause The Little Sister has pottery to sell and proceeds will help pay the vet bills.  I don’t know why you got to pay these people for all that poking and prodding, but that is something humans expect.

So even though The Little Sister cuts my claws when Goddess is away and I hate that intrusion I am plugging pottery for my cousin.

The Little Sister’s  website is Luna House. Check it out. There is some awesome looking stuff there.

I’ll Tweet some updates and post a few more blogs on Digit to help out because The Little Sister is a great artist, but not so much a business person.  You won’t find prices on her website! Sigh, I know.  Maybe we can make something happen with that.

But, please take a look. I’m sure you’ll love her work. I do. It falls off the shelf when shoved and makes a thunderous crash when it hits the floor. I’m just saying. I’m a cat.

The Official Portrait

His cooperation was hard to get. He wanted to arm wrestle for the opportunity. I told him I would not charge him three Blue Fin Tunas for his opportunity to sit with me! My peeps and his peeps kept negotiating. We decided to settle the matter over the outcome of the USA verse Russia hockey game.  If Team USA Hockey lost to Team Russia then I'd pay him for the portrait. Otherwise, he would just shut up and take the photo.

Well, we all heard him crying the the two-seater, but he did man up.

 He still wanted to arm wrestle, just for kicks. How can you tell a President, " no"?

On to Sochi

It has been particularly tough to get the Goddess to post this year’s sojourn. She never liked me traveling while she escaped the harsh winter’s of upstate New York for the shark infested waters of Hawaii. She doesn’t swim in the ocean so I have never understood why she must travel 5000 miles to swim in a pool when there is a perfectly fine one five miles down the road at the YMCA. But never mind that. 

She leaves me every winter. Why should I stick around with the OLD MAN and Phoenix?  This year I planned to join the US Bobsled Team in Sochi because I actually know a young man who participated on the US team. Except the US didn’t qualify three sleds in the Olympics so he didn’t qualify to participate. I was bummed. Goddess thought I should pass on the games because of this and because of well….being in Russia and everything about the security of the place. But you know me.

I was to travel with the bobsled team, but with my friend not going, I took @lucky_GSD’s (Ms Lucky) offer to fly on a private jet. I was a bit apprehensive. I’m not a flier, preferring trains, but the logistics of train travel obviously doesn’t work when going from the US to Russia.  

We left right after the Denver Broncos got creamed in the SuperBowl. (And The Donald and I closed a real estate deal in Jersey).  I like cream, but this was awful. You see, the Goddess has followed Peyton Manning since his Tennessee days. As for me…I’m from Tennessee and I bleed orange especially when it comes to Women’s Basketball.  But since there was nothing to celebrate after the SuperBowl we took off from Tetersboro Airport on an over night flight to Iceland.

Yepper, Iceland. I’m not sure why, but I think it was to stock up on crab. Oh yeah, maybe to refuel the jet too.  I spent my day trying to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull.

Ms Lucky insisted on bringing this huge mysterious bag onboard the plane. Hey, it was her jet so how could I oppose the cargo? Little did I know she was preparing to remodel the hotel room. She thought our accommodations would not be up to par. How she knew that electrical boxes were in the shower and the toilets are …um two seaters?  (Not that we cared.) Anyway, the concrete cutter came in real handy.

She was looking for a perfect disguise so she would not be picked up as a stray dog. You know Canadian tags don’t count in Sochi. So for the first couple of days we became undercover construction workers. We milled through the tourist and athletes for a couple of days but once the hotel guests discovered their accommodations were not quite first world standard, we started to catch some heat from the not-so-happy campers.  No matter, by then we are hanging around the Japanese Olympic TUNA bar. Those guys know sushi.

The hotel guests needed to chill their attitudes about the accommodations, so nothing like scoring some vodka and having a few rounds of fun to boot. Before the Opening Ceremony could commence I had a Quasi Bobsled Team formed. Actually, it involved a luggage cart on the fourth floor. Hotel management didn’t like the race through the lobby but all was made right when we let them in on the vodka stash.  Bribes and vodka go far in Russia.

But it might have been a little over the top when I reenacted last year’s Iditarod Race with the laundry carts and the housekeeping staff. It was kind of a salute to my partner in the race @rosieandcheeto’s Woofie Monster. He went over the Rainbow Bridge last fall so we were glad he lived his dream.  Rest in Peace, friend.

