Day 3:
What do you love?
Today we’re going to delve a little deeper. We’ve had a think about what
it is that we do. Now let’s make some space for what we love.Say someone found all of this evidence many years after you’d gone: what conclusions would they draw about the things/ideas/people you loved? Angels watch over us in our great room, perched on the high ledge over the wood stove. Most are my mother's collection; a few are ours -- one from a grateful client. Angel chimes sit near them atop the built-in bookshelves. They make me feel connected to the Universe and to those we cherish. A bouquet of mostly floral teacups surround a pretty floral teapot in our china cabinet, and sad to say, they are all mostly unused. The teapot was a wedding gift to my parents and has a few mended cracks visible, casualties from my childhood. The cups are from my grandmother's, great-aunt's, and my mother's collection, plus a few from my former mother-in-law, and I love them all. That cabinet also holds white curved twin Red Wing Pottery vases -- another inherited wedding gift that somehow escaped breakage. We rarely have flowers because our two kitties like to nibble on them, but the connection to the past and my parents is strong there. Books are everywhere: old ones, oft-read childhood ones, the brown leather and gilt Shakespeare from my childhood displayed in the great room shelves along with a few china knickknacks and some handmade birdhouses. In the salsa-colored den on the white woodshelves that cover one whole wall -- the bulk of the collection, arranged by non-fiction subject and fiction alphabetical author, at least mostly. Colorful covers pop at us -- trade paperbacks mixed unashamedly with jacketed hardcovers and somber Bibles and hymnals. It's our personalities in there, a pretty accurate representation of what we love to do, love to read, and who we are -- or at least were at some point. Our newer interests rest sedately in the Kindle cloud, unseen by eyes other than ours. And that, I think, is a loss of sorts, although I love my Kindle. Magazines too, in stacks waiting for periodical files; on end tables waiting to be read or finished; in baskets by the bed and my favorite reading chair. Cookbooks are crammed into a built-in kitchen niche -- worn church and service club collections next to the ubiquitous red-and-white Better Homes and Gardens, A much-taped-up recipe file is stuffed with computer-printed samplings and long-ago hand-written recipe cards. My mother's and grandmother's recipe files rest in a cabinet nearby, and when I pull one out, the handwriting always brings them into the kitchen with me: Jule Kage and fruitcake cookies and pecan shorts every year at Christmas, especially. Two paintings, one from each daughter, are almost the only non-photographic art on our walls, although our bedroom also holds the Holstee Manifesto which reminds us every morning as we get up about what is really important Otherwise we are surrounded in every room by photographic memories of events, trips, scenic vistas, and a few taken to illustrate my freelance articles that are particularly interesting. There is no planned decorating in our house, other than coordinated, rather vivid, wall colors of red-dirt clay (although my brother snarkily referred to it as 'dead salmon'), muted oak-tree-leaf green, salsa red, and a few lighter peachy tones -- colors that reflect the outdoor landscape where we live, so visible in the big windows that are everywhere. But a theme? No. Each collectible, each knickknack has a history and is something we enjoy seeing daily. Kindly put, our style is eclectic.( And probably not helped much by the 6-foot-plus cat tree and numerous scratching posts in varying degrees of shredded sisal that sit next to the scratched-patina leather chairs and mostly intact cloth upholstery and quilts and afghans and pillows. We like comfort. So do the kitties.) While we have many music CDs, we like the country quiet and seldom think to play music in the house. It's a broad mix: Grateful Dead, Loreena McKennitt, John Rutter, Vaughan Williams, Traveling Wilburys, Johnny Cash, Mark Knopfler, the Beatles, Broadway shows. Our preference in television series and movies swings to drama, but often with a twist, and yet we enjoy the Pixar movies too. We are both generalists -- we enjoy a broad range of styles, of subject matter, of content, of delivery. We like things around us that mean something to us, although we are slower to eliminate things that no longer reflect who we are or serve our needs, probably mostly out of habit. We like comfort and warmth. We love the outdoors and the ocean -- there are many ocean photos on our walls. We enjoy the feeling of being connected to our past and to those we loved, and also to the greater Universe. We are hodgepodge,diverse, a bit unorganized. Eclectic. |
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Friday, September 19, 2014
August Moon 14: Day 3 -- Loving what?
Saturday, April 19, 2014
April Moon 14, Day 3 -- Home
Home
What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?
Home is my safe place: the people I love and who love me back are there. There is the comfort of familiar things and routines and treasures. As I have gotten older, however, I realize that 'home' doesn't have to be a structure at all, that anytime I am with my beloved husband and kitties, I am home.
The house my parents owned from the year I was in fifth grade until 1998 when they sold it and most of the contents to move into a senior living apartment was home, and, I suppose, will always hold the place in my memory as my childhood home. I knew everything about it: which stairstep creaked when you stepped on it, where the memory boxes were stashed in the upstairs closets, how to close a door quietly so that my folks didn't hear me come in. My room had a tin windowsill outside the dormer, and I always heard the first raindrops. A huge lilac bush bloomed under another window in my room, and lilacs remain my favorite spring flower, evoking security, new growth, calm, and a sense of continuity: they bloomed every year.
As a young married woman, I created several homes in different cities, and made them cozy and welcoming and familiar, with little family treasures displayed on walls and shelves, made them feel safe for us. When I moved into my own little apartment in Pacifica, having left my home in Birmingham to create a new life, I arranged the treasures I'd brought with me to help me feel safe and familiar, and I established new routines for my new home.
When Tony and I moved in together, we mingled treasures and routines, but our safety and comfort was all bound up in each other far more than in that condo where we heard every footstep, every airplane landing at SFO, every siren. We lived there but our home was within our relationship more than within the structure.
And now, in a home we built 12 years ago and still love, we have both a safe, welcoming structure encompassing ourselves and our relationship and our lives. The very best place -- the sense of being truly home --- is at night in our bed, holding hands next to each other, our kitties settled in beside us. That sense travels with us in our little travel trailer too. Anywhere we are together has now become home: the physical parts are dear and familiar and warm, but it is who we are and that we love that has brought us to our home.
What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?
Home is my safe place: the people I love and who love me back are there. There is the comfort of familiar things and routines and treasures. As I have gotten older, however, I realize that 'home' doesn't have to be a structure at all, that anytime I am with my beloved husband and kitties, I am home.
The house my parents owned from the year I was in fifth grade until 1998 when they sold it and most of the contents to move into a senior living apartment was home, and, I suppose, will always hold the place in my memory as my childhood home. I knew everything about it: which stairstep creaked when you stepped on it, where the memory boxes were stashed in the upstairs closets, how to close a door quietly so that my folks didn't hear me come in. My room had a tin windowsill outside the dormer, and I always heard the first raindrops. A huge lilac bush bloomed under another window in my room, and lilacs remain my favorite spring flower, evoking security, new growth, calm, and a sense of continuity: they bloomed every year.
