Lazy Summer Afternoon

Is there anything better than whiling away the afternoon sitting on a pillow in the summer sun, watching people work? Oh, am I disgruntled? Not really. At 16 1/2, she deserves it.

Wordless Wednesday

My World with cats

Is there anything better than a comfy blanket and a sunbeam? I think not. In my next life I want to come back as a well-kept housecat.

Spare me the drama

It is not that cold in my house. I walked into the family room and was about to flop on the couch when I notice a lump under the blanket (Ok, Ok, yes, I had neglected to fold it and put it on the back of the couch.) There she was all tucked in. How she managed it is beyond me. I think she is trying to tell me something. But I am not listening.

Wait, that's not a dog

My sister has always been a dog person. (Or so she claims.) So how is it, that when a fluffy stray kitty showed up on her back deck with messy eyes, she felt compelled to try and doctor it? Many treatments later and, a long story, short, meet George! And yes, he is lying on her bed. Isn't he the cutest pudding pie?

Worrisome old cat

whew. We dodged the bullet.

Miss Bourka went to the vet this morning and was diagnosed with a UTI. I thought for sure she had something dreadful. Instead, she has to take pills twice a day for 10 days. The doctor also said she was in remarkably good health for a 15 year old cat. She is a skinny old thing, but still hanging in there. I hope to have her for a while longer.

Wallowing in puddles of light,
ill health does not deter
the enjoyment of the sun's warm caress
on old bones.

Miss Winkie and her bean

I came home one day last week to discover desiccated and mostly shredded bits of a yellow wax bean on the floor. Huh. Obviously one of the cats had had a field day. I gathered up the bits and tossed them into to trash. Then on the weekend, sipping coffee and lounging in the comfy chairs in the kitchen; I saw Winkie make a lightening leap onto the counter, grab a yellow wax bean from the bowl, jump down and dash off with it, like a thief in the night (except it was broad daylight). Rather than yell at her for being on the counter, I chuckled at her desperation to get the bean. Amused that she chose the yellow wax as opposed to the basic green Kentucky Wonder; I followed her into the foyer. There she was throwing it high in the air, pouncing on it, batting it around til it scuttled past the stairs and onto the hardwood of the dining room. She would stop to occasionally to give me a guilty smile. In the end she ate it. Or most of it. She spits out the actual beans, preferring the pod.

The green beans in the garden are almost done, I haven’t pulled the plants yet; I’m keeping them to grow play things for my cat.

The other cats? Peshaw. They think she is a nut. Why play with a stupid bean when there are catnip bags in the bowl in the family room?

Wordless Wednesday

Winkie

The thundering herd of elephants that courses through the halls and up and down the stairs every night is a 7lb streak of lightning named Winkie. She is occasionally chased by Tonka, who is double her weight and not as light on his feet. But she asks for it. I have seen her innocently stroll by, then just as she is past him, reach out a paw, smack him, and then run. You can almost hear her laughter. It is a game they both enjoy. She is so full of energy that she sometimes runs just to run.

She is now a very different kitty from when she came to me. Living in an empty house with her owner packed off to a nursing home, she became fearful and skittish. The neighbors came in to feed her and Bourka once a day. No one scooped their litter. The whole house smelled. The day I went to visit, I only saw a black streak dash past to disappear into the basement. When we went to look for her in the dim unlit nether regions she bolted for a Stygian hole in the cinder block that led to a crawl space. In the end they had to trap her to get her out of the house.

When they came in with the cat carrier and opened the door she was huddled in the back. We left the carrier in the kitchen and went into the family room. When we came back to check on her the carrier was empty and she was not to be found. Later I discovered her in the basement squeezed under the landing box. A few days later, she migrated upstairs under the guest bed in the blue room. She stayed there for weeks, coming out only to eat and make the long trek down to the basement to use the box. At that time I had 3 cats that no one ever saw, including me.

Eventually they all came around. Now Winkie sleeps on my hip, riding the wave when I turn over in the night. She insists on sitting on my lap or will perch on one knee if that is the only thing available. She will visit with company if they are well-mannered adults, allowing them to pet her--shoulder to tail (she does not like having her head touched). She is a joy. It has taken 5 years for her to gain confidence. Now she is a terror, that strikes fear in the heart of guests sleeping in the blue room when she thunders past in the wee hours.

Sweet thing

The guests, sated with happiness and perhaps too much wine, had all left. We cleaned up what was left of the food, then stumbled to bed, leaving the tables and chairs to be put away in the morning. When I opened the door to let the cat out the next day, I surveyed the clutter of lawn chairs, folding chairs, tables and the odd beer bottle. Sighing, and needing coffee, I stepped out to start the clean up. Then froze. We had had an overnight guest.

