"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." ~Albert Schweitzer
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Friday, April 18, 2014
Puma Photo
Here at last is a picture of Dad's "rented" cat, Puma. I have another of the two of them together, but Dad asked that I suppress it on the grounds that he looks too fat in it. Puma doesn't look too pleased about having her photo taken, either, but I didn't give her a vote.
"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." ~Albert Schweitzer
"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats." ~Albert Schweitzer
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Leasing a Puma
The last six weeks have been pretty harrowing. Dad and I had to take Mom to the emergency room with what turned out to be diverticulitis and a C. diff. infection. While we were there he felt ill so I had to take him home; he woke up the next day with a bad head cold, the stomach flu, and back spasms, so he couldn't go near the hospital for a couple of weeks after that. I ended up spending 8-10 hours a day at the hospital in a gown and gloves, trying to work with my laptop and a wireless network that wouldn't send outgoing emails, because my mother wouldn't talk to the staff when she needed anything and answered questions about her medical history with amazingly inventive fiction.
For a while it looked as if the facility where my parents live wouldn't take her back and we would have to move her elsewhere. At the last minute they relented and she went from rehab into their 24-hour nursing facility, which is probably a permanent move due to her increasing physical frailty and confusion. In the meantime, my sister Sue and I also moved Dad to a smaller independent living apartment in the same place. Not surprisingly, once he was settled with all his stuff and without the responsibility of taking care of Mom, his back spasms subsided. Although it's great he no longer has to be on high alert 24/7, Sue and I worried that he would be lonely without our mother. He is almost 88 and has really never lived by himself before.
Dad's beloved cat Mushroom passed on to the great cat condo in the sky about 3 years ago, and he was heartbroken. He started talking about getting another cat shortly after that, but Mom was firmly against the idea. Dad joked that if Mom died, he would stop at the animal shelter on the way home from the funeral. Well, she hasn't died, but she's no longer in any condition to object to his owning a cat. This set Sue into motion. As I've mentioned before, Sue is a volunteer adoption worker at the Humane Society and a dedicated cat pusher. She thinks everyone should have cats. Plural.
One of the local shelters, Four Paws, has a "Seniors Fostering Seniors" program. Senior citizens can "adopt" an elderly cat for a small fee; Four Paws actually retains ownership, and will take care of all the cat's medical needs. When either the cat or its person becomes too infirm for the relationship to continue, the shelter takes the cat back. Think of it as renting a cat.
So, last weekend Sue and I checked out the senior cats available and found the perfect friend for Dad. Her name is Puma; she's a big 12-year old cat with plushy black fur and a loud purr, declawed in the front. She and Dad have already bonded and are spending a lot of time in his recliner watching TV together. He's a little testy about her tendency to take more than her share of the bed at night, but on the whole both of them appear more than satisfied with the new arrangement.
Puma is in excellent condition for her age - she even still has good teeth - so I hope she will be Dad's roommate for a long time to come. If not, we may have to find another Four Paws cat for him to lease.
"Almost every pet owner out there will tell you that their animal companion enriches their life in more ways than they can count, but it turns out that pets actually help prolong their lives, too. Numerous studies have shown that having pets helps lower our stress levels, decrease blood pressure, benefit our cholesterol, improve our mood, and boost our immunity – in other words, lengthen our life span!" ~Mao Shing Ni, L.Ac., D.O.M., PhD
For a while it looked as if the facility where my parents live wouldn't take her back and we would have to move her elsewhere. At the last minute they relented and she went from rehab into their 24-hour nursing facility, which is probably a permanent move due to her increasing physical frailty and confusion. In the meantime, my sister Sue and I also moved Dad to a smaller independent living apartment in the same place. Not surprisingly, once he was settled with all his stuff and without the responsibility of taking care of Mom, his back spasms subsided. Although it's great he no longer has to be on high alert 24/7, Sue and I worried that he would be lonely without our mother. He is almost 88 and has really never lived by himself before.
Dad's beloved cat Mushroom passed on to the great cat condo in the sky about 3 years ago, and he was heartbroken. He started talking about getting another cat shortly after that, but Mom was firmly against the idea. Dad joked that if Mom died, he would stop at the animal shelter on the way home from the funeral. Well, she hasn't died, but she's no longer in any condition to object to his owning a cat. This set Sue into motion. As I've mentioned before, Sue is a volunteer adoption worker at the Humane Society and a dedicated cat pusher. She thinks everyone should have cats. Plural.
One of the local shelters, Four Paws, has a "Seniors Fostering Seniors" program. Senior citizens can "adopt" an elderly cat for a small fee; Four Paws actually retains ownership, and will take care of all the cat's medical needs. When either the cat or its person becomes too infirm for the relationship to continue, the shelter takes the cat back. Think of it as renting a cat.
So, last weekend Sue and I checked out the senior cats available and found the perfect friend for Dad. Her name is Puma; she's a big 12-year old cat with plushy black fur and a loud purr, declawed in the front. She and Dad have already bonded and are spending a lot of time in his recliner watching TV together. He's a little testy about her tendency to take more than her share of the bed at night, but on the whole both of them appear more than satisfied with the new arrangement.
Puma is in excellent condition for her age - she even still has good teeth - so I hope she will be Dad's roommate for a long time to come. If not, we may have to find another Four Paws cat for him to lease.
"Almost every pet owner out there will tell you that their animal companion enriches their life in more ways than they can count, but it turns out that pets actually help prolong their lives, too. Numerous studies have shown that having pets helps lower our stress levels, decrease blood pressure, benefit our cholesterol, improve our mood, and boost our immunity – in other words, lengthen our life span!" ~Mao Shing Ni, L.Ac., D.O.M., PhD
Friday, November 22, 2013
The Return of the Prodigal Cat
As I mentioned in my last post, my cat Charlie went AWOL at the beginning of September.
He was out in the screened porch when a sudden thunderstorm blew in. Either he was frightened by the loud thunder, or excited by something he saw outside. In either case, instead of running back into the house (the sliding glass door was open), he pushed out one of the screens and headed for who knows where. Since he is not an outside cat and we had a heavy rain that night, he apparently became disoriented and was unable to find his way back home. Or maybe he just heard the call of the wild. At any rate, he didn't return.
When I adopted Charlie I had him microchipped, and also subscribed to the "Home Again" service, which alerts other pet owners, vets, and animal shelters in the area to look for animals that go missing. I reported Charlie's breakout and was able to download and distribute a "Missing Cat" poster with his name, photo, and description on it.
Over the last 2 1/2 months I received several phone calls about "Charlie sightings." In one case I drove over to the block where he had been sighted and spent about half an hour wandering peoples' pitch-dark backyards with a flashlight, making the acquaintance of every rabbit in the neighborhood - without, however, locating my truant cat. I had begun to fear that one of the local coyotes had eaten him for lunch.
