indielowercase

septemberism94:

schim:

Cats who can’t figure out walls [x]

PLEASE TAKE YOUR CAT TO THE VET IF YOU SEE THEM DOING THIS BEHAVIOR OVER TIME.

It’s called “head pressing” and it occurs in dogs and cats. 

Head pressing is characterized by the compulsive act of pressing the head against a wall or other object for no apparent reason. This generally indicates damage to the nervous system, which may result from a number of varying causes, including prosencephalon disease (in which the forebrain and thalamusparts of the brain are damaged), or toxic poisoning.

http://www.petmd.com/cat/conditions/neurological/c_ct_headpressing

http://www.vet.cornell.edu/FHC/health_resources/toxoplasmosis.cfm (head pressing is listed as a symptom)

http://sevneurology.com/patients/clip-multilobular-osteochondroma (About a dog’s brain tumor but head pressing is listed as a symptom)

I wasn’t going to reblog this until I read the important caption dang thank you!!!

inchambersofthesea
If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.
 Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez (via inchambersofthesea)
When I was a child, my mom would stay up late the night before Easter and hide a basket full of candy. Then she would write a series of rhyming clues and stash them around the farmhouse. A note in Portnoy’s Complaint would lead to the dog food bowl which would lead to the freezer etc. I’d wake up at dawn and investigate around the place until I found my chocolate, while mom slept in.

  My mom can’t write anymore, or hide candy, or walk. We sold the farm ten years ago. Mom is moving into her final days, and I can’t be with her very much, because our relationship is toxic and awful.  So my family is my cats, and my friends who all live in other parts of the world. And holidays don’t mean anything except a day when I walk around and look in all the windows of the closed shops. 

  I’ve been pretty much ok with being alone. A couple years ago I was convinced that I didn’t have to be, that I could love and be loved, but that wasn’t really true. I’m no good with people. This isn’t a “poor me” thing; I know who I am and what my life will look like. 

  Some days are tougher than others, though.

When I was a child, my mom would stay up late the night before Easter and hide a basket full of candy. Then she would write a series of rhyming clues and stash them around the farmhouse. A note in Portnoy’s Complaint would lead to the dog food bowl which would lead to the freezer etc. I’d wake up at dawn and investigate around the place until I found my chocolate, while mom slept in.

My mom can’t write anymore, or hide candy, or walk. We sold the farm ten years ago. Mom is moving into her final days, and I can’t be with her very much, because our relationship is toxic and awful. So my family is my cats, and my friends who all live in other parts of the world. And holidays don’t mean anything except a day when I walk around and look in all the windows of the closed shops.

I’ve been pretty much ok with being alone. A couple years ago I was convinced that I didn’t have to be, that I could love and be loved, but that wasn’t really true. I’m no good with people. This isn’t a “poor me” thing; I know who I am and what my life will look like.

Some days are tougher than others, though.