Hopefully, I can get Goddess to post more often. I hear she is actually working two jobs in Hawaii. Sucker.

Meanwhile, Let’s see who I can photobomb! And then there is the official Putin portrait.

Elephants

by Sebastian Schnuelle

It was looking so not good on the Yukon River. Warm temperatures and rain made the river a slushy mess.  Deteriorating trail surfaces and overflows made the trail an exhausting pull.  It looked tempting to move off the trail, but any weight punched through and put us into a soup. Poor Woofie Monster.  He worked hard to get us from Grayling to Eagle Island through the night and into early morning. We had to stop in the “heat” of the day, a concept that seems foreign to those creatures who live in the daylight, but remember we’re both carrying fur as thick as Bob Marley’s knots – good for cold raw winds, but not so much in a white reflective bowl of a river basin. Once the low pressure moved through we roasted in sunshine.

Woofie Monster looked worn out. I honestly feared he'd collapse. I was sleep deprived (a horrible situation for a cat use to napping 16 hours a day) but he was running in a trance.  Beyond exhaustion.  I had to stand in front of him, look him in the eye.  Now standing directly in front of any dog is not something any sane cat would do.  The last time I went nose to nose with a dog the pup ended up with a bloody gash.  Goddess’s Mom was not pleased when I swiped her sheltie con claws. 

Anyway, there I stood looking the Woofie Monster right in his dark eyes.  The dog could do little more than stand there with his tongue nearly dragging the frozen ground. His eyes were glazed over.  He totally ignored me.  All his attention was fixed on the far horizon up river.

“Woofie,” I yelled. His panting began to subside, but he kept his eyes locked in the distance.  Again I yelled at him, this time I yanked his leash.  He snapped out of his trance.

I asked, “What are you looking at?”

semi-photo by Sebastian Schnuelle

“Elephants. Gray Elephants. They’re coming this way. See them?”

I didn’t expect to see them, but I looked over my shoulder anyway.  I saw nothing but long dim shadows cast on the river melting in a weak daylight.  I blinked twice just to be sure there were no elephants. Remember I’m sleep and TUNA derived.

“Woofie, I think we need to stop. You’re hallucinating. You’re out of it. Lost. Can you make it to the next checkpoint? We can quit there. Fly out You’ve run into the ground.”

The dog stood still. Panting lightly. Then he sucked up his tongue for a few seconds. “I got my hedgehog. I got a dream to run the Iditarod.  On to Shaktoolik.”

Shaktoolik wouldn’t be any easier. It’s mile 777.  Maybe if we were playing slot machines on an Indian reservation this would be lucky.  In Shaktoolik we would be off the Yukon River, but finally on the Bering Sea Coast.  Nothing but raw winds that spin around low pressure systems faster than a dog circles a bed of hay before he falls asleep. 

“Are you sure?” I thought I might refuse to participate. It wasn’t my dream, but it was his. Could I deny him?   

“Sure as the rain on the Yukon River.  Isn’t this strange?”

"As strange as your elephants, my friend."

Mandatory 24 Hour Rest

Sebastian Schnuelle

We’ve been running since Sunday afternoon, the official re-start of the Iditarod. Woofie Monster and I are taking the mandatory 24 hour rest period in a little hole in the wall called Don’s Cabin.

That's about thirty miles south of the ghost town of Iditarod.  Once gold was discovered in the area surrounding Iditarod, a thriving little gold town bloomed to nearly 30,000 people. Once the gold ran out twenty years later the miners left taking most of the buildings with them. Today, no one lives there. Too bad the government didn’t do bail outs back in the day. Imagine what Iditarod could be now. Grown bearded men wearing Levis and plaid shirts sitting around the river banks collecting monthly checks? That's not what any self-respecting Alaskan could tolerate.

Although Woofie Monster and I have garnished no respect for being out here among the elite mushers of the world, we do play by the rules. Well most of them anyway. So we will rest.

For the Woofie Monster the break is much deserved.  His little paws are tired and sore, but thankfully he has been wearing the booties I got for him. At first, he was a bit taken aback with the idea. But I reminded him that this race is not a romp in a Chicago dog park.  When he saw other teams wearing booties of neon green, shocking pink and a more conservative black, he agreed to wear black. Honestly, he looks no tougher. He’s still a house dog bred for existence in the family packs of humans, not for trotting and loping long endurance miles like the Alaskan Husky.  Nevertheless, the pup is faring well, despite a bit of homesickness. 