As a young married woman, I created several homes in different cities, and made them cozy and welcoming and familiar, with little family treasures displayed on walls and shelves, made them feel safe for us. When I moved into my own little apartment in Pacifica, having left my home in Birmingham to create a new life, I arranged the treasures I'd brought with me to help me feel safe and familiar, and I established new routines for my new home.
When Tony and I moved in together, we mingled treasures and routines, but our safety and comfort was all bound up in each other far more than in that condo where we heard every footstep, every airplane landing at SFO, every siren. We lived there but our home was within our relationship more than within the structure.
And now, in a home we built 12 years ago and still love, we have both a safe, welcoming structure encompassing ourselves and our relationship and our lives. The very best place -- the sense of being truly home --- is at night in our bed, holding hands next to each other, our kitties settled in beside us. That sense travels with us in our little travel trailer too. Anywhere we are together has now become home: the physical parts are dear and familiar and warm, but it is who we are and that we love that has brought us to our home.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Salt air is a cure for smoke and haze
We escaped to the ocean over a long weekend -- escaped smoke and fire news and heat, and just soaked up the moist, cool salt air in Bandon, Oregon.
We'd planned to go to the Lost Coast some time ago and had made reservations, but the fires in Tehama and Shasta counties closed both main roads to the coast, and the alternate way, far south of us, led to more fire issues with some of those roads. So rather than cancel altogether, we remembered Bandon, a spot we visited more than eight years ago when we were on our honeymoon.
It was some miles and hours longer to get there, but probably not by a whole lot, since Bandon is accessible from here mostly via I-5, and then cutting over to the coast on reasonably good road.
We drove through smoke and haze until we got well north of Redding, where the smoke from the Shasta Dam fire billowed over the roadway and we could see smoke plumes much more closely than we really wanted to see them. By the time we came back yesterday, the air had cleared a lot. The fires are more under control, although by no means out. And the air quality is better, but far from good.
It was a lovely getaway. I read a whole book -- okay, an appropriate beach read -- the second in Nora Roberts' Blood Brothers trilogy and hardly requiring much brain, but perfect for the weekend. We ate fish, we watched a lovely sunset, we walked miles on the beach, we slept and watched some mindless television. Mostly we watched and listened to waves and sea birds. The constancy of the waves is reassuring, endless in its repetition. I love it. Tony said I was like a puppy sniffing the air. I took great gulps of the air, even filling my lungs full several times just before we left to come home in hopes that it would sustain me until I get back. When I close my eyes I see the waves, hear the waves. It is a good place.
The kitties missed us. McMurphy was all over us last night, wanting to be petted, and Ches just watched nearby, although he let me pet him and love on him later in the evening, but didn't climb into Tony's lap until just a few minutes ago. As long as the outside kitties are fed, watered, and petted daily, they're fine. And they were.
The garden is bountiful with squash -- zucchini and yellow. Tomatoes are ripening slowly, green peppers are appearing, and there are a couple of Japanese eggplant. No green beans. Lots of foliage, but no fruit. I've gotten some cucumbers and there are more out there. I still would like to plant more chard. I have a little plant -- the seeds didn't all come up -- and need to just plunk more into the ground. It's good -- all is tasty and fresh. Herbs are good too -- basil, chives, oregano, thyme, mint. Cilantro never does well, though -- I don't know why.
Time to fold clothes and try to relax a bit. It's been one of those days where I tied up loose ends and putzed, but didn't do some of the things I now HAVE to get done. Ah well. Such is the nature of a deadline-driven writer, I guess.
We'd planned to go to the Lost Coast some time ago and had made reservations, but the fires in Tehama and Shasta counties closed both main roads to the coast, and the alternate way, far south of us, led to more fire issues with some of those roads. So rather than cancel altogether, we remembered Bandon, a spot we visited more than eight years ago when we were on our honeymoon.
It was some miles and hours longer to get there, but probably not by a whole lot, since Bandon is accessible from here mostly via I-5, and then cutting over to the coast on reasonably good road.
We drove through smoke and haze until we got well north of Redding, where the smoke from the Shasta Dam fire billowed over the roadway and we could see smoke plumes much more closely than we really wanted to see them. By the time we came back yesterday, the air had cleared a lot. The fires are more under control, although by no means out. And the air quality is better, but far from good.
It was a lovely getaway. I read a whole book -- okay, an appropriate beach read -- the second in Nora Roberts' Blood Brothers trilogy and hardly requiring much brain, but perfect for the weekend. We ate fish, we watched a lovely sunset, we walked miles on the beach, we slept and watched some mindless television. Mostly we watched and listened to waves and sea birds. The constancy of the waves is reassuring, endless in its repetition. I love it. Tony said I was like a puppy sniffing the air. I took great gulps of the air, even filling my lungs full several times just before we left to come home in hopes that it would sustain me until I get back. When I close my eyes I see the waves, hear the waves. It is a good place.
The kitties missed us. McMurphy was all over us last night, wanting to be petted, and Ches just watched nearby, although he let me pet him and love on him later in the evening, but didn't climb into Tony's lap until just a few minutes ago. As long as the outside kitties are fed, watered, and petted daily, they're fine. And they were.
The garden is bountiful with squash -- zucchini and yellow. Tomatoes are ripening slowly, green peppers are appearing, and there are a couple of Japanese eggplant. No green beans. Lots of foliage, but no fruit. I've gotten some cucumbers and there are more out there. I still would like to plant more chard. I have a little plant -- the seeds didn't all come up -- and need to just plunk more into the ground. It's good -- all is tasty and fresh. Herbs are good too -- basil, chives, oregano, thyme, mint. Cilantro never does well, though -- I don't know why.
Time to fold clothes and try to relax a bit. It's been one of those days where I tied up loose ends and putzed, but didn't do some of the things I now HAVE to get done. Ah well. Such is the nature of a deadline-driven writer, I guess.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Blogging in my head
That's what I've done all week -- written blog posts in my head -- but I haven't had enough time to let them flow through my fingers onto the screen. New articles to write, places I have to be, tasks that must be done...
But here I am right now. There's a big pot of braised shortribs in sauce simmering in the Crock Pot, filling the house with a wonderfully spicy-tomato-y scent. I should let it sit overnight and skim off the fat, but it smells too good to wait -- so I'll skim off what I can from the top of the pot. These are good, Tehama-county-grown beef shortribs, too. I cut the very last of the Swiss chard from the garden this morning, so we'll have that along side, and I'll probably cook some whole wheat wide noodles too, to soak up that wonderful sauce. Yum. (Can you tell I'm hungry?)
I pulled up the tomato vines today and tossed what was left to the deer, saving a few green tomatoes for us. It's time for the garden to be done. I thanked the earth for all the wonderful food we enjoyed this season. In the next day or so, if I can find an hour, I'll RoundUp the whole thing to get rid of all the awful weeds we had this year. Then I'll pull up the dead stuff, till the soil, and layer newspaper and the good, dried manure that's waiting in a small trailer. Next summer ought to be a really good growing season!