Actually, Chester found her first.

He approached with curiosity. She was completely unafraid. I watched as they acknowledged one another. He then strolled off across the lawn and she put her head down and tried to blend into the shade. I had not seen her around the neighborhood. But how could I tell exactly? All fawns look alike to me. I slipped back into the house and quietly shut the door deciding coffee was more important.

It turned out this little girl was one of a set of triplets. The mama didn’t know what to do with her or care for her. Three IS a crowd. She was always the smallest of the siblings. While the others gamboled she hung back. I would rarely see the family together. Mostly she was alone.

As she grew older I would often find her tucked into a corner of the lawn. She developed a special relationship with Chester.

They would sniff each other is if to say hello. She had found a haven I suppose. She never ate any of the ornamental flowers or shrubs, so we never resented her presence. In winter we would give her corn. If you clacked the ears together, she would come bounding over the multiflora rose to see what you had for her. Since she never came close or took food from our hands; we would throw the ears out onto the lawn. She would pick up the ears and with her nimble lips spin the ear then spit out the cob. Then with a flick of her tail she would leap away.

She hung around for about 2 years and then one day disappeared. We noticed her absence and worried. But the next spring she returned with 2 babies in tow. Chester went out to greet them. She only visited once.

We expected her to come in the winter but she didn’t. We thought we saw her once far out in the field, but could not be sure. She was accepted into a herd and no longer came to us.

This was over 10 years ago. Chester passed 5 years ago at the ripe old age of 19. I still miss him.

Here on the mountain, I do not let the cats out. They will never know a deer although many come through the yard. They are beautiful creatures. I just wish they would not eat the flowers.

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Tonka

I had been in the flatland for Thanksgiving. I walked in the house to hear the phone ringing. I dashed up the stairs leaving my luggage in the basement.

“Hello”

“Hi B, it’s D. Do you want a cat?”

“No, I already have 3. What cat?”

It was the usual convoluted story. Her friend Lisa’s neighbor had noticed a little cat huddled in a window well of their apartment building. It had been there a few days. It was November. It was cold. She called Lisa. Lisa called D. D had worked at the local animal shelter and still knew someone there. But first they took the cat to the local pet superstore for their adoption weekend. Neither one of them could have another cat. The store could not keep the cat overnight.

“ We just need some place to keep it overnight.”

“OK. Come on over.”

“We are on our way.”

I had a sinking feeling. I am a sucker and a softie. I knew the minute I saw it; it would end up living here. I vowed to be tough.

When they came in with the carrier and opened it in the basement the little cat popped out and went right to the litter boxes. He then walked around the basement sniffing invisible and random spots.

I could not leave him in the basement; the other cats needed to get to the litter boxes. We gathered him up and put him upstairs in the studio. The resident cats pawed at the door. They sniffed and howled at the door. The little one wolfed down some food, used the litter again and hid under the loom his back to the door although his ears would flicker at the din going on.

That was 2 years ago this past Thanksgiving.

All the beasties get along now and Tonka has turned into a sweetie. He is still timid and will hide if someone else comes in the house so you will not see him until second or third day of your visit.

Intruder Alert

The body lay half stashed under the radiator in the entryway. There was blood smeared on the floor. I only noticed it when I was about to leave for work. I threw open the door to the basement and pressed the garage door button. As the door flew back, I saw out of the corner of my eye, a darkness that should not be there.

I walked over and bent down curiously.

Murder in the night! I had not heard a thing. No shrieks, cries of pain or maniacal laughter.

I called all of the house mates together. There were 4 suspects-the Polish princess, the blonde good ol’boy, the aerobic instructor and the new kid. I questioned them each in turn. Mum’s the word. I could not get anything out of them.

I took them to the scene of the crime and pointed out the evidence. I inquired about their alibis. They all looked at each other. Nothing.

I looked around the house for clues. How did the victim get in? Where was he killed? Where was the other half?

Ah yes, I neglected to mention; there was only the lower half of the body.

I decided that I needed to dispose of it and let bygones be bygones. Burying it seemed a little extreme. I scooped it up, flipped open the garbage can and tossed it in.

I pondered on the drive to work. Who could have done such a thing? Would I return home from work with a kitchen ripe from a rotting body in the garbage? Why was it half eaten? Why eat it at all?

The Polish princess is old and frail, delicate and unassuming. It surely could not be her. But it could be an act. She went through a difficult time and is demanding as a result. Hmmm.

The good ol’boy , I thought was too happy go lucky, even lazy and did not have the gumption nor the tools for the job. Nope, probably not him.

The aerobic instructor on the other hand has the speed and agility. She could dart in and do the deed before the poor victim knew what hit him. A possibility, but she is scattered, a bit of an airhead and does not like to get dirty. I just could not see her as a murderer.