Our toughest challenge has not been weather or daylight – or lack there of. Our natural equipment has kept us warm and on trail. The abilities to see in the dark, and sniff out bacon drifting over forty miles of frozen terrain have kept us in contention and ahead of all other cat teams.  (Don’t bore me with the details that there are no other cat teams on the trail.)  

The biggest challenge is getting enough food. Fuel, that is. Always a problem at home in the kitchen, getting enough food is amplified when the dog is running and possibly burning 10,000 calories in a day. He keeps saying he is an elite athlete and he needs the protein.

We’ve had drops from @bicdelou  but bad weather grounded all air craft until just a few hours ago.

Jeff Schultz's amazing photo

We had a little incident crossing a ice bridge over Dalzell Creek. After the leaders had crossed the packed bridge the under-footing was compromised. Woofie Monster  found himself chest deep in the stream.  I scrambled to the tippy top of the sled looking for a quick exit toward a more stable stream bank. At that moment the water sounded like a wild raging flood. But the shock of the icy water did not deter Woofie Monster’s forward momentum. He kept pulling and we popped out the other side. A quick shake off and a few wide-eyed stares at each other and we mutually acknowledged we survived. Woofie Monster asked me to check on the hedgehog’s condition. Finding the spitty dog toy safely dry (sort of) we continued on the trail.

It is a good day to rest.  The winds have been blowing like stink and the trail has been a little deep.  The masses rested in the tiny town of Takotna.  FYI: One of the largest TV satellite dishes I have every seen is located in this town. It’s so big it could draw in alien TUNA.

I don’t understand how or why some dogs run away from their sleds. One dog ran from the Jamacian musher, Newton Marshall. Despite an attempted round up the canine by the trail committee the dog disappeared and the poor chap had to scratch from the race. Among the rookies give credit to a young Norwegian who has boldly moved within the top 12.  Go Joar Leifseth Ulsom. The 26 year old won the Nadezhda Hope Race in Russia, considered the toughest race on the Eurasian continent. Watch him!

The biggest challenge is yet ahead. Blasting winds off the Bering Sea. I might have to put rocks in my pockets to keep from blowing away.  Oh, got no pockets!

Pre Race Interview

Here are some excerpts from a recent interview conducted by the racing committee for the Iditarod.

Iditarod: Today, there are mushers, who are relatively new to the sport. To make sure, they at least have some experience, it is asked that they finish a minimum of 750 miles of racing, of which 2 of those races have to be 300 miles in lengths. Another good idea, is the requirement that they have to be in the top 75% of the field in their qualification race, thus ensuring a certain level of competitiveness. This is your first Iditarod entry. What is your previous sledding experience?

Diablo: Once I slid around the corner of the kitchen trying to get to the TUNA bowl before Phoenix. It wasn’t a pretty crash and burn. But I won! As far as the lengths of the race, I’ve traveled to Hawaii from New York. How long is that?  And I traveled from New York to London and back. How far is that?

Iditarod: You will be up against experienced mushers from around the world. You are a true rookie. How do you expect to be competitive?

Diablo: The Woofie Monster was born to run. And my sled is tiny. He’ll be pulling an eight pound cat.  Do the math. Besides, we aren’t from Jamaica.

Iditarod: We do have a musher from Jamaica.

Diablo: I guess I made my case.

Iditarod: Um, well. Yes, where exactly are you from?

Diablo: Woofie Monster is from his mama’s dog and I’m from my mama’s cat.

Iditarod: I don’t think you understood my question.

Diablo: I don’t think you understood my answer.

Iditarod: Okay, this is a 1000 mile race, across some very isolated, barren and cold terrain. How have you prepared to survive the ordeal?  

Diablo: First, the dog has no idea how long this trek is. Please don’t tell him. He thinks this will be a romp in a Chicago Dog Park.  We have air support being provided by two expert flyers: @bicdelou and @Rio_Conure who will air drop treats provided by @Mariam Kobras.

Iditarod: Aren’t these Twitter accounts?

Diablo: Your point?  I’m a Twitter Cat with a dog borrowed from a Twitter friend @rosieandcheeto.

Iditarod:  Most mushers have sponsor support.  Do you have any big name sponsors?

