Goodbye, Helen

Several years ago, a blind cat landed in the animal shelter with a litter of kittens. Nobody realized she was blind until her kittens were all adopted and she was on her own. Once the shelter head honchos found out, they said she had to be gone by the end of the day or she would be euthanized.

I was the one who noticed her vision issues, and I took her home that day. Here she is at the shelter just before she came home with me.


Helen fit right in at our house, and was always the sweetest little soul. Her fur was so plush she felt like a Gundt teddy bear, and she was never mean to anyone of any species. Once she got out in town and was missing for 3 weeks, and then suddenly appeared one night as though she had never been gone. Even in sillouette, I knew it was her, because her tail was almost touching the back of her head like it always did when she was beyond happy. I remember those tears of joy when I saw her distinctive shape.

Here she is the night of her return:




Fast forward a few years, a few lovely years of sweet Helenhood. Years of joy and light and utter sweetness.

Helen developed an acute case of pancreatitis, diagnosed this past Monday. Last night we had an intense little love-fest and I felt her telling me goodbye, in spite of the fact that she was kneading in pleasure, pushing her cheek against my hand, and meowing at me with no voice. She was herself--happy and sweet and affectionate until the end, and left us with grace and dignity this morning.



Goodbye, Helen. Thank you for coming into my life. I wasn't with you when you came into this world, but I was with you when you left. I am honored. I love you.



(The song we sing at critter funerals)


Fur and feather and scales and skin,
Different without but the same within,
Many of body but one the soul,
By all creatures are the gods made whole.

--Circle Round

Wildly Interesting

There's a hole in my living room floor. My living room floor is an old pine subfloor, likely dating from 1904 when the house was built. Why, after over a hundred years, this house still has a soft-wood subfloor in the living room is beyond me. (And notice I’ve not done anything about it either.) One day several years ago when I was on Living Room Layout #12™ (I like to rearrange), I leaned back in my current computer chair and the leg of the chair went straight through a known weak spot in the floor. I won’t regale you with an account of my resulting awkward descent to the floor. This post is about the hole that resulted.



Periodically, Bubba, a formerly feral one-eyed cat, will escape out the back door and immediately go under the house. He'll bat his paw up through the floor to play with the other cats or get our attention, and even the kids can pet his cheek with a single finger through the hole in the floor, while ordinarily he won't let them anywhere near him. And when I’m not looking, they will drop stinky pieces of tuna or other meat in the hole. This does not please me, although Bubba appreciates the efforts.

There may or may not be another unknown cat living under the house. Just because I’ve seen the same cat running in and out from under my house for months does not necessarily mean anything and I refuse to add him to the list of cats who already live with me. (Yes, I’ve finally been approached by a stranger in a store saying, “You’re the cat lady, right?”) The under-the-house cat is unofficial.

It’s not just the cats under the house who are drawn to the hole. Here is a view from above:









Before I shoved my camera at the hole with the flash, I lived in blissful ignorance. For in addition to the above, there are also some unidentifiable lumps, old chewing gum, a pencil stub, too much hair, a KEY (no, no, please no), and a full-sized towel. This is not a large hole. The towel mystifies me.

But this picture takes the cake. Does anyone else see the evil demon alien baby in there or is it just me?



I’ve named it Fluffy.


Yes, the wildly interesting thing in my life is a hole. There is something profound in that somewhere.

Cat Feeling the Tao

Tao of Cats, I

"Of all animals, he alone attains the Contemplative Life. He regards the wheel of existence from without, like the Buddha. There is no pretense of sympathy about the cat. He lives alone, aloft, sublime, in a wise passiveness."

--Andrew Lang

This is Charley

Charley has cerebellar hypoplasia (like my Toby). Charley is not one of mine, but this is one of the best educational CH videos out there.

Serendipity

It's been a critterful couple of days.

Yesterday I visited the cats at the shelter and found that a former foster of mine, Honey, was terribly sick. Her eyes were glued shut, her nose hermetically sealed with dried snot, and she was a bit dehydrated because she couldn't coordinate drinking and breathing in her condition. Weak and snotty, she accompanied a human to the vet and they came back with interesting instructions that Frank and I had to implement. Have you ever had to medicate 20 cats at a time? Okay, imagine it. Now imagine that not only do they receive meds by mouth, but also nose spray and eye drops. Twenty cats. Twice a day. Can you believe I do this voluntarily?