Another article in the Record Searchlight -- and today I got a call thanking me for the story. Seems Gottschalks called and volunteered to wrap gifts and to donate a few more; a cookie store is making cookies especially for Adopt-A-Family; and they've gotten another few volunteers. That just makes me glow. I've got two more stories done that probably will run this weekend, and am talking tomorrow to one more person about the program. This has been a fun run.
But it's kept me hopping!
Saturday evening we went to the Red Bluff Christmas parade -- Tony took some photos, and I watched. It was a mild night for November, although I was in layers and my gloved fingers still got cold. I watched two younger teens next to us, dressed in sockless tennies and capri pants, eating cotton candy and watching the lights. They spoke to us a few times -- very pleasant girls. It made me remember that age -- BEING that age (yes, I can still recall that in this aging brain) -- with all its insecurities and dreams and desires. They were young enough to be unselfconscious about how they acted as they watched -- still slightly gawky in bodies that haven't reached full maturity yet. One had carrotty-red hair that could have been real; both wore a little makeup, but not excessive.
I wondered what they want for Christmas, if they have boyfriends, how they behave around their parents. I wondered what they like about school, if they participate in clubs or activities. I wondered what they dream about being when they grow up. They're still young enough to get excited about Christmas -- and I hope they each get something they really want, and have a Christmas tree, and are with family who love them.
I guess that writing these stories and talking to volunteers and staff, and browsing through some of the families in the Adopt-A-Family program has really heightened my awareness of how hard some people struggle to make things work, and how very, VERY lucky I am and always have been.
I'm a huge believer that we make our own destiny -- and that there are angels who are there to help us along the way, mostly unrecognized by us. For many of these families, the volunteers who offer gifts and food and money may be their angels, and just may make the difference between giving up and continuing to work hard. It's touching, and inspiring. I hope my stories make a difference -- from what I've heard, they have.
I am not going to have to search for the Christmas spirit this year -- I don't even mind the carols already playing in the stores -- although I was listening to Pavarotti singing "Ave Maria" in Latin in Walmart (of all places), and overheard a woman saying, "That music is just driving me NUTS!" (okay, no accounting for taste. Maybe she prefers "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.") I'm looking forward to cookies and music and lights and the pungent scent of pine trees, and to watching bubble lights perking away on the tree. To hearing from old friends, and to writing them back. To remembering Christmases past, and being thankful.
I am looking forward to being with my brother and sister-in-law this year, and with my daughter -- this will be the first Christmas we've been together since Mother died, and I have so missed that family connection. Even though there's still all the shopping and wrapping and stuff to do, it's okay. I'm just grateful we'll be together, and that we have enough....of everything.
McMurphy update: he had one more (unanticipatedly is that even a word? expensive) test and seems to be fine. He is so happy to be home and with us, and seems a little quieter than he was before he got sick. We are so glad to have him back.
And that's all I have time for today. Hark, how the bells...
But here I am right now. There's a big pot of braised shortribs in sauce simmering in the Crock Pot, filling the house with a wonderfully spicy-tomato-y scent. I should let it sit overnight and skim off the fat, but it smells too good to wait -- so I'll skim off what I can from the top of the pot. These are good, Tehama-county-grown beef shortribs, too. I cut the very last of the Swiss chard from the garden this morning, so we'll have that along side, and I'll probably cook some whole wheat wide noodles too, to soak up that wonderful sauce. Yum. (Can you tell I'm hungry?)
I pulled up the tomato vines today and tossed what was left to the deer, saving a few green tomatoes for us. It's time for the garden to be done. I thanked the earth for all the wonderful food we enjoyed this season. In the next day or so, if I can find an hour, I'll RoundUp the whole thing to get rid of all the awful weeds we had this year. Then I'll pull up the dead stuff, till the soil, and layer newspaper and the good, dried manure that's waiting in a small trailer. Next summer ought to be a really good growing season!
Another article in the Record Searchlight -- and today I got a call thanking me for the story. Seems Gottschalks called and volunteered to wrap gifts and to donate a few more; a cookie store is making cookies especially for Adopt-A-Family; and they've gotten another few volunteers. That just makes me glow. I've got two more stories done that probably will run this weekend, and am talking tomorrow to one more person about the program. This has been a fun run.
But it's kept me hopping!
Saturday evening we went to the Red Bluff Christmas parade -- Tony took some photos, and I watched. It was a mild night for November, although I was in layers and my gloved fingers still got cold. I watched two younger teens next to us, dressed in sockless tennies and capri pants, eating cotton candy and watching the lights. They spoke to us a few times -- very pleasant girls. It made me remember that age -- BEING that age (yes, I can still recall that in this aging brain) -- with all its insecurities and dreams and desires. They were young enough to be unselfconscious about how they acted as they watched -- still slightly gawky in bodies that haven't reached full maturity yet. One had carrotty-red hair that could have been real; both wore a little makeup, but not excessive.
I wondered what they want for Christmas, if they have boyfriends, how they behave around their parents. I wondered what they like about school, if they participate in clubs or activities. I wondered what they dream about being when they grow up. They're still young enough to get excited about Christmas -- and I hope they each get something they really want, and have a Christmas tree, and are with family who love them.
I guess that writing these stories and talking to volunteers and staff, and browsing through some of the families in the Adopt-A-Family program has really heightened my awareness of how hard some people struggle to make things work, and how very, VERY lucky I am and always have been.
I'm a huge believer that we make our own destiny -- and that there are angels who are there to help us along the way, mostly unrecognized by us. For many of these families, the volunteers who offer gifts and food and money may be their angels, and just may make the difference between giving up and continuing to work hard. It's touching, and inspiring. I hope my stories make a difference -- from what I've heard, they have.
I am not going to have to search for the Christmas spirit this year -- I don't even mind the carols already playing in the stores -- although I was listening to Pavarotti singing "Ave Maria" in Latin in Walmart (of all places), and overheard a woman saying, "That music is just driving me NUTS!" (okay, no accounting for taste. Maybe she prefers "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.") I'm looking forward to cookies and music and lights and the pungent scent of pine trees, and to watching bubble lights perking away on the tree. To hearing from old friends, and to writing them back. To remembering Christmases past, and being thankful.
I am looking forward to being with my brother and sister-in-law this year, and with my daughter -- this will be the first Christmas we've been together since Mother died, and I have so missed that family connection. Even though there's still all the shopping and wrapping and stuff to do, it's okay. I'm just grateful we'll be together, and that we have enough....of everything.
McMurphy update: he had one more (unanticipatedly is that even a word? expensive) test and seems to be fine. He is so happy to be home and with us, and seems a little quieter than he was before he got sick. We are so glad to have him back.
And that's all I have time for today. Hark, how the bells...
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Still a sick boy
Mac is back in the vet clinic today with a tentative diagnosis of pancreatitis. That's what they'd thought it was last week, but then he got the fluid around his lungs, and they weren't sure about it. He began showing symptoms again late yesterday -- vomiting what little he was eating, general lethargy (I'm sorry -- sick as he is, the idea of lethargy in cats makes me chuckle. Cats sleep 20 hours a day. If that's not built-in lethargy, what is?)