Then one night about a week ago I received a phone call from a nearby vet's office. Someone had found Charlie in a church parking lot and brought him in to the vet for a checkup. The vet's staff scanned him for a microchip and contacted me immediately.
Charlie didn't seem particularly excited to see me that night, but after I got him home he perked right up. Oh, yeah, my dish - my box - my cat condo - my stuffed mouse - my MOM!! Now he's back to following me around during the day and snuggling up at night.
Charlie definitely lost weight (and his collar and ID tag) during his adventure, but seems otherwise none the worse for wear. I haven't let him back out on the porch yet, though. I need to think of a good way to reinforce those screens before I can trust him out there without a chaperone.
"Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal, with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope." ~John Ciardi
He was out in the screened porch when a sudden thunderstorm blew in. Either he was frightened by the loud thunder, or excited by something he saw outside. In either case, instead of running back into the house (the sliding glass door was open), he pushed out one of the screens and headed for who knows where. Since he is not an outside cat and we had a heavy rain that night, he apparently became disoriented and was unable to find his way back home. Or maybe he just heard the call of the wild. At any rate, he didn't return.
When I adopted Charlie I had him microchipped, and also subscribed to the "Home Again" service, which alerts other pet owners, vets, and animal shelters in the area to look for animals that go missing. I reported Charlie's breakout and was able to download and distribute a "Missing Cat" poster with his name, photo, and description on it.
Over the last 2 1/2 months I received several phone calls about "Charlie sightings." In one case I drove over to the block where he had been sighted and spent about half an hour wandering peoples' pitch-dark backyards with a flashlight, making the acquaintance of every rabbit in the neighborhood - without, however, locating my truant cat. I had begun to fear that one of the local coyotes had eaten him for lunch.
Then one night about a week ago I received a phone call from a nearby vet's office. Someone had found Charlie in a church parking lot and brought him in to the vet for a checkup. The vet's staff scanned him for a microchip and contacted me immediately.
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| There's no place like home |
Charlie definitely lost weight (and his collar and ID tag) during his adventure, but seems otherwise none the worse for wear. I haven't let him back out on the porch yet, though. I need to think of a good way to reinforce those screens before I can trust him out there without a chaperone.
"Every parent is at some time the father of the unreturned prodigal, with nothing to do but keep his house open to hope." ~John Ciardi
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Returning to Reality
Sue and I were very fortunate to have a wonderful, relaxing vacation in what must be one of the most beautiful areas on earth. Unfortunately, things started going south as soon as we returned home.
The minute I got inside the door of my house, my cat Charlie started cussing me out for having left him alone for two weeks (never mind that my Dad loves cats and is the best kitty-sitter ever). Two nights later he pushed out one of the porch screens and escaped. He hasn't been back since. I did have him microchipped when I adopted him and he was wearing a collar and Humane Society numbered tag, so I'm hoping someone will return him, but he's so easily spooked by strangers that I'm afraid he'll be killed by a coyote before that happens. Fortunately we've had rain almost every day since, so he shouldn't be suffering from dehydration yet. I've put up posters and the local shelters and vets have been alerted; keeping my fingers crossed.
Then the news came that one of my favorite cousins has died. He had had cancer surgery and was feeling and apparently doing well, but it had metastasized (apparently without causing him pain) and that was it. He grew up in Oregon and I in South Dakota so we really only connected during the last 10 years, after I moved to Arizona and he started spending his winters here, but he was a warm and funny person and I will miss him very much.
Finally, my mother's health has taken a sharp downturn over the last two weeks and yesterday she had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital. Dad and I spent the whole day there while they ran tests; they kept her overnight and will probably be doing more today. Back at the facility where they live, Dad has changed their level of care from independent to assisted living so he will have help with things like getting her up and dressed, but he's very worried that that won't be enough and she may have to go into actual nursing home care. If that happens, I've told him he is welcome to move in with me, but since I only have one bathroom that may be a little tight.
Breathing deeply, trying to stay motivated.
"Fall seven times, stand up eight." -Japanese Proverb
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| Charlie's back stripes have darkened with age |
Then the news came that one of my favorite cousins has died. He had had cancer surgery and was feeling and apparently doing well, but it had metastasized (apparently without causing him pain) and that was it. He grew up in Oregon and I in South Dakota so we really only connected during the last 10 years, after I moved to Arizona and he started spending his winters here, but he was a warm and funny person and I will miss him very much.
Finally, my mother's health has taken a sharp downturn over the last two weeks and yesterday she had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital. Dad and I spent the whole day there while they ran tests; they kept her overnight and will probably be doing more today. Back at the facility where they live, Dad has changed their level of care from independent to assisted living so he will have help with things like getting her up and dressed, but he's very worried that that won't be enough and she may have to go into actual nursing home care. If that happens, I've told him he is welcome to move in with me, but since I only have one bathroom that may be a little tight.
Breathing deeply, trying to stay motivated.
"Fall seven times, stand up eight." -Japanese Proverb
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Photographing the Invisible Cat
When I met my cat Charlie at the Humane Society, he was very friendly and affectionate, which was one of the main reasons I adopted him. He continues to be very loving with me, rubbing his face against mine to wake me in the morning, sitting on my lap in our screened porch in the evenings, and helping me grade papers on the computer whenever I let him (he's discovered some interesting key combinations that I didn't know my laptop possessed). I was startled, then, the first time that someone visited the house after I acquired him and he dove under the bed.
Charlie has continued to go into hiding every time another person enters the house. He prefers his original under-bed cave, but he's also learned how to open the doors of the lower cupboards in the kitchen and the bathroom, so sometimes he'll shoot into one of them. He's been so elusive, in fact, that my mother (who is very defensive about her memory loss) actually accused me of making up the whole "adopting a cat" story to mess with her head.
In self-defense, I took up my cell phone and snapped a few pictures to send to the doubters. Here he is, slightly blurry but clearly visible, Charlie the (to other people) Invisible Cat.
Charlie has continued to go into hiding every time another person enters the house. He prefers his original under-bed cave, but he's also learned how to open the doors of the lower cupboards in the kitchen and the bathroom, so sometimes he'll shoot into one of them. He's been so elusive, in fact, that my mother (who is very defensive about her memory loss) actually accused me of making up the whole "adopting a cat" story to mess with her head.