So for the past two days, I've been the official cat restrainer, and we have five more days to go. The good news is that the Honey, by far the sickest, is already improving, so all this hard work should result in a big roomful of adoptable cats again.

The same vet that diagnosed Honey and sentenced me to a week of cat wrestling, also fixed up a wounded foster dog earlier in the day. A tall, wiry, terrier mix, Fish is not my foster, but he and I really connected when he was at the shelter prior to going into foster care. (Yes, Fish. I know, I know. He came with the name and now I can't think of him as anything else.) Anyway, Fish has major issues that extend far beyond his name and he bit the crap out of everyone at the vet's office. After they did his surgery, they refused to let him recover there and shelter folks had to come pick him up; this is the first dog I've known personally who was banned from the vets office for life. He also bit the shelter guys as they got him ready to come to the shelter and again after they let him out of this carrier so he could lay on blankets. I arrived awhile later and loved on him a bit (I could tell he remembered me), and by the time evening rolled around and it was time to close up, I was unanimously nominated to be the one to get Fish back in his crate. I think others may have gotten impatient watching me with him, but I coaxed him into his crate with love and patience and cheese, and he ended up going in on his own, with no trauma or upset to either of us. Mission accomplished!

Now, the big news. About two months ago, I brought home Banjo. Since then he has become a romping, affectionate, playful, obedient, loving little dog. At home. When out and about, he's still very timid, but will let people pet him if I'm holding him. He adores me completely, thinks he's my dog, and more than once I've caught myself thinking of him as mine as well. Last night we had a little photo shoot, and then he slept in my bed because his beloved crate had been usurped by an escaped shelter chihuahua that I'd finally caught and brought home until I could return him this morning. (Usurper went to a great foster home today.)

The Usurper:


Banjo Beans, last night. Feeling playful:


He hasn't put on a lot of weight, but is otherwise doing very well. Here he is in all his sweetness.





When he got neutered last week, I spent the whole day missing him and kept looking for him in his usual spot, only to be surprised when he wasn't there. With his existing issues, I figured I'd foster him for several more months at least, and was concerned about his ability to find a home when he was already so attached to me. We had an extra fun and bonding night last night, which was quite serendipitous.

Well. Today he got adopted. Adopted! It was so hard to give him up, and I know he's so scared and will be for awhile, but the couple who took him have kind eyes and gentle hands and patient spirits (and all my contact information). I know he is in a good family. They know that he can come back to me if for any reason it doesn't work out for them. And I know that I can foster dogs without keeping them all, which I would never have known if I had kept Banjo. I love him and miss him and there is a hole where he was. His presence also helped curb my ache for Penny and now I feel as if it has been ripped open again.

I'm all raw and sore inside. I know I did the right thing, I know this is what we were working toward, but I need to go off and have a good cry.

The Talk

Cowboys and Indians

No, my kids don't play Cowboys & Indians or Cops & Robbers, but today they invented a new game: Bacteria and Antibodies. They were chasing each other around the house and fighting over who had to be the evil bacteria. Love it, love it, love it. (And by the way, if they did ever play Cowboys & Indians, I have no doubt the cowboys would be the bad guys.)

They were also quite upset with me for throwing away the moldy orange juice bottle I found in the fridge last night. Turns out it was a science project about which I was unaware. I told them to let me know next time so I don't mistake a plate of growing fuzz for garbage in the future.

Did you know that tarantulas can go 2.5 years without eating? We just learned that today. Thank you, Beakman's World.

Marian and Leo both completed a couple of reading assessments today; I'd stumbled across them and they looked quick, so we gave it a whirl. Marian (age 8) came in at a grade level of 4.8 (8th month of 4th grade), and Leo (age 6) at 4.0. The San Diego Quick Assessment just used whole grade numbers and Marian scored grade 4 and Leo grade 2. Both assessments measured only decoding (being able to read the actual words), not reading comprehension, and who knows how much worth they actually have. However, I can certainly see numbers coming in handy the next time I'm cornered by a rabid homeschooling/unschooling skeptic who's convince I'm ruining my children's lives.

