Felix, Kidneys, Heat

Oh my God, it's 90 degrees and I have the heat on!  This is what I thought when I went to lift the blinds a little higher, now that the morning sun had passed.  A great wave of heat was coming up from the radiator under the window.  But upon closer inspection I found that the radiator was cold (so to speak) and that the heat was not rising from there, but was sitting just outside the window,wanting to come in.  This explains why Spanish homes are so dark.  They keep their blinds down and windows closed during the day to keep the heat out.  I can’t do that.  I don’t like a dark house and it's too humid to keep the windows closed.  At least when they're open there is a chance, albeit a very small chance, of some breeze coming in.  So I compromise.  I keep the shades lower than usual until the sun passes but the windows remain open. 

Felix endured another blood test this week to see how his kidneys were performing.  Turns out they are performing the same as when we did the last blood test a few weeks ago.  Thus he is no better but no worse either.  Vet says he has glomerular disease.

The vet says that when the kidneys start to deteriorate, there is no going back.  All that we can do is try to keep it from getting worse.  So we will continue with the special renal diet that gives the kidneys less to filter, and we have put him on medication that might also help in preventing more deterioration.  All this may serve to maintain the status quo, or it may not.  If it does, that could be for for only a short while, or for many years.  The vet assures me that Felix is not in pain (he doesn’t look like he’s in pain).  He doesn’t play like he used to and isn't as spirited, but as long as it seems that he isn’t suffering and his quality of life is decent, we will continue on with the treatment and hope for the best, whatever that might be. 

The good news is that Felix's pancreas, which the vet thought was also malfunctioning, is OK.  The bad news is that it is hot and humid and so not only Felix, but Minnie and I also don’t want to make any moves that aren't absolutely necessary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Storm

Felix, my adorable little tuxedo cat, is not well.  He hasn't been well since Avi left in early May.  At first I thought it was because of the disturbance of having a guest in the house, but eventually I realized it was more than that.

Felix is having problems with his kidneys.  I'm trying to do what I can for him.  His situation isn't desperate, it isn't kidney failure, at least not yet.  But he clearly isn't his usual happy, verbal, playful self.  He's had a change to a special diet that allows the kidneys to process less, he's been drained of blood and urine for tests, and pumped full of cortisone and antibiotics.  All this has yielded some improvement.  But we're not there yet.  And of course, I'm worried. 

This afternoon he and Minnie have spent considerable time under the bed.  This is not because of any illness, but because of standard cat behavior that when there is a thunder storm, you run for safety, and safety is always somewhere other than where you presently are.  It's good that I've got the balcony secured so that they can't jump off, or who knows where they would run for safety.

Unlike my cats, I love storms.  I admit that thunder sometimes frightens me too, but I find that living in an apartment (and not one on the ground floor, or directly under the roof) gives me a feeling of safety, even as the sky lights up, thunder cracks and crashes, and rain pours down.  Up here I have the distinctly safe feeling that none of this will touch me.  And I can safely sit by the window enjoying the aroma of rain and the spectable of the storm... while my poor cats cower in fright under the bed.

I'm sorry.  I can't help it. 

Classics

Although I’m not a collector (would be, maybe, if I had the means) I’ve always been interested in beautiful cars.  My family actually owned one once.  Back in the 60s, my dad had bought a secondhand 1958 Mercedes Benz 220 SE.  He didn’t pay an arm and a leg for it -- it wasn’t a classic, it was just a second hand car in a used car lot.  But my dad knew better.  He knew beauty and quality when he saw it and knew it had far more class than a Ford or Chevy.  It was cream colored with a wooden dashboard and red leather interior and looked just like the one in this photo.  Maybe that’s when my interest in beautiful cars began, although I’m embarrassed to say, I managed to destroy that car on a cross-country trip.

