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**UPDATE** Projectile Vomiting, and Other Fun Activities

**In case you were wondering – Bugsy, the Insane is much better.  He’s eating (a little) again, and keeping it down, and he even ‘attacked’ Hubby last night, rolling on his back for skritches and a short boxing match.**

No, it wasn’t me.

It was my darling, diabetic, geriatric cat – Bugsy, the Insane.

You’ve read about him here before, I’m sure.

He’s 13 yrs. old and diabetic.  For some, as yet unknown, reason he began rainbow-projectile vomiting all over the carpet in my room, the hall, the living room, the front entry, hubby’s shoes….everywhere, in the middle of the night this past Saturday.

Since he repeatedly emptied his stomach contents, his blood sugar levels dropped and he began pacing, screeching << yes, screeching, yowling, drooling, alternately flopping on the floor and getting stuck under furniture on Sunday.

I didn’t panic (much) as I’ve seen this before.

The solution to a sugar crash is the rapid ingestion of sugar.

Sugar a cat.

In a cat, totally unaware of his surroundings and 1000% stressed.

A cat with sharp teeth and claws.

On our first attempt hubby held Bugsy by the shoulder as I put some honey on my finger to rub on his gums.

The minute my honey-covered digit touched his gum he shook his head.  Honey flew in my eye, in hubby’s hair, on both Bugsy’s paws and splattered on the floor.

It’s amazing how much of a mess a few drops of honey can make.

Undeterred, we tried again.  This time we used a soft-coated baby spoon left over from grandchildren’s visits.

Hubby hung onto Bugsy again, and I attempted to aim the spoon in his mouth from behind with one eye open.  The other one had by now begun to harden shut with honey.

Right on cue, Bugsy shook his head, but this time I was prepared and shove the spoon between his teeth as he did so.  He bit down on the spoon, wrenching it from my hand, and flung it across the room.

It hit the dog and she scampered across the floor, losing her footing and crashing into the kitchen table.

I had been holding Bugsy’s jaw, so now my hands and his facial fur  were coated in drool and honey.  Still, the spoon was empty and I was fairly certain we’d gotten enough honey in him if the amount on him was any way to judge.

We waited a while as he continued to pace and pant, but had stopped the drooling and yowling.

After a couple of hours he dropped to the floor in front of the back door and fell asleep.  That was a good sign.

Within a few minutes he woke up, looked at me, and meowed in his regular voice.  I was certain the crisis was passed, but knew from experience he would be exhausted and need careful monitoring.

As he began to become aware of his surroundings, he tried desperately to get the honey off his chin and chest. Without any success, I might add.

I washed his face, surprised at his tolerance, or maybe he was just too spent to fight any more, but forgot about his front paws where some honey had dripped during the battle royale.

Until he used the litter box, and came out with all manner of stuff stuck to them.  So, here I am chasing him around the house with a soapy washcloth, trying to alternately clean litter/honey spots off the carpet and the cat.

Finally, I collapsed myself having gotten little sleep and then fretting over my beloved pet had taken its toll on me.

I had no sooner settled in to relax when I heard the unmistakable sounds of kitty rainbow-projectile vomiting again.  I jumped up, ran into the room where the sounds came from – grabbing some old newspaper in the hopes he’d vomit on it and not my carpet – and promptly slammed my toe into the raised brick hearth around the fireplace.

Hopping on one foot, I still made it to Bugsy in time to slide the paper under him….which he deftly managed to sidestep, mid-puke, to deposit the contents of his tummy onto the carpet…….again.

By this time, mid-Sunday afternoon, I was honey soaked and very tired.  Bugsy was sick and sticky, and the dog – Josey – was pacing the floor, clearly concerned for her human and her fur-brother.

Hubby had long-since decided this was a war he could not win, and retreated to the den.

Many hours, many spots cleaned later and all was quiet.  I was sure Bugsy was on the mend, as he’d eaten a few bites of food and kept it down.

I slept like the dead.

And when I got up this morning, walked out of the bedroom rested and refreshed.

Right into a pool of vomit.