Diablo: Have you ever pulled a Band-aid off your hairy arm? I’m not wearing stickers on my fur. Besides, do I look like a race car?  But seriously, I have over 5800 followers on Twitter rooting for me and the Woofie Monster.  Go team.

False Start

Holy Crap. This is not the way to begin a long and brutal excursion to Alaska!  I admit I was trying to keep the load light, but I underappreciated the dog’s need for his toys.  Hey, I like toys just as much as the next cat, or dog. My favorite is my fuzzy orange carrot with the feathery foliage (I have at least a half a dozen of them), but you never saw me dragging them to the royal wedding. Okay, let me back up. I see some of you saying, “huh?

Since the last time I was in Chicago my good friend Cheeto (of the @rosieandcheeto Twitter fame) has endured many huge changes in his cat life.  First the Lady got married. Then there was a baby added to the mix. The family moved to a new locale. And the stupid dog isn’t getting any mellower with age. All this has been very stressful. So to help reduce some of the load my poor friend has to endure, I agreed to take the dog for a long, long walk.  To Nome.

The dog is a huskie named Rockford, but we know him as the Woofie Monster, because he woofs and woofs are totally annoying to cats. He has a lifetime dream of running the Iditarod. I am going to oblige him. I strolled into Chicago this past weekend, thankful I missed the huge snow in the northeast, but thinking all that snow would make an excellent base for a dog sled run. There have been rumors that the Iditarod was cancelled because of lack of snow in Alaska, but that was just rumor.

I have never before traveled with a companion, let alone a dog.  I’ve had to forewarn the Yard Cats of his coming, so they don’t freak out when we show up in the railroad yards to take the train to Seattle.  Except, well, I never got that far.

After a few cans of refreshing tuna juice and a little nip to take Chicago’s gun free zone edge off I had a good night’s sleep at Cheeto’s new digs, which are very nice.  With the Iditarod’s start date less than three weeks away, I was eager to head out to the railroad yards the next morning.  The Woofie Monster and I haven’t even “practiced” this sled thing yet.  He claims it is in his blood, but the dog has been city living all his young life.  We need time to prepare for all day sled pulling, living in the dark, surviving severe weather and sleeping outside in extreme temperatures for three weeks during the race.  He has never even slept outside of his stupid little cage-thingy.

Apparently, the dog has attachment issues. It must be a pack thing. While he had no problem with the idea of taking off for the wild blue yonder in the Land of the Midnight Sun, but he whined like a stupid puppy when I told him he had to leave his stupid stuffed toys in Chicago.  You can’t carry a lot of accouterments when jumping trains. They get in the way and they could very well get stolen. Not all train jumpers live by The Code, especially the two legged kind.

We were headed to the yard when the dog whirled and took off down the street. Running full tilt. Man he can run, but the commands “heel” and “no” faze him just as much as it fazes me…nada. But then I’m a cat.  What excuse does he have?  Well, I never thought I’d see him again.  I wasn’t sure how I would to break this news to Cheeto.  I should not have been surprised when he said he didn’t mind as long as the dog didn’t come back to his house.  We had a good laugh over that.

photo by Jeff Schultz iditarodphotos.com

But the dog did go back to the house. Apparently,  to retrieve one of his chew toys…the hedgehog. He showed up this morning, licking my face. UGH. He still wants to go to Alaska. So I guess I am off to run the Iditarod with a huskie named Rockford and his hedgehog. Better to have the dog chew on his toy than me, I guess.

The Legend is Coming

I’ve been reading the interesting and in-depth biographies on the sixty nine competitors participating in this year’s Iditarod. In case you are not up to speed on the dog sledding circuit, the Iditarod is the annual dog sled race from Anchorage to Nome. Done in February.  Brrr. As a race it started in 1973 and the Goddess saw the beginning to this historic race when she was in the Army stationed at Ft. Richardson, AK. WOW, huh? But it's roots are of legends, gold mines and miners, medicine and the mighty husky.  Of the participants all are worthy of the race, but only a handful have any of a true survival travel experience that I have.  Argue all you want. This is MY blog. I’d say that the mushers from Norway and Russia and even Canada qualify and the guys from Jamaica and Brazil.  But seriously, Jamaica?  Is this on par with the county fielding a bobsled team in the winter Olympics?  There are also twelve rookies in this year’s Last Great Race.