In self-defense, I took up my cell phone and snapped a few pictures to send to the doubters. Here he is, slightly blurry but clearly visible, Charlie the (to other people) Invisible Cat.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Where to Stay in Rome
And now for some long-overdue information about our trip to
Europe…
Flying from Arizona to Italy involves at least one
connection, and missing that connection generally means waiting a day for another
flight, so we planned a day in Rome into our schedule as a “just in case” buffer. After a grueling day and a half in transit,
we took the train into the city to a stop only a few blocks from our
hotel. Alas, the elevator and escalator
in the station were both nonfunctional, and the “few blocks” were all
uphill. By the time we dragged ourselves
and our luggage to the hotel through the incredible heat and humidity of Rome
in August, we were literally drenched in perspiration. (I actually sweated through my jeans AND a
heavy leather belt.) However, we were
clearly not the first travelers to arrive at our destination in this
condition. The bellhop met us at the
reception desk with iced orange juice – the first indication that the hotel was
a real jewel.
We stayed at the Hotel Villa San Pio, conveniently located
within walking or Metro distance of most of the city’s central sightseeing
attractions, on the recommendation of an acquaintance who lives in Rome. This beautiful, traditionally decorated hotel
is one of several adjoining former private residences now operated as
bed-and-breakfast establishments by a local family. The reception staff spoke perfect English and
willingly made restaurant suggestions as well as taxi reservations for the trip
to the ship. Our spacious room was equipped
with a modern private bathroom, a small balcony perfect for an evening glass of
wine among the treetops (we were on the second floor), an Internet connection, a flatscreen TV, and
lovely high ceilings. The buffet breakfast
was served in a glass-walled garden room and adjoining outdoor patio with a
couple of hungry cats underfoot and small green parrots flying overhead. The price was about half the cost of the chain
hotel we stayed in after the cruise ended.
If I ever return to Rome, the first thing I will do is make a
reservation at the Hotel Villa San Pio.
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| My sister Sue after the "Rome Death March" |
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| The Hotel Villa San Pio |
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| The Breakfast Room and Patio |
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| One of the "Breakfast Cats" |
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Charlie is my darling
I think I've mentioned that my sister is an adoption counselor at the Arizona Humane Society. In the Cat Room. That means that she's an aggressive cat pusher. She thinks everyone should have cats. Plural. She has two cats herself and is seriously considering a third. So poor Rusty had barely been gathered to her forecats when Sue started asking me what kind of replacement cat I would be looking for. I finally told her that I would like a male cat between 9 months and two years of age, preferably affectionate and either yellow tabby or some other lightish color that would not stand out too distinctly on my carpet and upholstery. Sue told her fellow counselors (also women) that I was looking for a cuddly young blond, and one of them said, "Aren't we all?"
Anyway, a few weeks ago I got The Call on a Sunday: "Would you consider a lynx-point Siamese/snowshoe mix?" (Translation: looks a lot like a Siamese but with brown-striped face, tail, and legs and white toes. Big Blue Eyes.) I went to see him and fell in love the minute he turned into a purring ball of love in my lap.
Charlie is about a year old and was surrendered by his previous owners when they moved. I don't know what they were thinking of when they named him Charlie - Charlie Chan? Charlie Chaplin? Charlie Brown?? - but he actually answers to the name so I guess we'll have to keep it.
Poor Charlie had a cold when I got him and spent most of the first week under the bed recovering, but he's spending every evening now doing his Lap Cat thing while we watch TV together. On Saturdays he takes a nap on my desk or the top level of his cat condo (next to the desk) while I grade papers. He's even started to meet me at the door when I come home from work, although that's probably what the English call "cupboard love" (he knows dinner is imminent).
At any rate, he's a cutie and very well behaved. What's not to love?
"Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier."
~ Robert Burns
Anyway, a few weeks ago I got The Call on a Sunday: "Would you consider a lynx-point Siamese/snowshoe mix?" (Translation: looks a lot like a Siamese but with brown-striped face, tail, and legs and white toes. Big Blue Eyes.) I went to see him and fell in love the minute he turned into a purring ball of love in my lap.
Charlie is about a year old and was surrendered by his previous owners when they moved. I don't know what they were thinking of when they named him Charlie - Charlie Chan? Charlie Chaplin? Charlie Brown?? - but he actually answers to the name so I guess we'll have to keep it.
Poor Charlie had a cold when I got him and spent most of the first week under the bed recovering, but he's spending every evening now doing his Lap Cat thing while we watch TV together. On Saturdays he takes a nap on my desk or the top level of his cat condo (next to the desk) while I grade papers. He's even started to meet me at the door when I come home from work, although that's probably what the English call "cupboard love" (he knows dinner is imminent).
"Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier."
~ Robert Burns
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Saying Goodbye
She's started to exhibit what the vet said would be signs of almost total kidney failure - constant drinking, nearly constant urination - and she's almost entirely stopped eating. She follows me around, wailing to be held (this from a cat who always hated to be picked up). When she's not in my lap or trying to get there, she's hiding under the bed.
I haven't even taken her on The Big Trip yet, and already I feel like a murderer, but she's obviously suffering and I hate to see that, too. Of course every time I'm sure she's doomed, she perks up and looks great the next day, but the overall trajectory is definitely headed in a downward direction.
To be continued...
"Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love." ~George Eliot
Monday, September 26, 2011
Kitty Cannabis
For Rusty's first Christmas with us, my sister Sue gave her a blue fake-sherpa catnip mouse about the size of a newborn kitten. The mouse, which also had a rawhide tail and a goofy felt face and ears, quickly became known as BooBoo the Big Blue Mousy. Rusty is always deeply suspicious of new things, so she detoured around BooBoo for a couple of months before finally checking him out. Then she seemed to decide he was actually her kitten; she carried him everywhere, slept with him, and washed him whenever she took a bath herself. She was an abusive mother, though; every once in a while she kicked the crap out of him.
When Tom and I would go on vacation and leave her with a kitty sitter, we would return to find her sitting with BooBoo on our bed, as if she were saying to him, "It's just us now, kid. Stick with me and I'll take care of you." Once when we boarded her at the vet's we sent BooBoo along and he didn't make the trip home; I rushed back to the vet immediately to retrieve him and avoid a feline meltdown.
Over the last couple of years her attachment to BooBoo had faded and he'd become just another one of her toys. Listening to her wail earlier this week, though, it occurred to me that she might welcome his presence again for a couple of reasons - as an old buddy to snuggle up to and as a conveyance for the cat equivalent of medical marijuana. I dug BooBoo out of the toy basket, cleaned him up a little, rolled him in the freshest catnip I could find, and gave him to Rusty. She grabbed him and started washing, and was quiet for the rest of the day. I've been renewing the catnip whenever she gets a little whiny and the whining stops immediately. I check under the bed occasionally and they're cuddling as if she'd never turned her fickle back on him. Apparently he's once more her BFF.
Our current vet, Dr. Hauser (please, no Doggie Howser jokes) told me that all I can do now is try to keep Rusty as comfortable as possible for the weeks or months left to her. I guess that means I'd better lay in a substantial supply of catnip.