So Anyway.
Bottom line: they're putting fluids in him and soothing his GI tract, and we'll see how he is tomorrow.
It's very hard to watch animals and very small children be sick because they can't tell you where it hurts or how they feel -- they just lay there and whimper. Breaks my heart. We just want Mac to be well.
So Anyway.
Bottom line: they're putting fluids in him and soothing his GI tract, and we'll see how he is tomorrow.
It's very hard to watch animals and very small children be sick because they can't tell you where it hurts or how they feel -- they just lay there and whimper. Breaks my heart. We just want Mac to be well.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
A sick kitty
We've had a very sick kitty last week == I've been referring to McMurphy as the $6 million kitty, although the final vet bill WAS less than that. Slightly.
We think it started sometime a week ago last night -- he didn't wake us at the crack of dawn to get the food dish out, which is definitely not his normal behavior. McMurphy is a slightly rotund cat who very much enjoys eating throughout the day and preferably the night. We put him on a diet of sorts some time ago when we started putting the food dish away at night, and he has slimmed down some.
But I digress.
Sunday he slept on his purr pad on a chair in our office -- his usual day business -- but Tony commented before we went to bed that he didn't seem to be feeling well. When we got up last Monday, he was definitely a sick boy: glassy eyes, shallow, rapid breathing, extreme lethargy. I got him into the vet and they determined that yes, he had a rathr high fever, and was definitely a sick boy.
He was not, however, going to be docile about any prodding and poking. The only times Mac has been in a car has been for vet trips. He didn't much like being in the carrier, but especially did not like the resident clinic cat who came over to check on him, and MOST definitely did not appreciate the woofing doggies who also were waiting to see the vet.
We attempted to draw blood: I helped hold him and talked soothingly to him: "Goooood Mackie, that's a goooood Mac. It's okay, it's going to be over soon, you're going to feel allllll better."
One vet tech held him by the scruff of his neck; the other attempted to insert a needle into a leg vein.
He growled. He hissed. He showed teeth. His ears went flat. He undulated his chunky 12 pounds enough that it was impossible to hold him steady. He was a very pissy kitty.
They got one teensy vial. Not enough. They took him "in back" to get more help: probably enlisting the aid of three or four more techs to hold him down and away from my sympathetic eyes. No go.
Finally I agreed to let them sedate him a little so they could draw blood and do some xrays, which helped. And that began the sequence of tests for our poor little boy.
We do know he doesn't have feline leukemia, pneumonia, liver or kidney problems, heartworm, diabetes, or a couple of other potentially bad viruses. He didn't eat something that made him sick. He did wind up with fluid around his lungs -- not IN them, surrounding them -- but it wasn't blood and had no bacteria in it.
Best guess: an underlying heart condition. We don't know what caused the fever or why he got so sick, nor, for that matter, why the fluid built up. His heart isn't enlarged, his lungs are clear.
But most important is that after three nights at the vet, he is home and finally seems to be back to being McMurphy. He's sitting for hours in Tony's lap where he gazes lovingly into his eyes and rubs his head on Tony's beard. He's eating well again.
What's not quite back to normal is his relationship with Cheswick, who was very unhappy that he was gone, and did not like the way he smelled or looked when he came back. The boys have never been separated. In fact, Ches greeted Mac with loud hisses and many swipes with his paw -- which continued for the last couple of days. Mac just curls up in his bed and sleeps. There have been no altercations today...
Our inside boys are especially loved: we know these kitties so well, and they know us. They live quiet lives, few visitors, little excitement (other than when a new kitty joins the outside troops, which causes disturbance both in and out). When one gets sick like this, it is upsetting to everyone -- especially my dear softhearted husband, a complete marshmellow when it comes to animals.
When I met him, he proclaimed himself to be a complete dog person, especially loving German Shepherds, and allergic to cats. "Boring" was the way he referred to cats, as I recall. Probably also used such words as "undisciplined" ... "independent" ... "unfriendly."
And then he was chosen by McMurphy and Cheswick in 2004. You can read the story here.
Suffice it to say that he adores his boys, and they return his affection -- I refer to myself as "the servant lady" who buys the food and changes the litter, but am awarded affection only when the object of their adoration -- Tony -- is not available.
That's exaggerated. Some. (Actually, McMurphy curled up beside me this morning and slept for quite a while, purring delightedly as I petted him. But he's still recovering and isn't quite himself yet. We'll see.)
Nonetheless, we're very glad that Mac is back -- and are grateful for a kind, very thorough vet.
We think it started sometime a week ago last night -- he didn't wake us at the crack of dawn to get the food dish out, which is definitely not his normal behavior. McMurphy is a slightly rotund cat who very much enjoys eating throughout the day and preferably the night. We put him on a diet of sorts some time ago when we started putting the food dish away at night, and he has slimmed down some.
But I digress.
Sunday he slept on his purr pad on a chair in our office -- his usual day business -- but Tony commented before we went to bed that he didn't seem to be feeling well. When we got up last Monday, he was definitely a sick boy: glassy eyes, shallow, rapid breathing, extreme lethargy. I got him into the vet and they determined that yes, he had a rathr high fever, and was definitely a sick boy.
He was not, however, going to be docile about any prodding and poking. The only times Mac has been in a car has been for vet trips. He didn't much like being in the carrier, but especially did not like the resident clinic cat who came over to check on him, and MOST definitely did not appreciate the woofing doggies who also were waiting to see the vet.
We attempted to draw blood: I helped hold him and talked soothingly to him: "Goooood Mackie, that's a goooood Mac. It's okay, it's going to be over soon, you're going to feel allllll better."
One vet tech held him by the scruff of his neck; the other attempted to insert a needle into a leg vein.
He growled. He hissed. He showed teeth. His ears went flat. He undulated his chunky 12 pounds enough that it was impossible to hold him steady. He was a very pissy kitty.
They got one teensy vial. Not enough. They took him "in back" to get more help: probably enlisting the aid of three or four more techs to hold him down and away from my sympathetic eyes. No go.
Finally I agreed to let them sedate him a little so they could draw blood and do some xrays, which helped. And that began the sequence of tests for our poor little boy.
We do know he doesn't have feline leukemia, pneumonia, liver or kidney problems, heartworm, diabetes, or a couple of other potentially bad viruses. He didn't eat something that made him sick. He did wind up with fluid around his lungs -- not IN them, surrounding them -- but it wasn't blood and had no bacteria in it.
Best guess: an underlying heart condition. We don't know what caused the fever or why he got so sick, nor, for that matter, why the fluid built up. His heart isn't enlarged, his lungs are clear.
But most important is that after three nights at the vet, he is home and finally seems to be back to being McMurphy. He's sitting for hours in Tony's lap where he gazes lovingly into his eyes and rubs his head on Tony's beard. He's eating well again.
