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.

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.

There was a lady had a dog...

And Banjo was his name-o.





When I brought Banjo home a couple days ago, I discovered what a mess he truly is. The slightest thing makes him shake so hard his whole world must turn blurry. He was terrified of the floor, the kids, the air, everything. He peed and pooped indiscriminately, and spent most of the time with his snout buried in my cleavage. (Ah, who wouldn't enjoy that?)

I've learned more about where he came from. A man in Ft. Garland was breeding chihuahuas and had 130 chihuahuas in tiny carriers in a small camper on his land. Banjo and the others never once received any kind human contact, never set foot on the ground, never smelled fresh air, never went for a walk, never had room to jump, never played, never loved, never lived. Of the 130 dogs, 127 were immediately euthanized due to severe health problems. This, my friends, is the truth about puppy mills.

Only 3 of the 130 remain. 2 are terribly aggressive, and bite and bark almost constantly. Nobody has succeeded in picking them up without ending up bleeding.

Then there's Banjo.

Because I'll be leaving town for 5 days at the end of June and won't be able to take him with me, I want him to get accustomed to both home and the shelter. So he'll be spending some nights at the shelter since I don't want him to be traumatized when he has to stay at the shelter during my trip. He slept there last night.

Today I picked him up for a field trip, and he accompanied us to the bank, Sonic, and the park. He enjoys riding in the car now and looks around interestedly from his perch in the sling on my chest, sniffing the wind without trembling in fear. He ate a few specks of grilled cheese sandwich from my fingers. He watched the kids and let them touch him. But the two biggest milestones today were these: (1) He licked my fingers and my chest, and (2) He stood up and walked around. Yep. Nobody had ever seen him stand up to his full height and actually walk. After a couple minutes his legs started shaking, not from fear, but from lack of use.

He clearly enjoyed basking in the sun and eating some grass, and he pottied outside of the sling this time. I was mistaken in my weight estimate, not realizing how big his frame was. He weighs closer to 7 pounds, but as you can see here, he is severely underweight.


I cannot wait to see his tail up and wagging. It will be a long road, but I'm up for it I think. He's at the shelter again tonight, but tomorrow morning I'll pick him up and keep him until Monday at least. More updates to come.

Learning about love:

Wanna look down my top?

Jojo, Dharma, Louie, and Darla. (The kids named them.) They all just turned 6 weeks old and are having a blast. I'll have them for a couple more weeks before I have to give them up. Aren't they darling?

I got a banjo

Banjo.



See those metal rings by his face? Those are the sling rings. For those who are familiar with baby slings, that will give you an idea of his size. He probably doesn't weigh any more than 5 pounds, is about 10 months old (aka close to full-grown), and is my new foster dog. He was rescued from a puppy mill that got shut down, he has never known love, is unfamiliar with kind human contact (but has been injured by them), and has spent days trembling around the clock at the shelter. His terror has not abated at all in that time, so today I brought him home and he is asleep against my heart. His trembling has stopped. I will teach him about love.

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.

Fugly Fred

Poor ugly bird-brain.

He's doing well.

Just what every houseful of cats needs.

Why couldn't the neighbor boy have brought me a kitten instead?

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.

I'm too sexy for my blog.

Well, too busy anyway.

Today I spent a wad of money on a cat that's not even mine. My long-term foster, Bubba, has the worst luck, man.

First I tamed him as a feral kitten, along with his sister. A couple weeks later, both were back at the shelter and his sister was quickly adopted. Bubba, on the other hand, came home with me when ringworm marred his little brow. I treated him, and just as he was better, his previously benign crooked tail began causing him pain and he had to get all but a couple inches of his tail amputated. While they had him knocked out to get his new cute nub of a tail, they also stole his testicles, poor guy. While it was nice of the vets to neuter him for free, I do wish they hadn't exposed him to ringworm while he was there. Yes, poor Bubba battled ringworm while convalescing from both tail amputation and castration. (And you think you've had a rough couple weeks!)

His ringworm cleared up and his stitches came out, and right at the tail end of the 2 week post-ringworm quarantine, he caught a monster of a respiratory infection that resisted weeks of treatment. Finally, on his first day feeling 100%, he escaped out the back door that my four-year-old left ajar. He was gone only 24 hours when I heard him yowling under the house and I went out into the cold night to retrieve him. Grateful and purring, he gazed into my eyes, and.... eeeew! If you've never seen a nasty corneal ulcer, google it now and when you find the grossest picture out there, it'll be close to what I saw. Poor little dude got his eye punctured by something when he was out there.

I took him into the vet, and they have me an eye ointment to put in his eye. FOUR times a day. Okay, I know you don't know Bubba, but this is no easy feat, and to facilitate the process, poor Bubba had to go to jail aka cage. He's the worst cage kitty ever, pulling all the poo out of his litter box and onto his blankets so he can tip his litter box over and perch on it. And of course this endeavor results in him knocking over his water 8000 times a day, so he yowls at me around the clock to attend to his every need. Lordy.