"A cat doesn't know what it wants and wants more of it." ~Richard Hexem
When Tom and I would go on vacation and leave her with a kitty sitter, we would return to find her sitting with BooBoo on our bed, as if she were saying to him, "It's just us now, kid. Stick with me and I'll take care of you." Once when we boarded her at the vet's we sent BooBoo along and he didn't make the trip home; I rushed back to the vet immediately to retrieve him and avoid a feline meltdown.
Over the last couple of years her attachment to BooBoo had faded and he'd become just another one of her toys. Listening to her wail earlier this week, though, it occurred to me that she might welcome his presence again for a couple of reasons - as an old buddy to snuggle up to and as a conveyance for the cat equivalent of medical marijuana. I dug BooBoo out of the toy basket, cleaned him up a little, rolled him in the freshest catnip I could find, and gave him to Rusty. She grabbed him and started washing, and was quiet for the rest of the day. I've been renewing the catnip whenever she gets a little whiny and the whining stops immediately. I check under the bed occasionally and they're cuddling as if she'd never turned her fickle back on him. Apparently he's once more her BFF.
Our current vet, Dr. Hauser (please, no Doggie Howser jokes) told me that all I can do now is try to keep Rusty as comfortable as possible for the weeks or months left to her. I guess that means I'd better lay in a substantial supply of catnip.
"A cat doesn't know what it wants and wants more of it." ~Richard Hexem
Monday, September 5, 2011
Bracing for More Loss
The first eight years I lived in New York, I was in apartments that didn't allow pets. It was the longest period of my life without a cat, and I was suffering serious fur withdrawal by the time I married Tom.
Tom was also a cat lover. According to his younger son Jeff, before his parents' divorce, Tom spent every night watching TV with Jeff's cat Inky curled up on his lap. That ended with the marriage, since Tom's first wife retained custody of both Jeff and Inky.
We were both pleased, then, when our then-landlord finally caved and agreed to let us adopt a cat if we would increase our damage deposit. We immediately started making the rounds of the local cat shelters. I saw several cats I would gladly have taken home, but Tom was much more choosy. Finally we visited a cat store only a few blocks from our apartment. They specialized in purebreds - I fell in love with the fluffy, friendly Scotch Fold kittens, although not with their price tags - but the rear of the store housed several rescued street cats. I yearned for a big old tom who reminded me of my long-dead Sunny, but the shop owner told me that he was totally feral and they were negotiating with a farm owner to take him.
The next cage over held a half-grown orange kitten. When the shopkeeper took her out and handed her to Tom, she snuggled closer and stared up at him with adoring eyes. He immediately said, "I like this one. Let's take her." And we did.
Rusty's prior owner had apparently trained her with a heavy hand before throwing her out; she shrank from being petted and (after that first day) struggled every time we tried to pick her up for the first two years. She stayed strictly off the furniture for months until we convinced her that we wanted her to share the bed and the sofa with us. Over time she bonded with us so well that she throws a major fit whenever I leave her, even with the most indulgent kitty-sitters in the world.
I was upset last week when Rusty started bumping into things, and even more so last Friday when the vet confirmed that her eyesight is gone. She doesn't have cataracts, her irises still respond to light, and the retinas and blood vessels in her eyes still look fine, but the vet threw cotton balls in front of her face and she didn't even blink.
Today the results of her blood tests came back. Her kidney function has been gradually declining over the last couple of years; apparently it's grown much worse since her last tests in April. She's also developed high blood pressure. Both of those things have probably contributed to her loss of sight.
The vet says that most cats who lose their vision adapt pretty well after an initial period of confusion, as long as no one switches the furniture around. Given Rusty's age and her kidney condition, though, she probably won't be with me much longer.
Queen Elizabeth II of England referred to the 1992, the year her favorite home burned, as her "annus horribilis;" this is shaping up to be mine, not to mention poor Rusty's.
"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet." ~Colette
Tom was also a cat lover. According to his younger son Jeff, before his parents' divorce, Tom spent every night watching TV with Jeff's cat Inky curled up on his lap. That ended with the marriage, since Tom's first wife retained custody of both Jeff and Inky.
We were both pleased, then, when our then-landlord finally caved and agreed to let us adopt a cat if we would increase our damage deposit. We immediately started making the rounds of the local cat shelters. I saw several cats I would gladly have taken home, but Tom was much more choosy. Finally we visited a cat store only a few blocks from our apartment. They specialized in purebreds - I fell in love with the fluffy, friendly Scotch Fold kittens, although not with their price tags - but the rear of the store housed several rescued street cats. I yearned for a big old tom who reminded me of my long-dead Sunny, but the shop owner told me that he was totally feral and they were negotiating with a farm owner to take him.
The next cage over held a half-grown orange kitten. When the shopkeeper took her out and handed her to Tom, she snuggled closer and stared up at him with adoring eyes. He immediately said, "I like this one. Let's take her." And we did.
Rusty's prior owner had apparently trained her with a heavy hand before throwing her out; she shrank from being petted and (after that first day) struggled every time we tried to pick her up for the first two years. She stayed strictly off the furniture for months until we convinced her that we wanted her to share the bed and the sofa with us. Over time she bonded with us so well that she throws a major fit whenever I leave her, even with the most indulgent kitty-sitters in the world.
I was upset last week when Rusty started bumping into things, and even more so last Friday when the vet confirmed that her eyesight is gone. She doesn't have cataracts, her irises still respond to light, and the retinas and blood vessels in her eyes still look fine, but the vet threw cotton balls in front of her face and she didn't even blink.
Today the results of her blood tests came back. Her kidney function has been gradually declining over the last couple of years; apparently it's grown much worse since her last tests in April. She's also developed high blood pressure. Both of those things have probably contributed to her loss of sight.
The vet says that most cats who lose their vision adapt pretty well after an initial period of confusion, as long as no one switches the furniture around. Given Rusty's age and her kidney condition, though, she probably won't be with me much longer.
Queen Elizabeth II of England referred to the 1992, the year her favorite home burned, as her "annus horribilis;" this is shaping up to be mine, not to mention poor Rusty's.
"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet." ~Colette
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Back to the Vet
For the last few days Rusty has been wandering around the house howling for no apparent reason. I've offered her food, water, treats, a clean box, love, and the porch, to no avail.
Tonight she walked around the kitchen bumping into furniture and walls as if she couldn't see them and then she retreated under the bed. I can't get her to come out.
I'm calling the vet the first thing in the morning. I hope this isn't the beginning of the end, but my poor baby is 15 years old, which definitely puts her into the Senior Cat category. Keeping my fingers crossed...
"If there is a heaven, it's certain our animals are to be there. Their lives become so interwoven with our own, it would take more than an archangel to detangle them." ~ Pam Brown
Tonight she walked around the kitchen bumping into furniture and walls as if she couldn't see them and then she retreated under the bed. I can't get her to come out.