The new kid, on the other hand has street smarts. He is a young, tough, and understands how to use weapons to his advantage. He also is too curious for his own good. If there were a house invader, the kid would definitely be the one to ‘take care’ of it. I am OK with dispatching intruders but did he have to eat half of it?

When I came home from work, I examined the housemates carefully. No mouse breath on anyone. Every whisker was neatly washed and in place.

I shrugged and decided it was unlikely to happen again. (I have had mice in the house but it was years ago in a harsh winter. That was the year that GusGus was living in the pantry. I think he and the cats were in cahoots.)

Life was back to normal. It was a fluke.


Then, there was a second victim! (Isn’t there always a second victim?)

I came home not a week after the first incident to find another hapless intruder mutilated. This time in the dining room! And he was not dead, just mortally wounded.

As I flipped on the light in the kitchen, the aerobic instructor, Miss Winkie, dashed around me and into the dining room. She proceeded to lick the victim. I did not realized what it was. Again I thought it was some kind of string toy.

I stepped onto the hardwood floor of the dining room and peered down at it. OMG! It’s a snake. When I turned on the overhead light, all of the cats were huddled round it. They sniffed it like they had never seen it before. It was not a garter snake. It had spots not stripes. I stepped back. Winkie stepped back in. She wanted it.

What to do. What to do. I do not know my snakes very well. I had never seen one like this. As I was hunkered over, pushing the cats away; it moved its head a fraction. Oh no. Not dead.

About ¾ of the way down its body the cats had crushed and chewed on it. I wondered randomly if it could grow its tail back. It was not flicking its tongue out. It looked at me. I looked at it. I was alone in the house with 4 cats and a mostly dead snake.

I decided this one needed to go outside. I could not throw it in the garbage. I unlocked the side door, got the dustpan, brushed in the little snake. I took it outside and shook it gently onto the rock wall.

I now think the murderer/protector of the innocent is Winkie. She had been a 3-year old stray when she was invited to move inside. The street kid, who I wrongfully blamed, had been a kitten. I am not letting him off the hook completely. But I think the snake was definitely hers.

The present

Karen looked out the window. She could see Chester coming across the lawn. He had a present. He often brought presents. She sighed and wiped the suds from her hands. Not again….

The move to the country had been draining for both of them. There had been three moves in four years--first the house, then the apartment, and now this place in the country with 5 acres. The apartment had been nice and big. They had lived there alone, developing quite a rapport. When the apartment building was sold and they were evicted, it was devastating. But that was behind them now. There were finally settling in to country life.

The property bordered a small marshy area, where they could hear peepers in the spring. The first time she noticed the sound, she had no idea what it was. She had even called her mom and held the phone out the window, both of them wondering at the cascade of sound.

The same thing happened with the birds. They were very different from the city birds. She loved watching them. She loved listening to them in the early mornings. When she couldn’t sleep in the depth of the night, she would lay awake eavesdropping on the conversations of the Great Horned Owls. She would try to pick out the different bird songs. She went out and bought 3 different kinds of birdfeeders. She loved the birds. Chester loved the birds too.

Chester loved all of the outdoors. He loved the woodland creatures. He loved roaming the property. He loved napping in the shade of the trees. The outdoors was so much more interesting than the indoors. He was happy. When he came back from his jaunts, he often brought something back.

Karen opened the door and stepped outside to see what it was this time. She saw something brown. Crap. It was a bird. Huh. It was a full grown robin! How had he caught it?

“Come here, honey. Let me see.” Chester came up to her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He burbled with happiness. As she bent down to see, she noticed that the robin’s eyes were open. The robin blinked at her. It did not struggle, but lay quietly. She carefully, pried opened Chester’s mouth and the robin flew off, unhurt. The robin sat in the tree across the lawn and started preening. Chester glared at Karen lashing his tail. Karen raised her finger and tenderly bopped him on the nose. “Don’t bring anymore presents!”
He was a pain, but she loved him dearly. Bending, she stroked him from head to tail before picking him up and carried him back inside. There were dishes to finish. The view of the robin still busily cleaning his feathers was the best present. She stood for a moment with Chester in her arms and smiled at the robin. Then she closed the door.

Oscar

I pulled up to the house and re-read the directions. Huh! Looks right. I glanced around. I didn’t see any cars. I prayed they were home; I did not want to make this trip again.

I got out of the car and walked toward the house. The walk angled around to the back. As I approached the backdoor a large Dalmatian lunged out of its house and strained at the end of a chain barking ferociously. I stepped onto the grass to be further away from the jaws. Definitely not friendly. When I rang the bell more barking ensued from inside.