I’ve called the vet, and am waiting for a call back.  She’s a wonderful vet, and knows a trip to her for Bugsy is a possibility but since it stresses him so much I’d like to avoid it if at all possible.

In the meantime, he’s confined to the utility room while I’m at work and wondering what I’ll go home to find.

My Cat, The Internet Flamer

The other day, at It Just Gets Stranger, I found myself in the unique position of having to act as assistant to Bugsy, the Insane.

You see, Eli was convinced he had contracted cancer.

From a cat.

Now you see why I read his blog.

Anyway, the following exchange took place…

pic 1

pic 2

Apparently, he’s a flamer.

I tell ya, I just don’t know what to do with him anymore.

What I do know, though, is the minute Bugsy, the Insane develops opposable thumbs I’m in real trouble.

We all are.

I’m Never Putting On My Shoes Again

If Bugsy, the Insane, gets wind of this that is.


Let’s Start This Week Off Right!

And for me that means laughing till I can’t breathe, so here’s a little something from our friends at Little White Lion.

How to entertain your puppy or kitten, and yourself as well.

A Little Seasonal Warmth

From another of my favorite wastes of time on the web:






















Dear Santa, Love Bugsy the Insane

I found this note in Bugsy the Insane’s kitty room:

Deer Santez,

I have been a very gud, exellent, luving, kitty this yeer.

for chrissmuss i wanz:

a mouse – a live mouse, not the stoopid catnip-filled ones – they dont fool me

catnip, lots of catnip

tell mommy to let me eet the tinsel, i luv it even if i frow most of it up and sparkly-poop the rest

tell mommy to let me help rap giffs, i’m very gud at it

tell mommy to flush the swirly agin…and agin…and agin…i luv to try to catch the water

tell mommy i only trip her when my fud bowl is emtee, or i’m bored, or it’s toosday, or you know because

bring me the birds in my yard. it’s my yard, so i must eets them. it’s a kitty law

pleez make the little humans go away, i don’t like them. they smell, they are loud, and they touch me with sticky hanz

oh, and i guess i should ask you to bring mommy a live mouse, too. after all, she makes sure i get my treats and that medusin i take beecuz i haz a sick and my shugur gits out of wakk.  i reely lub her, but don’t tell her.

i promise to be a verry gud, exellent, luving, kitty agin next yeer too.

yur frend,


UPDATED**If You’re Not Into Cats…

…then maybe just skip this post.

If you are owned by a cat, or room with a cat, or marvel at the mysteries of the cat, then settle down because it’s………..


Starring, none other than Bugsy, the Insane or as I’ve taken to calling him lately, Bugsy, the Inflatable because damned if he doesn’t look like someone shoved an air hose up his…nether region…and then turned it on and walked away.

He’s old, he’s diabetic, he’s lazy, and he’s fat.

I have him on a $28/bag diet food made for old, diabetic, fat, lazy cats.

The bag’s instructions stipulate that only *this* much is to be given to the cat daily.

*This* much roughly translates to thimbleful if you are Bugsy.

It’s actually closer to capful, if you are Bugsy’s roommate and slave…a/k/a me.

So, months go by and Bugsy dutifully bitches about the amount of food he’s given.  He follows me around, after I’ve filled his bowl, often loudly protesting the lack of volume in the food bowl. Other times, he follows me around actively attempting to trip me with his paws by grabbing at my ankles.

If he ever develops opposable thumbs I fear for my life.

He hasn’t lost an ounce, and then one day I figured out why.

My bathroom rugs have developed a bald spot.

Granted, they are old but I didn’t think they’d lose their covering here…and here..oh, and here. Mostly on the edges.

I discovered the reason for the loss recently as I passed by the bathroom door and noticed the cat hunkered down over the corner of one of my rugs.

Bugsy is eating the bathroom rugs.  He diligently and carefully works on one strand at a time, pulling it out and eating it.

Insanity, thy name is ‘Bugsy’.

I closed the bathroom door, after shooing him out amidst loud protestations.  Since that day, no more rug damage and I have noticed a general increase in Bugsy’s grumpiness – if such a thing is possible.