I'm calling the vet the first thing in the morning. I hope this isn't the beginning of the end, but my poor baby is 15 years old, which definitely puts her into the Senior Cat category. Keeping my fingers crossed...
"If there is a heaven, it's certain our animals are to be there. Their lives become so interwoven with our own, it would take more than an archangel to detangle them." ~ Pam Brown
Saturday, August 27, 2011
A New Low in Cat Pampering
Because this is Arizona and the climate is very dry, I try to drink a lot of water every day. I even take a glass of water to bed with me in case I get thirsty during the night. (The glass sits on the nightstand, of course; it doesn't actually join me under the covers.)
While Rusty and I were staying with my parents, she apparently noticed this phenomenon for the first time and decided to help herself to a drink. She hopped up on the bed, strolled over to the nightstand, and stuck her snout into my glass. At first I tried to shoo her away when she did this, but she doesn't really drink enough water, so I finally started putting two glasses on the nightstand every night - a plastic tumbler with a cover and a straw for me, and a short wide glass for Rusty.
So now we're in our new house and I've been using a styrofoam cup for Rusty's nightcap, but I leave the glass there all day for her, too, and it looked pretty scruffy. I scouted around the house for another short fat glass that I don't normally use, and there it was - an orphaned highball glass that had originally been Tom's. Its partner broke several years ago while being washed and I never replaced it.
Voila: I now have one of the few cats in the entire world - if not the only one - with a Waterford crystal highball glass for a water dish. (No spoiled cats in this house, oh, no...)
"I tell my wife that you can't spoil a cat. That's the way they are supposed to be treated and anything less is unacceptable." ~Robert Megee
While Rusty and I were staying with my parents, she apparently noticed this phenomenon for the first time and decided to help herself to a drink. She hopped up on the bed, strolled over to the nightstand, and stuck her snout into my glass. At first I tried to shoo her away when she did this, but she doesn't really drink enough water, so I finally started putting two glasses on the nightstand every night - a plastic tumbler with a cover and a straw for me, and a short wide glass for Rusty.
So now we're in our new house and I've been using a styrofoam cup for Rusty's nightcap, but I leave the glass there all day for her, too, and it looked pretty scruffy. I scouted around the house for another short fat glass that I don't normally use, and there it was - an orphaned highball glass that had originally been Tom's. Its partner broke several years ago while being washed and I never replaced it.
Voila: I now have one of the few cats in the entire world - if not the only one - with a Waterford crystal highball glass for a water dish. (No spoiled cats in this house, oh, no...)
"I tell my wife that you can't spoil a cat. That's the way they are supposed to be treated and anything less is unacceptable." ~Robert Megee
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Definitely One Cat
I mentioned recently that a friend of my sister's is trying to find a new home for her cat, now that her husband has developed an allergy to it, and I agreed to see if Rusty would tolerate a roomie.
Alas, the Kitty Meet and Greet took place today and a lot of bad language was passed on both sides, although no blood (human or feline) was shed. For a moment I thought Rusty was going to sink her teeth into me for opening our house to an interloper but fortunately the impulse passed. Jasmine is a beautiful cat and apparently well-behaved when not being hissed at, but she was also obviously very bonded with her current owner and I don't know whether I could win her affection in the middle of an armed (clawed?) camp, so I had to tell Deb I couldn't take her. Rusty sulked for a while after the Great Hissy Fit but eventually decided to treat the outcome as a personal victory and had a hearty snack to celebrate.
I hope Deb is able to find a good home for Jaz; the Humane Society is now so overloaded with cats that they're giving them away for whatever donations people are willing to pay. The last thing they need is another recycled kitty, and the last thing poor Jasmine needs is to be one.
"One is never sure, watching two cats washing each other, whether it's affection, the taste or a trial run for the jugular." ~ Helen Thomson
Alas, the Kitty Meet and Greet took place today and a lot of bad language was passed on both sides, although no blood (human or feline) was shed. For a moment I thought Rusty was going to sink her teeth into me for opening our house to an interloper but fortunately the impulse passed. Jasmine is a beautiful cat and apparently well-behaved when not being hissed at, but she was also obviously very bonded with her current owner and I don't know whether I could win her affection in the middle of an armed (clawed?) camp, so I had to tell Deb I couldn't take her. Rusty sulked for a while after the Great Hissy Fit but eventually decided to treat the outcome as a personal victory and had a hearty snack to celebrate.
I hope Deb is able to find a good home for Jaz; the Humane Society is now so overloaded with cats that they're giving them away for whatever donations people are willing to pay. The last thing they need is another recycled kitty, and the last thing poor Jasmine needs is to be one.
"One is never sure, watching two cats washing each other, whether it's affection, the taste or a trial run for the jugular." ~ Helen Thomson
Friday, July 22, 2011
Looking for the Door into Winter
One of my favorite books when I was growing up was The Door into Summer by Robert A. Heinlein, which is (more or less) about time travel. The title comes from one of the habits of the narrator's cat, Pete. Pete and his human once lived in a house with many external doors. When Pete wanted to go outside, he would stand in front of a door and meow until Staff opened it. If the weather was inclement, however, he would refuse to venture out, going instead to the next door and meowing there. This continued until they had visited all the doors at least once. The narrator's theory was that Pete thought one of the doors must surely be the door into summer, and he wasn't going to settle for anything less.
Here in the Phoenix area we've been suffering the same high temperatures as the eastern half of the country, although our humidity, thank goodness, is much lower. Our noontime critter watching has dwindled to almost nothing as all the intelligent birds and beasts indulge in siestas during the hottest part of the day. One critter still up and about, however, is my cat Rusty.
The day after we moved in with my parents Rusty discovered their screened back porch, an excellent spot from which to plot mayhem on quail and rabbits. She prefers to go out there several times a day, which is fine with me, except...
...since the temperature hit 100 she's been going out and in and out and in and out and in until one of us gives up in disgust. Apparently she can't believe it's really that hot out. Well, neither can I and I'm not wearing a heavy fur coat. Unlike Heinlein's Pete, she's not convinced that the next door over is the door into summer; instead, she seems to believe that if she glares at me balefully enough I can cool off the porch between one visit and the next. She's not taking my failure lightly; I can almost see her thinking, "What kind of useless lackey are you? I'm seriously thinking of trading you in for a model with temperature control and tuna on demand features."
Our new house has a screened back porch, too, and I'm expecting the same rounds of in and out there. Still, winter is coming in just a few months, and then she'll be complaining that I didn't open the door into summer.
"Then he would stay indoors until hydraulic pressure utterly forced him outside. When he returned the ice in his pads would sound like little clogs on the wooden floor and he would glare at me and refuse to purr until he had chewed it all out...whereupon he would forgive me until the next time.