If there’s a classic car show nearby, I’ll go.  When I see an interesting car parked or driving by, if I can, I’ll snap a photo.  I didn’t have my camera with me when I recently went to an art fair on the Rambla in Figueres.  I’m not much interested in contemporary painting and only went because I had nothing better to do.  But I found, besides the art stands, several classic cars, causing me to run home and grab my camera.  (The Mercedes photo was taken off the internet.  It's for sale!) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Left, Right, Straight Ahead

Last Friday night I had the worst asthma attack I’ve had in years.  The next morning, once I was feeling better, I went to see what additional medication or advice I could find at the pharmacy so that I could control it better if it happened again that night.

Unfortunately last Saturday was a holiday (Sant Pere) and my pharmacy was closed.  (You do sometimes get fed up with so many holidays.  Even locals get caught out.  I passed a woman with her shopping cart stopped in front of a small supermarket while I was walking and she asked me if I knew why the store was closed.  I told her it was Sant Pere.  She had nothing to make for lunch and realized she was going to have a problem.  I tried to cheer her by telling her that the outdoor fruit and veg market was open.)  On holidays and Sundays when pharmacies (and most businesses) are closed, there will always be one pharmacy in town that “stands guard” and is open.  My pharmacy had a sign up that informed me that the pharmacy at Carrer Gonzalez de Soto 71 was open that day.

I didn’t recall having ever seen this street, so I asked a passerby if he knew where Carrer Gonzalez de Soto was.  He pointed ahead and said “You know where the school is?  Well, the next street, or no, maybe the one after that is Gonzalez de Soto.”  I thanked him and walked ahead down Carrer Sant Pau.

I passed the school and looked at the next street.  Not it.  I went one more block, also not it.  While walking to the third street, I asked another passerby if he knew where Carrer Gonzalez de Soto was.  He thought about it a little and then turned, pointing back to where I had come from, and said that at the triangular plaza (where my pharmacy that was closed is located) I would find it.  I knew that wasn’t right, so I thanked him and kept on.

When I reached the next street I came across a man closing his garage door – a sure sign that he was a local -- and I asked him if he knew where Carrer Gonzalez de Soto was.  He gave it some thought and said he thought it was somewhere back in the direction from where I had just come and off to the left – somewhere near the post office.

I’ve walked to that post office from my apartment many times, up one street and down another, and neither is called Gozalez de Soto.  Even so, I had the feeling that his information was good, but as it was a little vague and rather than walk back and forth and get nowhere, I decided to walk home, which wasn’t too far away, and look at my map.

It turned out that all three men had been close.  I had been walking on Carrer Sant Pau.  The school sits on the corner of Carrer Sant Pau and Carrer Muntaner.  That is if I were to look to the left.  If I were to look to the right Carrer Muntaner is called Gonzalez de Soto.  This isn't the only street in Figueres that suddenly changes its name for no apparent reason.  I found several others while consulting my map.

 

 

 

Some blocks up (in the direction of the post office that the last man had pointed to) I found the one and only pharmacy that was open.  Unfortunately, when I told the pharmacist my problem she explained that they had no other medication besides the inhaler that I already possessed.  If it wasn’t helping, I would have to go see my doctor or the emergency service at the hospital.

Hoping I wouldn’t have another attack that night, I went home.  And as luck would have it, I didn’t have another attack and haven’t since.  I found the illusive Gonzalez de Soto, but I never did figure out what had caused the asthma attack.

 

While I was shooting photos two cars entered

 

Carcassonne, Cathars, and Cassoulet

This week I embarked on a mini-adventure – my first road trip into France.  I was a bit nervous.  The driver I used to be has deserted me.  Gone are the days when I could drive alone for hundreds of miles with no stress.  Although I studied for and obtained my Spanish driver’s license, the truth is that I still don’t know what all the road signs mean, especially the ones posted at the toll booths.  Where can you pay cash?  Where with credit card?  And where can you find an actual person in the booth.  Perhaps as a cost-saving measure, the booths seem to all be automated and if I wrongly ended up in the lane for pass-holders, I would be unable to back up and unable to go forward – somewhat like what happens in some of my bad dreams.