What's not quite back to normal is his relationship with Cheswick, who was very unhappy that he was gone, and did not like the way he smelled or looked when he came back. The boys have never been separated. In fact, Ches greeted Mac with loud hisses and many swipes with his paw -- which continued for the last couple of days. Mac just curls up in his bed and sleeps. There have been no altercations today...
Our inside boys are especially loved: we know these kitties so well, and they know us. They live quiet lives, few visitors, little excitement (other than when a new kitty joins the outside troops, which causes disturbance both in and out). When one gets sick like this, it is upsetting to everyone -- especially my dear softhearted husband, a complete marshmellow when it comes to animals.
When I met him, he proclaimed himself to be a complete dog person, especially loving German Shepherds, and allergic to cats. "Boring" was the way he referred to cats, as I recall. Probably also used such words as "undisciplined" ... "independent" ... "unfriendly."
And then he was chosen by McMurphy and Cheswick in 2004. You can read the story here.
Suffice it to say that he adores his boys, and they return his affection -- I refer to myself as "the servant lady" who buys the food and changes the litter, but am awarded affection only when the object of their adoration -- Tony -- is not available.
That's exaggerated. Some. (Actually, McMurphy curled up beside me this morning and slept for quite a while, purring delightedly as I petted him. But he's still recovering and isn't quite himself yet. We'll see.)
Nonetheless, we're very glad that Mac is back -- and are grateful for a kind, very thorough vet.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The hazy, lazy, crazy dog days of summer
Lots of beginnings this month, but not much resolution in any of them, it seems, and that's not a really comfortable place to be.
Update on daughters: not much to update. Haven't heard from #3 or #2; #1 is staying put for the time being, and I'm trusting that she is okay (later update -- she is). I have to trust they're ALL okay, y'know? Otherwise the ice weasels do a marathon dance contest. Some days are easier than others.
You think that if you love someone enough that it will help them, and that's not necessarily true: thousands and thousands of families who have gone through Alanon, for instance, because they love someone who is destroying themselves through alcohol or drug abuse. I believe love can make a difference -- but ultimately the individual is responsible for his/her behavior and choices. Golly but that is a hard lesson.
Update on kitties: Both new little boys are just thriving outside,and they're about to the point where we will leave them outside at night too. Their personalities have solidified: Snitch is very personable, loves to be held, and purrs with a loud rumble. He darts here and there, and is curious and not hesitant. Squib is still reserved, but more vocal, and talks a lot. He will purr when held, but doesn't seek a lap, preferring to watch from a little distance. He is very busy playing, though, running up trees, attacking the stones and dried leaves, and should make an excellent gopher-getter! Weasley sniffs and occasionally licks; they've yet to all snuggle together, but that's coming. He likes having them. Harry is still pouting and glares at them, but is not aggressive towards them. Cheswick and McMurphy, inside, still aren't happy, but the hissing and wild-eyed behavior has stopped. Everybody likes treats (bribes)...
Update on jobs: We're beginning to settle into a routine now of commuting to Chico and writing at home, and I'm over a major deadline, so am trying to figure out what I need to do next. A top priority is organizing the office and cleaning out the real estate stuff -- but I'm having trouble getting started, maybe because it is a big project. I've got a couple of Arts Council deadlines too, and just need to git'erdone. I've got other assignments, but loose deadlines, so there's not a big rush to work on them -- although I should get started.
And I'd rather read. I'm an Oprah behind, and closing in on the last pages of Kushiel's Scion, plus two or three issues of Newsweek.
It feels like the dog days of summer right now, despite the fact that schools opened just a few days ago and we're headlong into fall and winter planning and event calendars.
And during the dog days, aren't you supposed to just lay back among cool cushions, with tall, icy glasses of lemonade and tea and a few nibblies like nuts and cookies, and relax with books or movies or both? Yeah. That's what I want.
I'll get there. I always do.
Update on daughters: not much to update. Haven't heard from #3 or #2; #1 is staying put for the time being, and I'm trusting that she is okay (later update -- she is). I have to trust they're ALL okay, y'know? Otherwise the ice weasels do a marathon dance contest. Some days are easier than others.
You think that if you love someone enough that it will help them, and that's not necessarily true: thousands and thousands of families who have gone through Alanon, for instance, because they love someone who is destroying themselves through alcohol or drug abuse. I believe love can make a difference -- but ultimately the individual is responsible for his/her behavior and choices. Golly but that is a hard lesson.
Update on kitties: Both new little boys are just thriving outside,and they're about to the point where we will leave them outside at night too. Their personalities have solidified: Snitch is very personable, loves to be held, and purrs with a loud rumble. He darts here and there, and is curious and not hesitant. Squib is still reserved, but more vocal, and talks a lot. He will purr when held, but doesn't seek a lap, preferring to watch from a little distance. He is very busy playing, though, running up trees, attacking the stones and dried leaves, and should make an excellent gopher-getter! Weasley sniffs and occasionally licks; they've yet to all snuggle together, but that's coming. He likes having them. Harry is still pouting and glares at them, but is not aggressive towards them. Cheswick and McMurphy, inside, still aren't happy, but the hissing and wild-eyed behavior has stopped. Everybody likes treats (bribes)...
Update on jobs: We're beginning to settle into a routine now of commuting to Chico and writing at home, and I'm over a major deadline, so am trying to figure out what I need to do next. A top priority is organizing the office and cleaning out the real estate stuff -- but I'm having trouble getting started, maybe because it is a big project. I've got a couple of Arts Council deadlines too, and just need to git'erdone. I've got other assignments, but loose deadlines, so there's not a big rush to work on them -- although I should get started.
And I'd rather read. I'm an Oprah behind, and closing in on the last pages of Kushiel's Scion, plus two or three issues of Newsweek.
It feels like the dog days of summer right now, despite the fact that schools opened just a few days ago and we're headlong into fall and winter planning and event calendars.
And during the dog days, aren't you supposed to just lay back among cool cushions, with tall, icy glasses of lemonade and tea and a few nibblies like nuts and cookies, and relax with books or movies or both? Yeah. That's what I want.
I'll get there. I always do.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Snitch and Squib
Two three-month-old kittens are residing in the second bath by night and on the porch by day, much to the dismay of Cheswick and McMurphy, who have pretty much ignored me all day except to hiss.
One -- Snitch -- is a pale golden and very personable. He's active, loves to bat a ball, wants to be held and petted, and will adapt well. Squib, on the other hand, is very reserved, nervous about this whole thing, and prefers to watch what's going on, especially if it's somewhere he can hide. I wish he were a little more like Snitch. He's also a pale ginger, but a little more orange and a little fatter. His eyes are green and smaller than Snitch's.
Weasley seems very mellow about the newcomers and would like, I think, to make friends, but Squib will have none of that. Snitch will sit near Weasley and even sniff a little, if he thinks Weasley's attention is elsewhere, but they're not to the grooming point, although I doubt that'll take long. Harry, of course, just hisses, although even he is very curious.