"But he never gave up his search for the Door into Summer."
~Robert A. Heinlein, The Door into Summer
Here in the Phoenix area we've been suffering the same high temperatures as the eastern half of the country, although our humidity, thank goodness, is much lower. Our noontime critter watching has dwindled to almost nothing as all the intelligent birds and beasts indulge in siestas during the hottest part of the day. One critter still up and about, however, is my cat Rusty.
The day after we moved in with my parents Rusty discovered their screened back porch, an excellent spot from which to plot mayhem on quail and rabbits. She prefers to go out there several times a day, which is fine with me, except...
...since the temperature hit 100 she's been going out and in and out and in and out and in until one of us gives up in disgust. Apparently she can't believe it's really that hot out. Well, neither can I and I'm not wearing a heavy fur coat. Unlike Heinlein's Pete, she's not convinced that the next door over is the door into summer; instead, she seems to believe that if she glares at me balefully enough I can cool off the porch between one visit and the next. She's not taking my failure lightly; I can almost see her thinking, "What kind of useless lackey are you? I'm seriously thinking of trading you in for a model with temperature control and tuna on demand features."
Our new house has a screened back porch, too, and I'm expecting the same rounds of in and out there. Still, winter is coming in just a few months, and then she'll be complaining that I didn't open the door into summer.
"Then he would stay indoors until hydraulic pressure utterly forced him outside. When he returned the ice in his pads would sound like little clogs on the wooden floor and he would glare at me and refuse to purr until he had chewed it all out...whereupon he would forgive me until the next time.
"But he never gave up his search for the Door into Summer."
~Robert A. Heinlein, The Door into Summer
Saturday, July 9, 2011
One Cat, Two Cats?
All of my cats have been rescued cats. Some came directly from the Humane Society or a rescue organization that took homeless cats off the streets. Others came from friends who for one reason or another could no longer keep them. For the most part I've limited myself to one cat at a time, but it hasn't been easy - once I walk into a shelter and find myself surrounded by orphaned animals, I want to take them all home.
Recently one of my sister's co-workers has been under pressure to get rid of her cat. It seems her husband has developed a violent allergy to poor Jasmine. Unfortunately, no one has stepped forward to adopt her, so she may be headed for the local Humane Society. This is bad news. According to my sister, who is a cat adoption volunteer for them, they are currently overloaded with cats (they've been running sales on them), and any additional animals who are dropped off there may be put to death.
Jasmine's owner has been trying to convince me that Rusty needs a younger companion. I was resisting pretty well until she sent me this picture (it's the one that was taken when Jasmine was at the Humane Society before):
I weakened enough to say that if she hasn't found Jasmine another owner by the time I'm in my new home, I will introduce her to Rusty and see if they get along.
Of course I don't need a second cat, and Rusty will probably be highly insulted by the prospect of sharing her space, but look at those big blue eyes - how can I say no to them?
"There is, incidently, no way of talking about cats that enables one to come off as a sane person." ~Dan Greenberg
Recently one of my sister's co-workers has been under pressure to get rid of her cat. It seems her husband has developed a violent allergy to poor Jasmine. Unfortunately, no one has stepped forward to adopt her, so she may be headed for the local Humane Society. This is bad news. According to my sister, who is a cat adoption volunteer for them, they are currently overloaded with cats (they've been running sales on them), and any additional animals who are dropped off there may be put to death.
Jasmine's owner has been trying to convince me that Rusty needs a younger companion. I was resisting pretty well until she sent me this picture (it's the one that was taken when Jasmine was at the Humane Society before):
I weakened enough to say that if she hasn't found Jasmine another owner by the time I'm in my new home, I will introduce her to Rusty and see if they get along.
Of course I don't need a second cat, and Rusty will probably be highly insulted by the prospect of sharing her space, but look at those big blue eyes - how can I say no to them?
"There is, incidently, no way of talking about cats that enables one to come off as a sane person." ~Dan Greenberg
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Transporting A Feline Across State Lines
Nine years ago this week Tom and I bought our house in Arizona and eight years ago on June 1 my parents moved into their current house, so Mom and Dad and I have been swapping moving stories for the last couple of days. The moving memory most indelibly etched in my mind is of our final trip here from New York - the flight on which we transported poor Rusty to her new home.
Our only previous experience with taking her somewhere other than the vet was when we moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Tom's sister drove us in her car and Rusty howled non-stop the entire way. We would have liked to ship her to Phoenix as cargo, but the airlines won't carry animals to hot places in the summer except in the passenger compartment. We were afraid she would wail for the whole five hours - Not A Good Thing - and asked the vet to sedate her for the trip. The good news: the injection knocked her out before we got to the airport. The bad news: before passing out she threw up all over the inside of the cat carrier. Alas, we were in the cab at the time with no way to clean it up.
This was less than a year after 9/11, so security at the airport was tight and we were asked to take Rusty out of the carrier so it could be X-rayed separately. I hauled my poor limp, vomit-smeared cat out of her carry-on bag. "Spread it," the security guard said. "Pardon me?" I said, thinking I couldn't have heard him correctly. "Spread the animal out," he ordered. (I guess they were supposed to check for bombs strapped to her stomach.) I tried to obey. Poor Rusty's eyes were rolled back in her head and her tongue was sticking slightly out of the side of her mouth; the guard's expression turned from stern to uneasy and he asked, "Is something wrong with that cat?" "She got a little carsick on the way here," I said glibly, hoping he wouldn't pull me aside on suspicion of using a helpless animal as a heroin mule.
As soon as we escaped from security I rushed to the nearest women's room to wash the worst of the mess off Rusty. It had a diaper-changing table where I was able to lay her out, but the paper towel dispensers were all empty. I hauled all of the Kleenex I had with me out of my purse and wiped her down as well as I could; in the meantime, a seemingly endless procession of women filed past behind us on their way to the stalls, most of them shying violently at the sight of the crazy lady dabbing at her dead cat. I finally abandoned the cleanup as a lost cause, stuffed Rusty back in the bag, and headed for the boarding gate.
The first four hours of the flight were uneventful except for the increasingly ripe aroma coming from the bag under my feet; I wanted to apologize to the person sitting directly in front of me, but if he hadn't deduced the source of the odor I wasn't going to give it away. Then, an hour from Phoenix, the carrier started to thrash violently.
I was certain that Rusty was having a seizure. I yanked the carrier out from under the seat and unzipped part of the top. Rusty's head popped out, bright-eyed and curious. Apparently the thrashing had been her waking up, sniffing, and thinking "Good God, I need a bath!!" I was immensely relieved.
