Is my cat a dog?

                Tango, my champagne tabby, came from ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation).  A highway worker found her on Highway 60, between Bartlesville and Nowata, and brought her in a year ago last spring. I adopted her in November.

When I first got her, Tango wanted constant attention.  If I sat down, she was on my lap.  Well, not exactly.  Her idea of lap sitting was stretching out across me right under my chin.  That was, admittedly, better than the in-the-face sneezes from one end and the stinky farts from the other. 

                Sometimes I wonder if no one taught her how to be a cat.  For instance, she likes to lay on the floor at my feet, just as a dog would.  Though I have never owned a dog, I have had many cats in my life over the years and none of them ever laid at my feet waiting for my attention.  She also comes when called, though she doesn’t believe in obeying other commands unless they are reinforced by the presence of a certain spray bottle.  What’s more, she does not jump or step into cardboard boxes—she doesn’t even seem tempted to.  Instead, she chews onardboard and shoes and thin electrical cords.

                Every morning, Tango scratches at my bedroom door within seconds of me getting up, often even before I turn on the light.  She wants breakfast, of course.  Early on, before I found a dry cat food that did not upset her sensitive stomach, the food would go down and then come right back up.  Thus, I started the unfortunate habit of feeding her four tiny meals a day, a practice she appreciates that I hope to discontinue someday.  However, I am a sucker for her persistent pleas for food at the appointed hours.

                She does have a lovely, soft meow and an expressive purr.  She has claimed most windowsills as her territory but has kindly not jumped up on the kitchen counters yet.  She enjoys playing with and eventually eating any unfortunate insects or spiders she sees and even catches flies. 

                So maybe she is more cat than dog after all.

                 

The Itch

                Since I started this new way of eating—no dairy, gluten, sweeteners, or preservatives—on June 27, the most unexpected results have been the return of energy and the reduction of pain.  These are big-time results since I’ve had fibromyalgia for over twenty years.

                 One of the first things I noticed is how long the days are when I’m not sleeping in or taking at least one nap every day.  That means I’m getting a lot of things done, right?  Wrong.  Instead, I spend a lot of time on itching.  Unfortunately, the itchy eczema has not gone away. Yet.

                So I scratch. Or try not to scratch.  Or research itching and atopic dermatitis.  I keep hoping to find some new (to me) homespun remedy, but I haven’t yet.  So I apply coconut oil head to toe four or more times a day.  I ice the itchy spots.  I do bits and pieces of work around the house but avoid any activity that could raise a sweat.  I take cool to lukewarm showers and use glycerin bars for hand and body washing.  And I keep trying not to scratch, which is really hard when everything itches.  My skin is so sensitive that when I scratch, it looks like I’ve been clawed by a cat. 

Dealing with the itch takes a lot of energy that I’d rather spend elsewhere.  However, my bad back limits what I can do (though it does not prevent frequent baby-holding sessions at my daughter’s house when Ava is fussy and Dana needs to make dinner).  So does my extreme aversion to sweating:  I can’t face doing anything strenuous because sweat triggers more itching.

A couple days ago, I looked at my wood music stand and thought about playing my flute again.  It’s been months since I’ve picked it up because I did not have the energy. Before I could act on my good intentions, a new eczema spot erupted on the pad of one of my fingers.  It hurts when I just touch it, so flute playing is out for a while longer.

                It appears that my eczema is getting creative, too.  Besides the atopic dermatitis, there is an outbreak of dyshidrotic eczema on my hands.  A scaly bump has appeared on my scalp.  A sore showed up on a skin tag, and other sores have cropped up on moles.  And there are sores in other places I won’t mention.  Rashes come and go.  Most sores erupt complete with their own deep scabs.  Sections of skin are raised and rough.  For several days, my neck burned even though it had no sores.

                Ah, yes, I am complaining.  I was just itching to tell you all about it.

Amazing Day

            It’s been an amazing day doing normal household tasks.  Before I tell you why such ordinary stuff is amazing, let me indulge my pride by telling you what I’ve done.

            Saturday morning means farmers’ market, just a few miles away.  After getting some cash at an ATM, I was ready to start strolling through the market at 8:30 am.  It was already hot by my standards but nowhere close to the 106 degrees heat index that arrived midday.  Fifteen dollars got me a dozen eggs, lettuce, cucumbers, grape tomatoes, red cabbage, and a white onion.  Pleased with my purchases, I put them in the cooler I keep in the car.  Good that I remembered the ice packs today.

            Getting in my car, I realized that now was better than later to round out my shopping at the local Walmart.  First destination:  produce section.  There I picked up a few sweet potatoes, heads of broccoli and cauliflower, jicama, organic celery, bananas, and a bag of organic Pink Lady apples. From there, I wandered the grocery aisles, picking up organic peanut butter, and pea protein-fortified unsweetened almond milk.  I hit the Omega-3 jackpot with canned tuna fish, red salmon, and smoked herring fillets—all sustainably caught or wild. Yum.

            Back at home, I unloaded the car, put away the food, and cut up some celery, cucumber, and jicama.  Instead of dipping them in hummus, I ate them plain along with a handful of grape tomatoes.  And then I was ready for a nap, and it was only 10:30!

            I never ignore my body’s siren song for naps, so I dutifully obeyed, waking an hour later.  After applying round two (or was it three) of coconut oil to help ward off the itching attack that was threatening, I added the protein I had neglected at my exceedingly early lunch:  peanut butter on banana.  What an exquisitely sweet treat along with my second cup of Teeccino/coffee for the day.  (I’m at the half and half point still.)

            Then, what to do?  I remembered the bills and paid the first of the month set.  From there I started some laundry, cleaned my bathroom sink and my BI-PAP accessories.  Three loads of laundry were done by suppertime, which was a lovely boiled dinner of sweet potato, broccoli, and onion, followed by a can of sardines.  (Kind of a strange combination, but it was good.)

            And still it is only six pm.  Now comes the explanation of how this ordinary-sounding day has been amazing.  A mere week ago, any one of those activities would have worn me out for the day.  Seriously, that’s how bad things have been energy-wise.  It felt so good to do the things that other people easily do in a day, instead of dragging them out over an entire week.  It’s an amazing new normal.