McMurphy practically came through the door window yesterday when I'd brought them home and was watching them acclimate. He twisted himself into a kitty pretzel to try to see beyond what the window would allow, and I swear, his eyes practically glowed red.
He is not at all happy that he can hear mews from beyond the bathroom door. He hates that we smell of new kitten and both hissed and batted at even his beloved Tony this morning. He spent the day on the floor of the bedroom, looking moodily at the backyard and ignoring everything: food, a visitor, me, Cheswick. He came out when Tony came home and has proceeded to do his usual fawning over his favorite person, but I'm pretty much chopped liver that's been sitting out for three days.
Both of them gave the new scratching pad I'd bought as a peace offering, with fresh catnip even, a cursory sniff and stalked off. Harumpf.
It's been awhile since we had kittens and they are so entertaining and so sweet, and acclimating them takes time and patience. For now, the fence I've rigged will help keep them safe during the day, I think, and the novelty will wear off eventually for the other cats.
They were rescues -- a family had taken in two strays. both pregnant, and they just couldn't keep the kittens. Alas, three-month-plus-old kittens are never the priority adoptions at the pound, and the owner was very happy that I took both. There were two more younger ones, longhairs, and I will not do that again. I hope they find good homes.
So Weasley has some new almost=playmates. Thank you!
One -- Snitch -- is a pale golden and very personable. He's active, loves to bat a ball, wants to be held and petted, and will adapt well. Squib, on the other hand, is very reserved, nervous about this whole thing, and prefers to watch what's going on, especially if it's somewhere he can hide. I wish he were a little more like Snitch. He's also a pale ginger, but a little more orange and a little fatter. His eyes are green and smaller than Snitch's.
Weasley seems very mellow about the newcomers and would like, I think, to make friends, but Squib will have none of that. Snitch will sit near Weasley and even sniff a little, if he thinks Weasley's attention is elsewhere, but they're not to the grooming point, although I doubt that'll take long. Harry, of course, just hisses, although even he is very curious.
McMurphy practically came through the door window yesterday when I'd brought them home and was watching them acclimate. He twisted himself into a kitty pretzel to try to see beyond what the window would allow, and I swear, his eyes practically glowed red.
He is not at all happy that he can hear mews from beyond the bathroom door. He hates that we smell of new kitten and both hissed and batted at even his beloved Tony this morning. He spent the day on the floor of the bedroom, looking moodily at the backyard and ignoring everything: food, a visitor, me, Cheswick. He came out when Tony came home and has proceeded to do his usual fawning over his favorite person, but I'm pretty much chopped liver that's been sitting out for three days.
Both of them gave the new scratching pad I'd bought as a peace offering, with fresh catnip even, a cursory sniff and stalked off. Harumpf.
It's been awhile since we had kittens and they are so entertaining and so sweet, and acclimating them takes time and patience. For now, the fence I've rigged will help keep them safe during the day, I think, and the novelty will wear off eventually for the other cats.
They were rescues -- a family had taken in two strays. both pregnant, and they just couldn't keep the kittens. Alas, three-month-plus-old kittens are never the priority adoptions at the pound, and the owner was very happy that I took both. There were two more younger ones, longhairs, and I will not do that again. I hope they find good homes.
So Weasley has some new almost=playmates. Thank you!
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Weasley needs some new friends
We're seeking kittens: preferably a little older, but not grown, to live outside and help our 4-year-old ginger manx Weasley to keep the gopher population at bay.
As I mentioned earlier, Weasley and Harry Potter are our surviving outdoor kitties, but Harry is the lone ranger and wanders who knows where during the day, usually coming home in the evening to scarf down cat food and get loved on and petted. Like his namesake, he's independent and just a little unpredictable.
Weasley is an affable polydactyl cat who is very lonely since his other outside friends have died or disappeared. He sticks close to home but loves to hunt around the property and seldom ventures very far. We're set back off the road, which isn't a main one anyway, and there are interesting hollows and trees to explore, as well as a garden (he likes to hang out under big leaves on cool, moist dirt during hot days). He and Harry get along, but Harry is too independent to be a buddy.
So.
We'd like two or three kittens, preferably around 4-6 months old, with short hair only....any color, any sex. We had two long-haired kitties outside -- Hermione and Muggle -- and the burrs and star thistle does terrible things to their fur and skin, and I spent hours combing and brushing and cutting out matted clumps. Never again.
We treat our outside kitties as pets -- they're named, they are neutered or spayed, they get routine vet care and shots, and lots and lots of petting and loving. They have warm, dry houses to sleep in, plenty of good cat food, occasional treats. and fresh water is always available.
Weasley is waiting. Please e-mail me at oldmuse@yahoo.com
As I mentioned earlier, Weasley and Harry Potter are our surviving outdoor kitties, but Harry is the lone ranger and wanders who knows where during the day, usually coming home in the evening to scarf down cat food and get loved on and petted. Like his namesake, he's independent and just a little unpredictable.
Weasley is an affable polydactyl cat who is very lonely since his other outside friends have died or disappeared. He sticks close to home but loves to hunt around the property and seldom ventures very far. We're set back off the road, which isn't a main one anyway, and there are interesting hollows and trees to explore, as well as a garden (he likes to hang out under big leaves on cool, moist dirt during hot days). He and Harry get along, but Harry is too independent to be a buddy.
So.
We'd like two or three kittens, preferably around 4-6 months old, with short hair only....any color, any sex. We had two long-haired kitties outside -- Hermione and Muggle -- and the burrs and star thistle does terrible things to their fur and skin, and I spent hours combing and brushing and cutting out matted clumps. Never again.
We treat our outside kitties as pets -- they're named, they are neutered or spayed, they get routine vet care and shots, and lots and lots of petting and loving. They have warm, dry houses to sleep in, plenty of good cat food, occasional treats. and fresh water is always available.
Weasley is waiting. Please e-mail me at oldmuse@yahoo.com
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Unseasonably wonderful weather
Today was simply amazing, weather-wise. I woke very early to the sound and earthy scent of RAIN -- this is practically unheard of in Red Bluff in the summer! And to top it off, it was cool outside. In fact, it's been cool enough to have open windows at night for many days -- we've had to remind ourselves that this is July, not October or April.
While I think that points north and west got a lot more rain, we had enough that there were big puddles and moist ground, and most of the day was overcast and cool. No air conditioning or swamp cooler today! Just open windows, savoring breezes. Thunder rumbled in the distance for several hours this afternoon, and enormous dark clouds loomed to the west and north, but nothing got close enough to make me turn off the computer.
Right now, it appears that we won't see 100 for another week. It makes me wonder a little if winter is going to be very cold and long -- but hey. I'll take it if it means a cooler summer, and certainly we've had that lately, although parts of June and early July were scorchers.
I'm sure someone will link this to global warming somehow. Yeah, I'm one of the skeptics...I've heard and read enough that I'm simply not convinced that the sky is falling. While I believe it is our responsibility to be careful and conservative about our disposables, our resources, and our consumption, I think much of what is ballyhooed as global warming is a cyclical event.