Tom, on the other hand, panicked. "Stuff her back in! Stuff her back in! What if she gets loose?" Rusty and I both stared at him coldly, but when he persisted I zipped the bag up and she resumed bathing. By the time my sister picked us up at the Phoenix airport both Rusty and Tom had recovered from the rigors of the trip, but the carrier was so smelly that Sue almost made us take a cab to her house.
And that is why Rusty and I will never move anywhere more than a day's drive outside the greater Phoenix metro area.
"Remember the Old Traveler’s Saying: 'You may lose your money and your health and your sanity and some important organs, but they can't take away your travel memories unless they hit you hard on the head.'” ~Dave Barry, Dave Barry's Only Travel Guide You'll Ever Need
Our only previous experience with taking her somewhere other than the vet was when we moved from Manhattan to Brooklyn. Tom's sister drove us in her car and Rusty howled non-stop the entire way. We would have liked to ship her to Phoenix as cargo, but the airlines won't carry animals to hot places in the summer except in the passenger compartment. We were afraid she would wail for the whole five hours - Not A Good Thing - and asked the vet to sedate her for the trip. The good news: the injection knocked her out before we got to the airport. The bad news: before passing out she threw up all over the inside of the cat carrier. Alas, we were in the cab at the time with no way to clean it up.
This was less than a year after 9/11, so security at the airport was tight and we were asked to take Rusty out of the carrier so it could be X-rayed separately. I hauled my poor limp, vomit-smeared cat out of her carry-on bag. "Spread it," the security guard said. "Pardon me?" I said, thinking I couldn't have heard him correctly. "Spread the animal out," he ordered. (I guess they were supposed to check for bombs strapped to her stomach.) I tried to obey. Poor Rusty's eyes were rolled back in her head and her tongue was sticking slightly out of the side of her mouth; the guard's expression turned from stern to uneasy and he asked, "Is something wrong with that cat?" "She got a little carsick on the way here," I said glibly, hoping he wouldn't pull me aside on suspicion of using a helpless animal as a heroin mule.
As soon as we escaped from security I rushed to the nearest women's room to wash the worst of the mess off Rusty. It had a diaper-changing table where I was able to lay her out, but the paper towel dispensers were all empty. I hauled all of the Kleenex I had with me out of my purse and wiped her down as well as I could; in the meantime, a seemingly endless procession of women filed past behind us on their way to the stalls, most of them shying violently at the sight of the crazy lady dabbing at her dead cat. I finally abandoned the cleanup as a lost cause, stuffed Rusty back in the bag, and headed for the boarding gate.
The first four hours of the flight were uneventful except for the increasingly ripe aroma coming from the bag under my feet; I wanted to apologize to the person sitting directly in front of me, but if he hadn't deduced the source of the odor I wasn't going to give it away. Then, an hour from Phoenix, the carrier started to thrash violently.
I was certain that Rusty was having a seizure. I yanked the carrier out from under the seat and unzipped part of the top. Rusty's head popped out, bright-eyed and curious. Apparently the thrashing had been her waking up, sniffing, and thinking "Good God, I need a bath!!" I was immensely relieved.
Tom, on the other hand, panicked. "Stuff her back in! Stuff her back in! What if she gets loose?" Rusty and I both stared at him coldly, but when he persisted I zipped the bag up and she resumed bathing. By the time my sister picked us up at the Phoenix airport both Rusty and Tom had recovered from the rigors of the trip, but the carrier was so smelly that Sue almost made us take a cab to her house.
And that is why Rusty and I will never move anywhere more than a day's drive outside the greater Phoenix metro area.
"Remember the Old Traveler’s Saying: 'You may lose your money and your health and your sanity and some important organs, but they can't take away your travel memories unless they hit you hard on the head.'” ~Dave Barry, Dave Barry's Only Travel Guide You'll Ever Need
Monday, May 9, 2011
Unsticking the Velcro Cat
One aspect of life at the Kitty Spa has not been running smoothly. My parents have Berber carpet in their living, dining, and bedrooms, and whenever Rusty walks across it her claws catch. We've been calling her the Velcro Cat because the sound of her unhooking herself from the carpet is a lot like the noise Velcro makes as it rips apart. She's started using an exaggerated duck walk to avoid the snagging but it doesn't always work.
I've been putting off trimming her toenails because it's always an ordeal. I originally bought Rusty from a rescue organization and she had obviously been badly mistreated. She wouldn't let me pick her up without a struggle for almost two years after I got her, and to this day she goes wild if she thinks she's being forcibly restrained. (Her file at the vet's has a yellow "fractious" sticker on it.) Unfortunately, claw-clipping usually requires forcible restraint. Once in a while I can sneak up on her and trim a couple of nails while she's sleeping, but lately she's been napping under the bed so that hasn't been an option.
Last night my sister came over for dinner and Dad's birthday cake so I recruited her help. (She has had several hard-to-handle cats and is an experienced claw-clipper.) I held Rusty and Sue clipped. I could tell from the language Rusty used that she had spent way too much time listening to the alley cats behind our apartment in Brooklyn. No blood was shed, but by the last paw she was struggling so hard that I finally let her go.
Upon her release, Rusty jumped on the back of the sofa where we were sitting and gave us a smug "So, there!" look. She didn't have a chance to enjoy her victory, though, because Sue grabbed her under one arm and finished the last two claws before she could even protest. I didn't know a cat's face could look that shocked and surprised - not to mention outraged. She may never speak to Auntie Sue again.
At any rate, today Rusty is walking across the carpet with no noise or snagging. I'm just hoping we'll be able to move before she once again morphs into the Velcro Cat.
(Note to self: DO NOT buy a home carpeted in Berber!!)
"Velcro: what a rip-off." ~ Tim Vine
I've been putting off trimming her toenails because it's always an ordeal. I originally bought Rusty from a rescue organization and she had obviously been badly mistreated. She wouldn't let me pick her up without a struggle for almost two years after I got her, and to this day she goes wild if she thinks she's being forcibly restrained. (Her file at the vet's has a yellow "fractious" sticker on it.) Unfortunately, claw-clipping usually requires forcible restraint. Once in a while I can sneak up on her and trim a couple of nails while she's sleeping, but lately she's been napping under the bed so that hasn't been an option.
Last night my sister came over for dinner and Dad's birthday cake so I recruited her help. (She has had several hard-to-handle cats and is an experienced claw-clipper.) I held Rusty and Sue clipped. I could tell from the language Rusty used that she had spent way too much time listening to the alley cats behind our apartment in Brooklyn. No blood was shed, but by the last paw she was struggling so hard that I finally let her go.
 |
| Rusty and friend |
At any rate, today Rusty is walking across the carpet with no noise or snagging. I'm just hoping we'll be able to move before she once again morphs into the Velcro Cat.
(Note to self: DO NOT buy a home carpeted in Berber!!)