On another topic, my foster cat had her babies the other day and has proven to be one of the most idiotic and inept new mothers I've ever known of any species. She is so clueless. I hate interfering with births and maternal-newborn relationships and have always been very hands-off, but I have no doubts that both her babies would be dead right now without me. She finally is getting the hang of it though, if finally nursing well, and hasn't forcefully (and accidentally) flung one of her babies into the side of the cage recently. Oy.

Miscellaneous Menagerie Musings

Peek-a-boo. Dozing doggie. This is where he spends most of his time, though more often with his head peeking out the top.

Banjo likes the sling, cheese, and grass. His first bests. He walked a lot (for him) today, but unless I walk backwards in front of him, he goes in circles (around me) or paces anxiously. His legs are getting stronger and he willingly went up 3 porch steps to follow me. I force nothing and all my movements are very, very slow; my pedometer is getting quite annoyed. He continues to get world-blurring shakes around dogs and adult humans (other than me and Frank), but stays calm around my kids and even touched noses with cats with no problem. I see him befriending a cat in the future.




He are the other dogs, minus Penny, under a living room window. This is where they tend to hang out in the afternoon and evenings and where they sleep at night until they sneak in with me. Gus wears his diaper 100% of the time he's indoors (we're all happier), and Cesar looks demonic in this picture, but generally isn't.



Cesar's doing doggie yoga, right next to Sophie's yellow yoga mat.



Manny.

The Secret Lives of Cats

This one has a LOT to say

A Good Tuesday

Toby came through his neutering well, so my concerns about anesthesia were needless. He charmed the vet staff with his sweetness and clumsy antics. (His CH is mild, and he's not so clumsy that he evokes pity, but rather amusement. He is so not bothered by his condition that it is didfficult for anyone else to be before long. His sweet goofiness makes clumsiness really work for him.) When the time came to pay for his neutering and his new eye drops (for his chronic eye issues), they told me my total was just over $5. Yep, $5. Someone anonymously put money on my account, leaving me with a credit that covered almost all of today's visit. Thank you!

Sleeping off the day



The other night I cried for Heidi and Penny for the first time since the night Heidi died. I've since been wondering if I'm supposed to just let Penny go so I can heal, since the two events are so inextricably tied together in my head and heart now in spite of being otherwise unrelated. A kind Sgt. Lopez called today from the police department and asked me a bunch of questions about Penny and our situation, and said he wants to find out who took her. It's been three weeks, and if a town cop isn';t giving up, I'm not either.

I'm still here for you, Penny. I know you want to come home as much as I want you here. Go now in peace, Heidi. Go now in peace.


I rarely attach myself intensely to dogs at the shelter, since I'm mainly "the cat lady." Every now and then one gets to me, though, and I've been fortunate that all have been adopted to good homes. Today I got news that Henry--a mostly deaf, mange-ridden, cancer-suffering sweetheart of an old dog--would be getting euthanized on Thursday. His treatment expenses were so far beyond the shelter's capabilities that there was no other option, and I understood completely. I'd been expecting this, so I told him goodbye, and wondered if I was supposed to be by his side when he crossed over. A couple of hours later, I got a call from the shelter with good news--one of their regular donators has chosen to taken on the expense of ALL of Henry's treatment! (Frank, don't think I don't know that you went to her on both mine and Henry's behalf, either, you big softie.)

So today Henry got knocked out so the vet could clean out his horribly infected ears, and they determined that he still has some hearing left in one of them. I'll be helping to bathe him with special medicated mite shampoo every four days for the next month to heal his skin, and I don't know what his cancer treatment will be. He is an old dog with a gimpy front leg in addition to everything else, but the vet thinks he's got a few good years left in him, even with the cancer on his nose. I went to see him after his treatment this afternoon, and he was like a whole new dog. For the first time he had some bounce in his step, and a big smile for me. I went back to the shelter for a third time today just to get some pictures of him. Isn't he cute?




A smile!



Handsome old shepherd



A future ahead.