It all came to a head Sunday when out of his morning food’s rations – roughly 30 seconds after I put it in the bowl – he came into the front room where I was sitting on the couch, reading, and proceeded to repeatedly place his front paws on the couch, leaving the back ones on the floor for leverage no doubt, and smack me on the legs, hands, arms, whatever he could reach. 

He never used the claws, but he just kept coming back and coming back.

A pretty-good writer once said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I submit it’s only because he hadn’t met my hungry cat yet.

And, since the Bard is well-dead, I’d like to revise that quote a little to read “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off cat named Bugsy”.

I’m sure Sir William would approve.

UPDATED – Dateline – 2 seconds ago….

From the Spam Comments, comes the comment of the day for this post:

“Fantastic beat !”

Thank you, lucille, for that spot-on commentary.

Back to you, Bob.

It’s A Test, Isn’t It?

A test of my tenacity and patience, that is.

Bugsy, the Insane is my cat.  Here’s a picture of him having a moment with my shoes. This evidence of his fetish will, I trust, explain his name.

I have no idea why it’s sideways, and I’m too stupid to figure out how to fix it. Just tilt your head.

Bugsy regards me as his personal responsibility, and he never lets me out of his sight. 

Frankly, I don’t know how I performed a variety of tasks before I had him around to offer his own brand of help and running commentary.

Normally I am able to wrap Christmas gifts when Bugsy has sufficiently exhausted himself supervising my every move, and has settled somewhere for a long nap.

The easiest method, for me to wrap gifts, is on the floor.  Standing and bending over a table would keep Bugsy from helping, but the pain it causes my back is just not worth it.

Which brings me to my point.

Someone had written a humorous article the other day about how to wrap a present with a cat.  I laughed, long and loudly, at it as I could really relate.

Yeah, when you’re living it…….not so funny…..

I have my wrapping paper, ribbon, bows, tags, tape, scissors, pen, and gifts all spread out in the den.

I sit on the floor amidst the colorful piles and start the job.

Bugsy enters and promptly flattens his big, fat, carcass on top of the wrapping paper I’ve just unrolled and spread on the floor.

I sigh…and shoo him off.

He moves, but only until he sees the ribbon – an aside, and in all’s just not right to dangle ribbon in front of a cat and not let him/her play with it.

I take the ribbon, and shoo him out of the room.

He exits, complaining the entire time.  Stopping at the door’s threshold, he lies down to watch.

I proceed to wrap a gift, and after getting all taped up I go to pick up the pen and write on the gift tag.

I can’t find the pen, anywhere!  I spend about three minutes looking under, around, and through, everything before  I notice Bugsy has it perched between his paws.  He’s not chewing on it or doing anything.  He’s just holding it. 

I take the pen from Bugsy, fill out the tag and affix it to the package.

Then, I reach into the bow bag and discover I’m not alone.  There’s a distinctly furry paw already in there.

I pull the paw out, amidst much protest, and once again shoo him out of the room.

He takes up his post, at the door’s threshold, and gives me one of his patented “huffs”.  Yes, he does a “harumph” kinda sound when he’s truly perturbed with me.  I’m telling you he’s an alien in a cat suit.

Lather, rinse, repeat….at least a dozen times.  Sometimes he makes off with the ribbon, and I have to follow the trail to find him…usually under the Christmas tree.

So, a once-pleasant experience has now become an incessant battle of wills and the sum total of my actual wrapped presents?  About half of what it should be for the time and energy expended.

Now That Is One Big Pussy!

From one of my favorite loss of productivity websites:




Wait for it…it’ll come to you, unless you get it right away which I did NOT..but when I did it made me giggle uncontrollably.


Does This Make Me An Enabler?

I walk into the semi-darkened room to find this..and sorry for the blurry pic, but he had just raised his head from inside the shoe.  I think he has a problem.

And it’s not the first time I’ve found Bugsy, the Insane in a compromising position with someone’s shoes. 

His attraction to my husband’s shoes is so bad that none of hubby’s shoes ever hit the floor.  I find them on barstools, the raised hearth, in boxes…of course, putting them in the closet never occurs to him.

Still he does his part to help Bugsy avoid temptation, while I just leave my shoes anywhere.    I think I’m enabling him.

We both need help.