"Velcro: what a rip-off." ~ Tim Vine
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Not That Kind Of Cat Allergy
I've complained before about my allergies, but I haven't said much about my cat's.
Rusty was still fairly young when she developed nasty black patches on the underside of her chin. I rushed her to the vet, who suggested it was a plastic allergy and told me to buy her ceramic food and water dishes. This sounded pretty bogus to me, but I bought the dishes and her chin cleared up. Hmm.
Then we moved to Arizona. Up until that time she had been an inside cat in New York apartments where the windows were always closed (we were afraid she might try to fly). In Arizona, though, we had screened windows and we left them open whenever the weather was nice. Enter dust, mold, and pollen. Before I knew it, poor Rusty's eyes were always full of crud and she was emitting explosive kitty sneezes when exposed to "fresh" air.
Now that we've moved to the Kitty Spa, though, her eyes have cleared up and she hasn't sneezed for about a week. She must feel a lot better; she's been much more friendly and active since the relocation. Apparently she's allergic to the pollen of some plant that flourished near our former home but not here. Just another reason to look for housing in this area instead.
"Every season can be an allergy season, depending on what you're allergic to." ~ Clara Chung
Rusty was still fairly young when she developed nasty black patches on the underside of her chin. I rushed her to the vet, who suggested it was a plastic allergy and told me to buy her ceramic food and water dishes. This sounded pretty bogus to me, but I bought the dishes and her chin cleared up. Hmm.
Then we moved to Arizona. Up until that time she had been an inside cat in New York apartments where the windows were always closed (we were afraid she might try to fly). In Arizona, though, we had screened windows and we left them open whenever the weather was nice. Enter dust, mold, and pollen. Before I knew it, poor Rusty's eyes were always full of crud and she was emitting explosive kitty sneezes when exposed to "fresh" air.
Now that we've moved to the Kitty Spa, though, her eyes have cleared up and she hasn't sneezed for about a week. She must feel a lot better; she's been much more friendly and active since the relocation. Apparently she's allergic to the pollen of some plant that flourished near our former home but not here. Just another reason to look for housing in this area instead.
"Every season can be an allergy season, depending on what you're allergic to." ~ Clara Chung
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Hipshot
I've always been a stomach sleeper. Occasionally I can sleep on one side or the other, but never on my back - too much post-nasal drip. So for the past couple of months I haven't been sleeping well at all because suddenly my left hip pains me when I lie on my stomach. I toss from side to side, trying to find a comfortable position, and eventually fall into an uneasy half-doze. Nasty.
I think I mentioned that the cat and I both had physicals scheduled for this week. My doctor says the hip pain is probably bursitis and suggested standing while I work. Ho. When did you last see a web designer standing up? Neither my home office nor my office office is equipped with standing desks. I suppose I could put my computer on my kitchen counter but...Plan B is taking plenty of Advil before I go to bed.
I have to wait until tomorrow for the results of Rusty's physical. Her doctor is concerned that she's losing weight and ordered a blood screen for senior cats. I'm just hoping that she hasn't developed diabetes or a hyperactive thyroid or some other disease that will require medication that I can't afford and probably can't get her to swallow.
At least Rusty has no trouble sleeping on her stomach, or indeed in any other position.
"Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a good many ailments, but I never heard of one who suffered from insomnia." ~Joseph Wood Krutch
I think I mentioned that the cat and I both had physicals scheduled for this week. My doctor says the hip pain is probably bursitis and suggested standing while I work. Ho. When did you last see a web designer standing up? Neither my home office nor my office office is equipped with standing desks. I suppose I could put my computer on my kitchen counter but...Plan B is taking plenty of Advil before I go to bed.
I have to wait until tomorrow for the results of Rusty's physical. Her doctor is concerned that she's losing weight and ordered a blood screen for senior cats. I'm just hoping that she hasn't developed diabetes or a hyperactive thyroid or some other disease that will require medication that I can't afford and probably can't get her to swallow.At least Rusty has no trouble sleeping on her stomach, or indeed in any other position.
"Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a good many ailments, but I never heard of one who suffered from insomnia." ~Joseph Wood Krutch
Monday, March 28, 2011
Life at the Kitty Spa
Today the movers took the furniture our realtor's stager didn't want plus all my books and a lot of other miscellaneous boxes to the storage unit we rented to use while our house is being shown. To be sure that my cat Rusty wasn't underfoot, I moved her to my parents' house last night.
This was a more involved project than you might think. I had to pack Rusty's litter box, scratching pad, food, dishes, toys, and favorite napping blanket without her noticing; we've moved enough so that she understands what stacks of brown boxes mean, and she's been edgy for days. She actually caught me moving her toys and crouched next to them defensively for about an hour before giving up and collapsing in her cat bed. At the last minute I picked her up and cuddled her all the way into the kitchen where I stuffed her into her carrier. (Barry followed with the bed.) She howled about my betrayal for the entire 10 miles to Mom and Dad's place.
Once we arrived I unpacked her things and she sulked under the bed for most of the evening. My mother finally got her to come out by offering her a dish of tuna juice which she deigned to accept. I slept over last night and will again tonight to make her feel more secure.
Surprisingly, Mom and Dad said that she was quiet and well-behaved today, spending most of the afternoon in their screened-in porch watching the quail and the bunnies in their backyard. No howling. No scratching the carpet. No tossing of hairballs. Amazing.
That tuna juice and the porch must have tipped her off to what my sister and I have known for years - our parents' house is the ultimate Kitty Spa, where cats go to be spoiled rotten. I only hope Rusty is willing to come with me when I find my next place.
This was a more involved project than you might think. I had to pack Rusty's litter box, scratching pad, food, dishes, toys, and favorite napping blanket without her noticing; we've moved enough so that she understands what stacks of brown boxes mean, and she's been edgy for days. She actually caught me moving her toys and crouched next to them defensively for about an hour before giving up and collapsing in her cat bed. At the last minute I picked her up and cuddled her all the way into the kitchen where I stuffed her into her carrier. (Barry followed with the bed.) She howled about my betrayal for the entire 10 miles to Mom and Dad's place.
Once we arrived I unpacked her things and she sulked under the bed for most of the evening. My mother finally got her to come out by offering her a dish of tuna juice which she deigned to accept. I slept over last night and will again tonight to make her feel more secure.
Surprisingly, Mom and Dad said that she was quiet and well-behaved today, spending most of the afternoon in their screened-in porch watching the quail and the bunnies in their backyard. No howling. No scratching the carpet. No tossing of hairballs. Amazing.
That tuna juice and the porch must have tipped her off to what my sister and I have known for years - our parents' house is the ultimate Kitty Spa, where cats go to be spoiled rotten. I only hope Rusty is willing to come with me when I find my next place.
“Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.” ~James Herriot
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