Anyway. The eye worsened, the ointment became even more painful to him, and it was clear more was needed. The shelter is underfunded at the moment and I couldn't make Bubba wait for me to haul my ample ass through hoops and over red tape, so I rolled out of bed at 8am this morning and drove my bleary self and a yowling Bubba to the vet for surgery. They stitched his eye mostly shut, leaving an opening for me to squirt ointment into twice daily, and a weird contraption above his eye to prevent him ripping his stitches out. He looked more than a bit affronted (er, pissed) when I picked him up, but is now happily hollering from the top of his once-again upturned litterbox for me to refill his water bowl.

Please wish Bubba luck. If his eye doesn't heal over the next two weeks of it being stitched up, then he'll have to get it removed and I'll have to find a way to pay for it. Perhaps I'll invent a Bubba-proof cage set-up and pay the vet bills from my earnings. Although I doubt there's more than one Bubba in the world.

Bubba has been with me almost non-stop since December 21, 2007. He's stolen my heart and my money. No, I won't be adopting him. No, really. Not convinced? Well, neither is Bubba. But I'm a hard-hearted bitch, so we'll see who comes out on top in the end.


Bubba, mostly before. (He still had a tail.)

A valuable new plant variety

Heidi, Heidi

I've posted pictures of Heidi here before, from the bottle-feeding baby to the 10-ft-high celiling cat. Here is my girl these days.

Saturday

I'm procrastinating. At least my blog benefits, right?

The other night I had a lovely 45 minute massage. I had three kids working on me--head, back, and feet. They rotated so nobody got tired and I was in heaven. They offer, I don't ask, and I give them the option to mute my "feel good noises" if they choose. And lucky me, they've all decided that this is one of their favorite family activities EVER. Woohoo!

My 8-year-old had her first business meeting on Thursday. She had a lunch meeting with the head of the homeless shelter/homeless prevention outreach, because word got back to him that she's doing a collection. One person has already agreed to not only match, but double her personal donation of $50, so now she's up to $160 or so. In addition, someone is writing an article for the newspaper (and took pictures at the meeting), so I wouldn't be surprised to see more donations pouring into M's collection. When she's done collecting and makes the donation, they want to use it for something specific and special so she can see how many people are affected by her good deed (they're talking about a large spaghetti dinner with games for the kids, and Marian in attendance of course.)

Statistics homework is pissing me off. It isn't the subject matter that's tripping me up, it's the damn software I have to use. As if the subject matter isn't enough, they have to throw complicated user-unfriendly pain-in-the-a$$ technology in there too. Thbbpppbb.

I have an interesting foster kitten right now. She's probably 3-4 months old, but small for her age. When she came to me, she was nearly frozen, with ice hanging from her tail and fur, a nasty eye infection with pus frozen to her eyeballs, and she was extremely emaciated. I didn't expect her to make it, but so far she's hanging in there. The odd thing as that once she thawed out a little, she was purring and happy to be getting loving from me. Once I got her eyes cleared up and she could see again, she realized that I was human and she was feral. That was the first time I'd had to tame a feral kitten whom I'd already had purring in the sling. lol She also has curly-tipped ears like a Scottish fold, but Frank at the shelter thinks it's probably frostbite. The skin on them is now changing, so I think I agree. She's an interesting little critter.

Well, back to transcription. Only 80% of it left to go.

Ten foot high ceilings

Heidi






Trudy



Around the corner.

Ocular Incident

Last night while I innocently watched TV with a purring kitten on my ample chest, said kitten stalked and bested my fragile eyeball.

With my cornea flapping this morning (well, it felt like it), I headed to the ER in at the advice of the doc's office. The hospital in the big town (pop. 8,000) 20 miles away is medical technology central for this big rural area.

Less than a minute after walking into the ER, we were being checked in, a few minutes later we were in a room. The doctor was friendly and personable and talked the kids through everything. He numbed my eye, put yellow dye in it, then turned off the lights and showed the kids what it looked like with the black light. Then he looked through the microscope (another cool lesson), and showed me on paper the jagged vertical line scratching the surface of my cornea from upper center iris to the just inside the constricted pupil. Meanwhile, Marian drew and colored a picture of what my eye looked like under black light, Sophie drew a picture of "Blind Momma", and Leo watched everything. They enjoyed watching me get a tetanus shot, and the nurse enjoyed watching the kids.

The eye should be better in a couple of days, following antibiotic eyedrops every few hours, 600mg ibuprofen every 6 hours, and my repeated thoughts of the vicodin prescription I turned down. I'm not wearing the eye patch because it sucks in countless ways. No night driving until I'm healed, because darkness will cause my pupil to expand further into the injured area, which will increase the blurriness of my vision. Since light shining in my eye hurts, I get the lovely choice of pain or major blur. Except when I have both and am spared the choice.

Doc says TV is better than reading or computer for my eye, so I'm not here right now and you're imagining all of this. Get help.




The evil hideous beast who committed this atrocious act:


Isn't she cute? She's sitting on my lap right now.

I forgive her.