I noticed there are no other cats entered. A real marketing loss if you ask me. I am the only brown tabby to participate. Can you imagine the media coverage if more cats were entered?  So I present here my official race bio.  I am sure it will never be posted on the official Iditarod website.

I have a dog. 

That's it! What did you expect? My race theory is "Keep it simple stupid." Travel light and travel fast. Seriously, you didn’t think I've ever been on a dog sled in the past, did you?  I never let details get in my way.

Speaking of traveling fast and light, I zoomed across Lake Erie and landed in Canada. The lake is not frozen solid so I navigated the perimeter to Canada. As I suspected the traveling was much easier on the less populated northern shore of the Great Lake.  I didn’t have a passport but I did have my microchip, but nobody was paying attention to a cat trot across the semi-frozen lake.  No problem reentering the US either.  If you look like you’re on rat patrol and make yourself look semi-employed in stalking ugliness, the border guards pay you no mind. Which is why we can be so abused: cat was used in smuggling drugs into a prison.

Nothing brings out the realities of travel hazards like Detroit. Fortunately, I have been following CityMoleDetroit on Twitter to get the latest updates on traffic and buzz about the city.  But why am I worried about accidents on the interstates? I am cutting through vacant lots, abandoned buildings, and railroad yards.  By the way, those yard cats are as feisty as ever.

I’ll beeline across the palm of Michigan and that puts me in Ann Arbor.  Sigh. Last time I was in this neck of the woods, I ended up in prison. Remember that? I try to keep that off my bio.

Alaska Bound

Once again she has left me for Hawaii. So you know what that means? Road trip for the cat! If you have been a follower of mine on Twitter for the past few years you know I can’t stand to be left looking out the window for the next six months. Talk about cabin fever!  In the past, I have chased after her and made my way to Hawaii after I visited numerous Twitter friends across the US. The final leg of the trip, across the Pacific Ocean, was achieved when I stowed away on a cargo shipped manned by crazy Croatians.  The next year, with an official invitation in my little paws I went to the Royal Wedding and later cruised back to New York on the Queen Mary II.  And last year I blundered around the Mexican jungles looking for the answer to the mysteries of Mayan calendar. What a world-ending debacle that turned out to be.  For 2014 I have in mind to go to Russia for the Winter Olympics. In the meantime, however…

It’s North to the Future. Alaska. Land of the Midnight Sun, except in January. Or February. Or even March.  I know this seems crazy. But let’s put credit where credit is due. It was the dog from Canada. Yeah LuckyDog put this idea in my biscuit-size head.  Blame the dog is my motto.  LuckyDog lives in the great north and is learning to be a dog once again.  Lucky Dog is a rescue and resides with ten other dogs. I shudder to think of the chaos. You can follow the luckiest dog in the world at @LuckyDog on Twitter.

Alaska is a beautiful state. Goddess once lived there. She was in the Army way back when dinosaurs ruled the earth and dirt was cheap.  She still has a good old Army buddy living in Eagle River, just outside of Anchorage. He’s a pilot.  So I might stop in for I can smell the salmon.

It will be February when we arrive. All Alaskan will be in the deep grip of the dead of winter when days can’t get longer or warmer fast enough.  But nothing gets the free thriving self-sustaining spirit of Alaskans down.  They throw parties like Fur Rondy. That’s the crazy festival they have in Anchorage called Fur Rendezvous. Yup, we will be in the thick of it.

Oh, did I say we in that last paragraph?  Yes, for the first time I will not be traveling alone. It’s not my homie Phoenix. She’s called my homie for a reason. 

I need appropriate transportation on this journey and what better mode than a sled pulled by a canine?  Where do I get a willing huskie to drag me and my kittehn backpack to the 49^th state? Chicago of course. After a consultation with my friend Cheeto (of @rosieandcheeto fame) he convinced and enlisted the woofie monster to join me. His name is Rockford, but he’s never called that. The goofie lug not only volunteered to accompany me but wants to participate in the Last Great Race in the World. No, not the Amazing Race. The Last Great Race. The Iditarod or as Cheeto refers to it the Idiot-rod.

I know this snap of the huskie doesn't look like he is in any condition to run the Iditarod, but I have a conditioning plan.

I got to bust out of NY and head to Chicago next week. I’m picking up a dog. Hope he can jump trains with the Yard Cats.

First leg: Seattle.

Join me on Twitter. That’s @southboundcat.