My mom Cathy is still celebrating Ophelia’s recovery from liver disease. If you are just joining us on this blog, Ophelia’s the cat on the right - the fuzzball approximately the size and shape of an aircraft carrier, seen from above.

“After force feeding that wretched cat for 5 long weeks,” Cathy says, “at least Ophelia turned out to be really special. She’s loyal and loving.”

The cats are getting along with each other. Every so often we hear screams and cries, but Cathy says that’s a good sign. “At least they’re showing some interest in each other,” she says. “Nothing worse than a bored cat.”

Except a dog who’s getting bored with all the cat talk. Time for a walk, Mom.

My mom Cathy never gets sick. She’s tough! But Saturday evening she started feeling wretched. We all went to bed and slept…and slept.

She woke up Sunday morning and thought, “Time for exercise class.” Then she took me out for a walk (thank goodness!) and staggered home.

“Not today,” she told me, shaking out a few crunchies so I wouldn’t starve.

Here’s where I earned a year’s supply of crunchies and treats. I snuggled up next to my mom and didn’t budge. She felt safe and cozy with me there, stretched out, solid as a rock.

Of course our new housemate, Ophelia, stayed close by. She has her cushion and I have mine. We have an unspoken agreement and we joined forces to support our ailing owner.

Creampuff disappeared. She probably took advantage of the opportunity to snuggle up to her best friend, Cathy’s desktop computer. The modem is nice and warm.

By Monday Mom was back to normal. By noon she was drinking her coffee. At 2 PM she took me on a 40-minute walk. By evening she was off to exercise class.

And tomorrow I go to the park with Aunt Sara. Life is good.

Or whatever passes for normal in a cat these days.

My mom is so happy. Ophelia has been eating…and eating. Mom put a big dish of food in the laundry room, so Ophelia would have some privacy. Ophelia dug right in with gusto. You’d think she hadn’t eaten for a month. Well, she hadn’t. She’s been eating via “assisted feeding.”

Cathy feels she has gained an hour a day. No more fluid. No more force feeding.

She also gained a new cat. Ophelia’s whole personality has changed, too. She’s become a strong, confient, dominant feline. She joins us on the sofa. She sleeps on Cathy’s bed.

Now we’re waiting for the cats to start getting along. Ophelia has a magnificent purr and a horrible, ugly hiss. I’m afraid Creampuff gets hisses, boos and growls. I get ignored. My mom gets the purrs. Welll, she pays the big vet bills.

My mom celebrated her birthday this weekend. She discovered she was eligible for a free concert on her birthday so off she went to Benaroya Hall. They featured Sibelius’s 2nd (which she enjoyed immensely, she said, much better than the other Sibelius symphonies). Of course she also went to her exercise class. And we stopped by the dog park on our way home.

Unlike me, my mom did not get a treat for her birthday. She stuck to her lifetime eating plan. I’m so proud of her. I want her to stick around till I get old and cross the bridge. After that, she’s on her own.

My birthday was last month. I got to spend the day in the lounge, which was much more fun than going to a concert. And I got to spend my mom’s birthday there too. I played hard all day and I’m still tired. Gotta rest up: tomorrow’s my day to go to the park with Aunt Sara.

Cathy was hoping our fuzzy housemate Ophelia would give her the ultimate present: eating by herself. But no…Ophelia sniffs at food and says, “No thanks.” How can she turn up her nose at chicken and tuna? Meanwhile, the ditzy Creampuff is in heaven. She’s getting everything Ophelia won’t eat.

Me? I get my usual dry, boring crunchies. No big deal. I’d still rather be a dog.

My mom Cathy was so happy. Last night she was exhausted. She needed to feed Ophelia and the thought of heating up some water and mixing food with milk thistle (for Ophelia’s liver) and goop (the high calorie gel) … well, that was too much, even for my tender-hearted mom.

So she set down a can of Friskies turkey and giblets, right next to Ophelia’s special place in the closet. And Ophelia ate. And ate.

Yaay! My mom was so excited. She called the vet and left a message.

The vet deserves a medal. Mom also emails about the unusual things she finds in Ophelia’s litterbox. I would not be turned off (don’t ask what I eat in the dog park) but we have to be sensitive to our readers, says my mom.