It's been a good day. Thanks for reading.

Heidi's brother. Er. Sister?

I hand-raised Heidi and Manny together from the day they were born, and even at the start, Heidi was clearly female and Manny male. At 2 weeks, 4 weeks, 2 months, 4 months, Heidi was a girl and Manny was a boy and everything was relatively normal, except for thew fact that I had bottlefed 11 kittens at once, from 3 different litters. Heidi, Manny, and their gentically unrelated brother, Toby (my CH kitty), all developed at much slower rates than normal, healthy cats. Toby has challenges (see link), but Heidi and Manny were healthy, if quite small. At 7 months old, both Manny and Toby have finally reached the size of an average 5 month old cat.

Time to think about neutering. About a month ago, I inspected Manny to see if his testicles had descended so I could get him in to get neutered. His external genitalia had become ambiguous. I've had this happen with a much younger kitten once before, and that kitten ultimately died (he had many other issues as well) with his biological sex still incredibly ambiguous. In spite of my previous experience with an intersexed kitten, I somehow put Manny's issue out of mind mind quite effectively. I told myself I'd check again later, that the light was bad, that his butt was too furry. And then I forgot all about it until tonight.

I made appointments today to get both Manny and Toby neutered tomorrow morning. Tonight I checked them both out again, and Toby is clearly ready to go. But Manny is now presenting as nearly 100% female, with the only indication of his previous maleness being a slightly larger greater than usual spacing between anus and furry vulva.

Um. Okay. So Manny is a girl. What an unfortunate name.

'Cat Man Do'

So true. So very, very true.

Frankenkitty

Bubba is finally feeling well. He jumped on my lap tonight for the first time in his entire life. And the second, third, fourth, fifth... Seems he's discovered a good thing.

He's playing with the other younglings, purring up a storm, and is just generally charming the hell out of everyone. Except Maude.

Sorry, Bubba.

Remember Bubba?

Well, he had his inner eyelid stitched shut for two full weeks in hopes that his body would heal it from within. He got his stitches out yesterday. It doesn't look good. (That's not his inner eyelid you're seeing, that's his EYE.)



Time to brainstorm fundraising activities for its surgical removal.

A Sad Night

My Heidi died in a terrible accident tonight. I'm horrified and traumatized and very, very sad. She was six and a half months old and I've raised her since the day she was born. Please don't ask me to tell you about her death; I may feel ready someday, but I'm not now. Instead I need to remember her life. Oh, Heidi.

An anniversary.

One year ago today, I became a little bit more myself again. I brought in my first foster cat from the animal shelter, and I've had a foster cat (or 12) every day since then. 60 cats later, more than 60 lives changed. I still love it. I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop. They all have a story and I could tell you something about all of them, even now. Others could fill a book, and maybe someday they will.

I have 6 fosters right now, but it doesn't feel like much. The mama cat does all the work for her four babies, and Bubba is practically family. I won't say how many cats I have who aren't fosters.



Ah, that picture always makes me feel better.

Saber-Toothed House Cat

The pictures really don't do it justice, and his lower canines are even longer. He only has one on top, and those saber teeth are the only three teeth in his head. Three massive white fangs surrounded by healthy pink gums as smooth as a baby's.






Tabby's independent 18-year-old owner is moving to affordable on-campus marital dorms at an Arizona college, and can't take him or his roommate Phil along. No pets allowed. An ugly little phrase. Tabby and Phil's human is having a very hard time, which makes it doubly important for me to love on them as much as possible while they're at the shelter.





Both are large, friendly, neutered males and available for adoption. Feel free to spread the word.

Unexpected company

Yesterday I took a beautiful 35 minute walk along the Rio Grande near sunset. The sky was lovely, the grasses were fragrant. The cell phone cam just doesn't do it justice.





Only five minutes into my walk, my solo became a duo. A large gray cat with a white moustache joined me, meowing companionably and weaving around my legs as much as I'd allow. Anytime we passed another traveler he disappeared into the reeds, only to resurface as soon as we were alone and rejoin me on my walk. Of my 35 minute walk, I had the pleasure of his company for 25 minutes. Thank you, my new four-legged friend. I'll keep an eye out for you.