The door was flung open and a large black sheep took up most of the doorway. It took one look at me and started to bark in tandem with the Dalmatian outside. I looked on bewildered. A woman’s hand pushed the sheep out of the way as she peered around the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Hi. I called. I’m here to see the cat.”

“Oh yeah, come in. My husband’s not home right now.” I stepped into the kitchen.

She was holding the big black dog by the collar. “Why don’t you go into the front room?”

I looked around uncertain.

“Just step over the baby gate. I’ll get Scooter.”

The formal living room had been freshly cleaned. The lemony scent of Pledge still lingered in the air. I sat gingerly on the edge of a chair looking around. The woman tromped down the stairs with a large yellow tabby cat tucked under one arm. She handed him to me. She opened her mouth to say something but at that moment the phone rang. She hurried off to answer it and left me alone with Scooter.

I sat and stroked the big cat. I could feel him trembling every time the dog barked. He was such a love. He didn’t hiss, or squirm or claw. He was clearly miserable living in chaos.

The woman popped her head back around the door.

“That is Scooter. My husband’s parents moved to Florida and didn’t want to take him. They took the dog though. So Jimmy took him. But it is not working out here. There are the dogs, we also have 3 other cats and my daughter is 4. I think there is too much activity here. He is living under our bed and never comes out.”

By this time the cat was purring and butting his head against my hand. I looked down at him. I absolutely could not leave him here. I stood up.

“I’ll take him with me.” I gave him back to her to hold. “I have a carrier in the car.” I hurried out past the still-barking dog. I grabbed the carrier from the car, hurried back inside, stuffed in the bewildered cat and got out of there as fast as I could.

He just sat huddled in the carrier all the way home. When I reached home an hour later, I brought in the carrier and gently put it down in the basement next to the litter boxes. When I opened it, he crept out, sniffed the litter box, and then bolted up the stairs.

He spent the next 3 weeks hiding in the 4-inch space under the couch or squeezed between the couch and wall. I changed his name to Oscar because he was such a wienie. But everyday it got better. I adopted 2 other abandoned cats. Bourka you have already met and I will blog about Winkie in the future. They were as timid and traumatized as Oscar.

That was 4 years ago this month. Look at him now. He sleeps on the furniture not under it. If you are here long enough, he will be sitting on you. He is a different cat now-confident, loving and a perfect companion not only for me but also for the other 3. You remember there are 4 right? Stay tuned….

Bourka

When Mary’s beloved grandmother, Babci, passed away, Bourka was bewildered. She and her sister, Shifka had come to live with Babci on Easter many years before. When Shifka, (the pretty white one) died, Bourka (the mottled brown one) was left alone with Babci. As Babci got weaker and spent more time in bed, Bourka would sit with her for hours at a time. Babci would talk to her in Polish and stroke her head.

Babci’s daughter, Mary’s mother, also lived in the house. Not long after Babci passed, her daughter decided that the house was too much to care for. She moved to a nursing home. But Bourka and her friend Patches were left in the house. No one in the family could take them.

Mary knew that I had lost my cat Jackson a few months before. She came into my office and told me about the 2 cats left alone in the house with only a caregiver. I decided to go and visit them. (You know where this is going, right?) Bourka came right up to me, I was able to pick her up and pet her. She was beautiful. The other little cat was more skittish. I only saw a black streak of lightening as she headed to the basement to hide.

About a week later Mary and her family came to my house with Bourka. She came right out of the carrier and strolled around the house like she owned it. Patches had to be trapped and would not show up for a few more weeks. In the meantime, I had gathered up another cat whose family left him behind when they moved to Florida (they took the dog.) So I went from 0-3 in a month. (I’ll tell his story another time.)

After Bourka had been with me for a few weeks, I decided to change her name to Babka (the sweet cake). I thought it was close enough to Bourka that she wouldn't even notice. She immediately had an identity crisis. She stopped eating. She moped. I rationalized that she could not possibly care. She hung around the house, not responding to anything I said. When I said something to Mary, she told me that Babci always spoke to her in Polish. (That would explain why she would not get off the counter when I asked her to.) I reverted to calling her Bourka. She started eating again. Well. Alrighty then. Do I need to learn some Polish? I went out and got Polish language tapes. I finally gave up trying to learn even the most rudimentary baby Polish. Bourka on the other hand, still sits in front of the boom box with I put the tapes in for her.

One last story, Belle, the wife of my neighbor’s brother is a nurse and works with some Polish women. She has learned a few phrases in Polish. She came over to see the house and Bourka came out to see who had come in. I explained that Bourka only knows Polish. Belle spoke to her in Polish and the cat came running across the entryway to get petted.

I have had Bourka for 4 years now. I still don’t know any Polish and Bourka still mostly ignores me. If you know how to say "Get Down" or "Stop that!" in Polish, let me know.