As far as I am concerned…Big Deal. So she ate. I do it every day. I would eat all of Ophelia’s food, Creampuff’s food and my food, if Cathy would let me.

They tell me that cats have a special relationship with their owners. Personally, I think cat owners need a special relationship with their psychiatrists.

I am sleeping off a wonderful day of playing in the park with my Aunt Sara. Every dog and every human is my potential friend. And every piece of food is my potential treat.

Ophelia has been growling a lot lately. She sits on my mom’s lap and growls. She growls when she sees Creampuff. Creampuff is too ditzy to take it personally. She just holds her ground and stares at Ophelia, as if she’s asking, “What’s your problem?”

Even my mom admits Ophelia seems to be neurotic. But she IS getting healthier. See the photo on the right? She doesn’t look yellow at all. Just growly.

I am trying to stay out of the line of fire. Here I am with my new chew toy, a birthday present from Summer at the Dog Lounge.

Dogs know what’s important. Food, toys and walks. Ophelia needs to get with the program.

Last night we were honored with a visit from Mom’s friend and copywriting client, Ellen. Mom wrote the copy for Ellen’s website, Faces and Fortunes, back when she was charging about half of what she does now. Ellen’s site was very successful and they became phone friends. They met for the first time on Sunday. I went along to the Marqueen, where Ellen was staying. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs but the desk people fussed over me in the lobby.

Mom took advantage of the gift certificate she won at the Dog Park party last August (how appropriate!). She took Ellen to dinner at The Waterfront, an upscale seafood place in Seattle.

The waiter took this photo. After Mom downloaded it to Photoshop, she said she should have left a smaller tip. It was all blurry. She touched it up to get the photo. That’s my mom Cathy on the right. See, she does own some Real Clothes.

Did they bring home a treat for me? Hah. Such gratitude. I mean, if she didn’t own me, she wouldn’t have been at the dog park for the party. She’d have taken Ellen to the little Thai place around the corner.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ellen said. “I like Thai food.”

Maybe next time.

My mom has been force feeding Ophelia twice a day. She just started giving the poor cat Sub-Q fluids every other day. You’d think she’d be ready to say, “Alas, poor Ophelia….” and send her back where she came from.

But no. She exclaims, “Ophelia purred while I gave her fluids!” and “Ophelia’s so good when I feed her.”

Personally, I think it’s the Stockholm Syndrome. Mom is getting attached to this useless furry creature who runs her life. But it looks like Ophelia’s here to stay. I’m trying to make friends, but Ophelia doesn’t get it. A friendly “arf” and a sniff…who could misunderstand?

Cats are dumb.

My mom took Ophelia back to the vet on Monday. Ophelia’s lab tests show something is going on with her liver, which is why she’s turning yellow. No surprise there.

Mom came home with instructions for force-feeding, sub-Q fluids, and pills. Then she took me to the dog park. Lindsay, the park steward, is always happy to see us.

“The new kitty is sick?” Lindsay said. “Does she come with a return guarantee?”

See why I like Lindsay? That woman has great perspsective.

But she was joking and Cathy would never do that. She vowed Ophelia will never return to that shelter. And who else will be such a dedicated cat nurse?

I don’t really mind. When Cathy’s working on Ophelia, she puts me in my crate with a peanut butter kong toy. Yum. Ophelia’s not such a bad idea after all.

On Saturday my mom took Ophelia to the vet. Despite the advice of the behaviorist, Ophelia was not responding was not eating as much as my mom had hoped.

Dr. Angel took one look at Ophelia’s ears. “Yellow!” she exclaimed. “Liver disease!” She gave Ophelia some fluids and announced, “We’re sending out the blood tests. Come back Monday.”

Cathy went home with a few cans of special liver food and instructions to force feed. Ophelia also gets pills to stimulate her appetite and get over an infection she picked up.

Cathy was very bummed.

Appetite? I think Mom should take Ophelia to the park and let her run with me. A few rounds in the fresh air would do wonders for anybody’s appetite. I could ask my dog friends to chase her a little.