But I stray into political waters, where my intent is simply to express gratitude for a wonderful respite from crispy summer weather.
On a sadder note, we are down to two outside kitties: Weasley and Harry. Muggle finally succumbed to whatever illness it was that started a year ago, and we had to put down little grey Hermione about two months ago because she had the same thing. We believe genetics were at work here -- both kitties were small, from the same litter, and both had had problems. Their momma Lulu, a very placid porch kitty, disappeared for days, then showed up clearly sick, but before I could get her to a vet, she disappeared again -- we think under the shed to die. She hasn't shown up since.
Outside kitties are subject to so many perils -- and yet, their hunting skills have kept rattlesnakes at bay on our property since we've lived her. We're good to our kitties: they have plenty of good food to eat, they get their shots, they have dry, safe, warm places to sleep and hang out, and they get plenty of petting. And we've lost six in the last four years to illness (4), one to a predator, and one just disappeared. It makes us sad -- we consider them pets -- but they're pets with a job.
After we return from a trip back east, we'll probably get two or three young ones to keep the boys company. Weasley will take 'em to raise. Harry would prefer to be the only cat, but he'll come around. Hopefully the new ones will be healthier.
I'm going to go climb into a nice soft bed, pull the covers up, savor the cool air floating through the open windows, curl up next to my honey, and sleep. You too.
While I think that points north and west got a lot more rain, we had enough that there were big puddles and moist ground, and most of the day was overcast and cool. No air conditioning or swamp cooler today! Just open windows, savoring breezes. Thunder rumbled in the distance for several hours this afternoon, and enormous dark clouds loomed to the west and north, but nothing got close enough to make me turn off the computer.
Right now, it appears that we won't see 100 for another week. It makes me wonder a little if winter is going to be very cold and long -- but hey. I'll take it if it means a cooler summer, and certainly we've had that lately, although parts of June and early July were scorchers.
I'm sure someone will link this to global warming somehow. Yeah, I'm one of the skeptics...I've heard and read enough that I'm simply not convinced that the sky is falling. While I believe it is our responsibility to be careful and conservative about our disposables, our resources, and our consumption, I think much of what is ballyhooed as global warming is a cyclical event.
But I stray into political waters, where my intent is simply to express gratitude for a wonderful respite from crispy summer weather.
On a sadder note, we are down to two outside kitties: Weasley and Harry. Muggle finally succumbed to whatever illness it was that started a year ago, and we had to put down little grey Hermione about two months ago because she had the same thing. We believe genetics were at work here -- both kitties were small, from the same litter, and both had had problems. Their momma Lulu, a very placid porch kitty, disappeared for days, then showed up clearly sick, but before I could get her to a vet, she disappeared again -- we think under the shed to die. She hasn't shown up since.
Outside kitties are subject to so many perils -- and yet, their hunting skills have kept rattlesnakes at bay on our property since we've lived her. We're good to our kitties: they have plenty of good food to eat, they get their shots, they have dry, safe, warm places to sleep and hang out, and they get plenty of petting. And we've lost six in the last four years to illness (4), one to a predator, and one just disappeared. It makes us sad -- we consider them pets -- but they're pets with a job.
After we return from a trip back east, we'll probably get two or three young ones to keep the boys company. Weasley will take 'em to raise. Harry would prefer to be the only cat, but he'll come around. Hopefully the new ones will be healthier.
I'm going to go climb into a nice soft bed, pull the covers up, savor the cool air floating through the open windows, curl up next to my honey, and sleep. You too.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Speaking cat
There's an old legend that animals speak on Christmas Eve -- depending on the legend, it may often be about their owner's funeral or the injustices inflicted upon them by their owners. And it's usually considered very unlucky to overhear them speaking. The legend has its roots in the Nativity story about the animals in the Bethlehem stable bowing before the infant Jesus.
Our cats talk all year -- and from talking to other "staff" of adored pets, dogs and horses do too. If you are attentive, you know what your pet is telling you with that tone of 'mew' or 'rrruff' or the snuffly whicker made by a horse who knows you've come to feed him.
Cheswick, for instance, makes it quite clear when he thinks it is time for us to go to bed, especially if one of us has snugged down before the other is quite ready. He'll sit in the office doorway and 'merow,' and if that gets him nowhere, he'll hop atop the desk and sit, feet neatly together, tail wrapped around them, and stare at the tardy human, punctuating the icy blue-eyed glare with increasingly insistent 'merowp's.
If that doesn't work either, he'll go from the desk to the top of the chair, then into the lap, and back to the desk. He won't be distracted with petting, either. It is time for bed, and you might as well give up. Once the errant human is in the bed, he settles down very quickly.
McMurphy is less opinionated, but more vocal day-to-day. He watches the outdoor cats from windows and doors, and then wanders through the house yowling plaintively, as though he'd lost his last friend.
Always an indoor cat, he is sure that the outdoors would be far more interesting and lurks near doors in case he has a chance to make a dash for freedom. Of course once he's escaped, the outside cats that he so desperately wants to meet offer him nasty hisses and low growls, and he grows more and more agitated as he darts from grass to tree to sidewalk until finally Tony -- whom he adores -- can get near enough to pick him up and return him to indoor safety.
The outdoor cats talk to us too. Harry Potter is the most vocal and will yell all the way down the driveway on his way to the food dish. He wants petting, he wants more petting, he wants attention and now! "Let me tell you about the day I've had," he'll say. "Don't get into that car and leave me -- I'm not done talking!"
Each cat has a very distinct personality and voice if you pay attention -- as do all animals, I believe. We love watching their quirky preferences -- Cheswick, for instance, can hear the top of a yogurt container being removed from anywhere in the house, even if he's in a deep sleep. He'll always show up to demand his share -- which, being the suckers we are, he gets. McMurphy, on the other hand, could care less about any human food. Cat food, and plenty of it, please.
Both cats adore Tony. Maybe it's because he rescued them from a dumpster, maybe it's because he has a way with any animal. At least once during any day, first one cat and then the other will sprawl across his lap and gaze adoringly into his face while purring loudly. You can hear them: "I loooooovvveee you....pettttt mmeeeeee....I loooovvveee youuuuuuu." (It's just disgustingly sweet.) They tolerate me, but I'm definitely "staff" status, not preferred, and they'll come into my lap only if the chosen one is not available.
By the time we got home on Christmas Eve it was past midnight. I can report, however, that both cats informed us that it was past our bedtime and they were not happy. We didn't need spoken words to understand exactly what they were saying -- and their pleasure when we were all tucked in also was obvious, although not in words you'd find in any dictionary. We heard them nonetheless.
Our cats talk all year -- and from talking to other "staff" of adored pets, dogs and horses do too. If you are attentive, you know what your pet is telling you with that tone of 'mew' or 'rrruff' or the snuffly whicker made by a horse who knows you've come to feed him.
