Our cat has been constipated. This isn’t funny. Okay, it’s funny now. But it wasn’t funny on Friday night when Ben was hissing at us and swatting the rabbit. It especially wasn’t funny when he was rolled on his side in the kitchen with his back feet lifted up and curled toward his stomach. It definitely wasn’t funny then.

Brian’s odd in emergencies. He’s really calm. When things aren’t critical — when he has to write up something for work or when he’s buying guitar strings –he acts as if it is an emergency and then I spend my time telling him to relax. In a real emergency when a cat or a person is sick, he’s super calm. So calm, you think there’s nothing to worry about. So when we saw Ben’s legs curled up toward his stomach I was amazed that all Brian said was, “Well, I’ll call the vet tomorrow.” And that was it. For me, that was calming. Okay, someone’s got this covered.

It was only one vet visit and 3 cat enemas later that I learn that Brian was actually worried.

“I thought he was going to die.” Brian said later curled up on the bed. “God, it was traumatic.”

“You didn’t act like it was traumatic.”

Brian sighed. “You know I do that. When something’s really wrong I get calm. It’s when things are fine that I freak out.”

And that’s been life in a nutshell, but that’s another blog posting.

Meanwhile, while cat was at the vet have a $300 enema inserted up his ass, I was at home with the other animals. Rosie was hardly fazed. Although there was a moment when we loaded him up in the carrier. She seemed to sniff the cat carrier and whisper to Ben, “I know where you’re going.” The feline version of Dead Man Walking.

Jackson, meanwhile, was busy with other chores.

“Hey, why is there a hole in the green blanket on the bed?”

“Jackson did that.”


“She was digging and shredded it with her claws.”

And there are other places too that we find her handiwork. The bathroom, for instance. We have a small, urban apartment so storage for things like toilet paper come at a premium. I try to be “decorative” and stack the toilet paper rolls in a wicker basket on the floor. A few days ago, I found a perfectly round, perfectly brown piece of rabbit poop in the basket. I realized that my attempt at casual decorating in the bathroom just screams “litterbox!” to a rabbit. It probably doesn’t help that we give her toilet paper rolls to play with in her cage (now dubbed “house” in Short Punks lingo).

The fact that I found rabbit poo in the toilet paper was not terribly shocking at the time. It didn’t really become significant until later today, when congested and slightly chilled, I discovered my nose was running and looked for a box of tissues. They were empty so like most people in a pinch, I grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the basket, pulled a couple sheets off, blew my nose and moved on with my life. Looking back on that now, there are so many things about that I would love to change.

This evening, tidying up in the bathroom, I replaced an empty roll of toilet paper with a new one and realized one was slightly damp. This is not unusual. The rolls occasionally get damp from the shower or the sink. Then I turned it over to insert the toilet paper rod. That’s when I found it. Around the tube of the toilet paper roll was a perfectly round stain of rabbit pee.


“What??”Brian asked from the kitchen table.

“Jackson peed on the toilet paper.”

“So what? She pees on everything.”

“I blew my nose this roll today!!”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s gross.”

“Ick. I wiped my nose with rabbit pee.”

“It’s just rabbit pee.”

“Nowhere in the english language should the words, ‘just rabbit pee’ come together. Yuck!!’

My annoyance however may have an outlet. I was flipping through an antique cookbook that I bought the other day, The Encyclopedia of Cookery, published in 1954, when I read this item under “rabbit”:

The flesh of rabbit or hare when more than a year old is dry and somewhat tough; the young ones, when nearly full-grown and fat, are tender and make rather delicate eating.

There were also helpful step-by-step drawings titled “Skinning and Cleaning a Rabbit.” Jackson just happens to be around six months old now. Hm…some onions, a little garlic, a cup of red wine, and a slow braise could solve all my problems..


(small print: no animals were harmed in the making of this posting…or will be…yet)