My sweet, "lil' ole' man..."

The long river in Egypt is called "the Nile." It is also the brunt of a joke when one is referring to someone being in "da-nile," aka, denial.

I have been giving Cougar Prednisone every other day for quite some time now, to help him feel better, and to help him, well, poop properly, due to his IBS, FLUTD, and a host of other issues.

We keep plastic on the bed, to catch wayward pukes, and upon morning wake-up, or arrival home, we MUST look down before each step, to do a once-over to look for puke, or poop. Now granted, Juno, our 18 year old sass-princess is guilty of a wayward puke or two, but it's mostly Cougs, truth be told.

The constant clean up patrol has REALLY been getting to Narda. And heck, I don't blame her - she's just started back at Lion King full time, it's a wee-stressful learning all of the old stuff, yet, new again, because it's in a new theatre, so all that was part of her muscle memory has changed; we have a rambunctious 2 and a half year old, and are slowly working towards #2 - we just have to have our "FSW" (faboo social worker) over for coffee, and she's waiting for my prints back from the feds, and then, voila, we are "back in pool."

But I digress.

Each time Narda suggested that Cougar was in pain, and it wasn't fair to him, all I could think of was HER inconvenience at the "occasional," "random," "wayward" poop. But in reality, each and every time Cougar takes a (humongous, I might add) poo, it hurts him. And he lets everyone know how much it hurts him. Even Malka asks if he "has issues?" But it's not every day. And he's a regular old grumpy man the rest of the time, you know, when he's not going to the bathroom. He even will 'get his kitten on" every so often, and chase a toy around for a few seconds.

I have also been able to use the "but he was your mom's cat" trump card for a while. It's not working anymore. Narda has been determined, and I have been obstinate. I have called her a murderer, insensitive, cruel, and I have even gone so far ask to ask her if she wants to be "put down" if she happens to poo in an inappropriate place when she gets older.

He is my "Baby-Bear," my "Cougie-Cougs," my "lil' old man," my "Cougie-Bear," "Cougs-a-Cougs," "Baby-mans," and bundle of mama's boy all rolled into a beautiful furry ball.

Tonight, Malka and I come home from Shul, to "poop-splosion-2008." It was everywhere. I am one who is LOATHE to use chemical cleaners, and will always opt for the organic, or the simple vinegar-water solution, but tonight? I used something yellow in a spray bottle. Narda will be so proud. I sanitized the entire house. It was EVERYWHERE. After I cleaned up the poo and the puke, and chased after Cougar to wipe his ass with baby wipes, (OH thank goodness for baby wipes,) I sat down, exhausted, and scrolled through the numbers on my cell phone for "vet." I dialed, and got Natasha's friendly voice, telling me that the office is closed, but they are open tomorrow, Saturday, and to call in the am. I left a message, started crying mid-way through, stating that "Hi, this is Shelli, mommy to 'Sir pukes-a-lot,' and Juno, and Quincy too, and of course, Malka, but that I'm calling to let you know that I'll be bringing in my baby bear tomorrow am, and I'm calling you now, before I change my mind. I've been in denial long enough, and have held off the inevitable long enough. It is time. And then I called Narda, and left her a message about the call I made. And then I called her babysitter, to see if she's available in the am, but then I realized that Narda doesn't have to be at work until 1pm tomorrow. I don't think it would be fair to bring Malka along, and then NOT bring Cougar home. So I also called Bobby and left a message, and started crying mid-message. Asking if he could watch Malka for an hour and a half, or come with me to the vet.

I don't want to. He's my baby bear. But at this point, it's cruel not to.

He is now under the bed. Telling me it's time.