I approached the toll booths slowly, carefully analyzing the icons for their meanings.  Whether I interpreted well or just had good luck, I was able to pull through each toll, poorer, but with no trouble.

I was headed for Carcassonne.  I’ve been there before – several years ago with Manel.  He thought it was a kind of Disneyland and he was right, but in spite of that, I remember liking it, and according to Google Maps, it was only about an hour and a half away!  That’s closer than Barcelona.  How could I not go?

I don’t know how Google calculates, but my drive to Carcassonne took more like two and a half hours.  But never mind.  I got there with no problems except that the tolls were more expensive than I expected.   I should have known.  Expensive tolls are why I don’t drive on the motorways. 

Carcassonne’s Cité, the walled fortress at the top of the hill, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The citadel was restored in the 19^th century but not to its original style.  It would be better if it looked now as it did hundreds of years ago, but even if it is a bit phony, it still is impressive.  Carcassonne was a Cathar stronghold in the 12^th to 14^th centuries.  The Cathars were a Christian dualist movement not favored by the Catholic church.  I don’t know much about it but I did read a novel set in Carcassonne with Cathars as its protagonists that I thought was good fun and a whole lot better than Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code.  It’s called Labyrinth, by Kate Moss and you can buy it here!

 

 

Besides the challenge of getting there, my other reason for wanting to go to Carcassonne was to eat a bona fide cassoulet, the dish this area is famous for.  I’ve made cassoulet several times from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art, although admittedly, I leave out some of the ingredients and most of the steps so that my version is very simple and not nearly as richly flavored as it should be.  Really, mine is more like pork and beans.  Traditionally, cassoulet was country food, nothing fancy, just leftovers, cooked continuously on the back burner. 

Was the trip worth the time and expense?  Well, I don’t expect to be going back any time soon, but as far as I’m concerned, yes, the cassoulet was worth it.

 

 

 

Inside the walls, you're in the old medieval village

Lunch was at Restaurant Comte Roger



Duck confit, pork, sausage, beans... yum

 

Bo l nge ie

 

 

A beautiful example of my favorite car --
well, one of my favorite cars

 

 

Celebration

When I bought this apartment last year, I signed papers at the notary on my birthday and then took myself out to lunch at a local restaurant to celebrate.  This week, to celebrate both events, I left town.  At one point I thought I would make that local restaurant a yearly tradition, but after considering that for a few seconds, I realized that whereas the restaurant is good, it isn’t wonderful.

So I took the train to France -- to Perpignan to have lunch at my favorite restaurant there -- Al Très.  In addition to lunch, I went shopping.  I had a good time looking, and even tried on a pair of secondhand Armani pants, but they looked really awful and in the end, I didn’t feel compelled to buy anything. 

This was just as well because the next day I had to pay an unexpected vet bill.  Felix has not been his usual rambunctious self lately and I was worried.  Biopsy results of the enlarged gland behind his leg suggested no cause for it, and exploring his insides with a sonogram came up with no culprit for what I thought might be difficulty in urinating.  So with no diagnosis, Felix came home full of cortisone and antibiotics.  The vet says it’s often difficult to diagnose cats or to say if a cat is ill or simply in bad humor, so I’m hoping for the latter.   After all, from his point of view, moving from a house with garden where he could go out and roam the neighborhood all day to a small apartment where he is constantly being held prisoner is nothing to celebrate.

 

Just a few steps from the train station
and you can see you're in France

 

View from my terrace seat as I
sipped my cafe au lait and nibbled
a croissant

 

Some buildings look like they could be in Catalunya.
But hey! This used to be Catalunya.

 

It's not all fancy shmancy

 

At lunch

The mussels were to die for.

 

Sweeter than any dessert