Cheswick, for instance, makes it quite clear when he thinks it is time for us to go to bed, especially if one of us has snugged down before the other is quite ready. He'll sit in the office doorway and 'merow,' and if that gets him nowhere, he'll hop atop the desk and sit, feet neatly together, tail wrapped around them, and stare at the tardy human, punctuating the icy blue-eyed glare with increasingly insistent 'merowp's.
If that doesn't work either, he'll go from the desk to the top of the chair, then into the lap, and back to the desk. He won't be distracted with petting, either. It is time for bed, and you might as well give up. Once the errant human is in the bed, he settles down very quickly.
McMurphy is less opinionated, but more vocal day-to-day. He watches the outdoor cats from windows and doors, and then wanders through the house yowling plaintively, as though he'd lost his last friend.
Always an indoor cat, he is sure that the outdoors would be far more interesting and lurks near doors in case he has a chance to make a dash for freedom. Of course once he's escaped, the outside cats that he so desperately wants to meet offer him nasty hisses and low growls, and he grows more and more agitated as he darts from grass to tree to sidewalk until finally Tony -- whom he adores -- can get near enough to pick him up and return him to indoor safety.
The outdoor cats talk to us too. Harry Potter is the most vocal and will yell all the way down the driveway on his way to the food dish. He wants petting, he wants more petting, he wants attention and now! "Let me tell you about the day I've had," he'll say. "Don't get into that car and leave me -- I'm not done talking!"
Each cat has a very distinct personality and voice if you pay attention -- as do all animals, I believe. We love watching their quirky preferences -- Cheswick, for instance, can hear the top of a yogurt container being removed from anywhere in the house, even if he's in a deep sleep. He'll always show up to demand his share -- which, being the suckers we are, he gets. McMurphy, on the other hand, could care less about any human food. Cat food, and plenty of it, please.
Both cats adore Tony. Maybe it's because he rescued them from a dumpster, maybe it's because he has a way with any animal. At least once during any day, first one cat and then the other will sprawl across his lap and gaze adoringly into his face while purring loudly. You can hear them: "I loooooovvveee you....pettttt mmeeeeee....I loooovvveee youuuuuuu." (It's just disgustingly sweet.) They tolerate me, but I'm definitely "staff" status, not preferred, and they'll come into my lap only if the chosen one is not available.
By the time we got home on Christmas Eve it was past midnight. I can report, however, that both cats informed us that it was past our bedtime and they were not happy. We didn't need spoken words to understand exactly what they were saying -- and their pleasure when we were all tucked in also was obvious, although not in words you'd find in any dictionary. We heard them nonetheless.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Seeking balance, and not the yoga kind
It appears as though Muggle has at least a few of her nine lives left -- she's in residence in our second bath and is alert, eating, and eager for petting. She's still got a little medicine left, and probably this weekend we'll move her back outside. Only a week ago we were convinced she was dying. Amazing little animals, they are.
The inside boys certainly had their respective noses out of joint, however, when we put her in there, although they seem to have pretty much forgotten now. Cheswick actually huffed and got angry when Tony restrained him while I was moving Muggle in. They had their own traumas this week when we plunked them into the cat carriers and went to the vet for shots and a checkover -- Ches hissed at me, and meowed pitifully all the way there, while McMurphy huddled with big yellow owl eyes looking even bigger. Both were pronounced to be fine, although Mac is 13 lbs and change, and needs to lose weight. We're putting the food up at night, and he is waiting right there by the water bowl in the mornings for his breakfast -- much like the outdoor kitties who charge the front door when we open it to put their food outside.
I've become very accustomed to the relative lack of stress in our lives here -- we have a routine that may vary some with our different activities, but is generally predictable. So when something happens to inject stress -- be it sick kitties, ripples from real estate, worrisome news from one of the kids, or our own minor aches and ailments -- it doesn't roll off as easily.
Sleep becomes elusive. Or troubled, with repetitious, anxiety-ridden dreams. I have difficulty getting motivated to do tasks which need doing, or I do those which help me avoid other, more stressful, tasks. I spend more time thinking about perceived character flaws, or recalling incidents long past that I wish I could do over. It is not productive thinking nor acting.
Such unexpected interruptions can trigger self-analysis -- good when it helps to illuminate areas that need adjustment -- in attitude, behavior, motivation. It is not good when you get stuck in the shoulda-coulda-wouldas and simply spin in place.
It comes back to balance, to learning to accept those things I cannot change. To figuring out how to change the things I can. And therein lies the third tenet: the wisdom to know the difference. That's the real work, right there, that wisdom thing, right along with the acceptance part. Achieving those, even momentarily, is to find that balance.
As long as I am alive there will be unexpected stresses complicating life. But the key to dealing with them -- good and bad -- is in finding balance. I need that reminder every so often, and so the universe throws me a few curves. I'm grateful that they are mostly small ones, distressing, perhaps, but not potentially shattering. And I'm grateful for the blessings revealed by seeking balance in stressful moments.
The inside boys certainly had their respective noses out of joint, however, when we put her in there, although they seem to have pretty much forgotten now. Cheswick actually huffed and got angry when Tony restrained him while I was moving Muggle in. They had their own traumas this week when we plunked them into the cat carriers and went to the vet for shots and a checkover -- Ches hissed at me, and meowed pitifully all the way there, while McMurphy huddled with big yellow owl eyes looking even bigger. Both were pronounced to be fine, although Mac is 13 lbs and change, and needs to lose weight. We're putting the food up at night, and he is waiting right there by the water bowl in the mornings for his breakfast -- much like the outdoor kitties who charge the front door when we open it to put their food outside.
I've become very accustomed to the relative lack of stress in our lives here -- we have a routine that may vary some with our different activities, but is generally predictable. So when something happens to inject stress -- be it sick kitties, ripples from real estate, worrisome news from one of the kids, or our own minor aches and ailments -- it doesn't roll off as easily.
Sleep becomes elusive. Or troubled, with repetitious, anxiety-ridden dreams. I have difficulty getting motivated to do tasks which need doing, or I do those which help me avoid other, more stressful, tasks. I spend more time thinking about perceived character flaws, or recalling incidents long past that I wish I could do over. It is not productive thinking nor acting.
Such unexpected interruptions can trigger self-analysis -- good when it helps to illuminate areas that need adjustment -- in attitude, behavior, motivation. It is not good when you get stuck in the shoulda-coulda-wouldas and simply spin in place.
It comes back to balance, to learning to accept those things I cannot change. To figuring out how to change the things I can. And therein lies the third tenet: the wisdom to know the difference. That's the real work, right there, that wisdom thing, right along with the acceptance part. Achieving those, even momentarily, is to find that balance.
As long as I am alive there will be unexpected stresses complicating life. But the key to dealing with them -- good and bad -- is in finding balance. I need that reminder every so often, and so the universe throws me a few curves. I'm grateful that they are mostly small ones, distressing, perhaps, but not potentially shattering. And I'm grateful for the blessings revealed by seeking balance in stressful moments.
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