Sleepy Kitty Weekend

After the pouring rain all day yesterday, the howling winter winds really kicked in overnight. A cold front is suppose to be on its way. Feeling a little cooped up, I pulled on 3 layers and my Nepalese tasseled hat and went out birding. Standing in the cold wind for a few hours really took it out of me though. When I threw in the towel and got home I found all the kitties napping. Looks like a good idea! Scoot over.

Oscar


Tonka

Winkie

And where is Bourka? Probably tucked against the radiator under the bed in the blue room.

Feline Reception

When I walked in the house the kitties were all waiting in the basement; they know the sound of the garage door opening. I could hardly wheel the luggage without running over furry feet. I abandoned the luggage and hustled up the stairs to have a petting session. (There are 4 cats, so this requires the sofa.) Winkie jumped on my lap immediately, Tonka threw himself at my feet and Oscar nudged my hand with his head. The only one who remained aloof was Bourka. She sat politely and watched. When I finally got up to pet her, the kitties milled about my feet tripping me as I walked; following me from room to room, herding me to the kitchen for treats. It is good to be home.

As much as I travel, a good pet-sitter is critical. I have been using the same service for 8 years. They come in twice a day when I am gone, alternate lights, bring in the mail and in a pinch have watered the tomatoes. I do not worry about the cats. Should there be an emergency, Sandra is a vet-tech at the local animal hospital. The only problem is sometimes, my travel schedule conflicts with their vacation. I know they need vacation like the rest of us, but there is no back-up, which is hard. The neighbors are not cat people and none of my friends live on the mountain. I do have good friends that are willing to drive for 20 minutes to feed them but that is asking a lot.

I am glad to see their furry little welcoming faces, even if they insist on herding me to do their bidding.

Wordless Wednesday

The agony of indecision

My sister’s 17 year old dog Sparky had a seizure or a stroke or something really not good while I was on the phone with her this morning. Needless to say, we hung up in haste. An hour or so later, she called back to tell me that the episode seemed to have passed and he was resting. But she is on deathwatch. If he were a human, we would be calling hospice. I hate this part of loving an animal.

Every time I get up in the morning or come home from work or travel, I worry about it. An aging pet is a concern all the time. Their little bodies run to a faster clock. We will all love many animals in our lives; they will love only us. In exchange for the love and devotion we owe them care, love and pain-free final days.

The decision to make the final trip to the vet is a heart-rending one. I have agonized over it every time I have had to make it. Sometime it is an emergency and there is no decision process. It is a scab that is ripped open and bleeding, no matter how prepared we are. Sometimes the decision is their own, with them refusing water and food, preferring to sleep or crawl off to be alone. Sometimes it is the long wait; watching for a sign that they are done and it is time for us to let them go.

I have tried to pay attention to the signs and not be greedy, because this is not about me. I made that mistake once. After my cat Chester’ s collapse I carried him for an entire Thanksgiving holiday not ready to let him go. He had been with me through thick and thin for 18 years. He rallied and lived for another year, but he was miserable and never well. It was unfair to him. I will never do that again.

I have had cats in my life for well over 25 years. I have agonized over the decision to make the long trip to the vet many times now. Is it better to make the decision and the drive or hope to find them gone peacefully in the night? Either way it is a dreadful thing. But I would rather they see a loving face a the very end; then be alone and frightened.

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.

Heat of the Day

In August in Baku, the sun bakes everything-from people-to kitties-to the trees themselves. These cats were doing what we all wished we had been doing. Napping in the noon-day heat. The one redeeming feature is that Baku is the "windy city".

Today was a strange heat filled day. Way too hot for Spring. My sister called and said it was 90 in the flatland yesterday.

Bear Scare

My first year on the mountain, I was unaware of "living with bears". One day that Spring, after a harsh winter, I went to fill the feeders and found that apparently a massive bruin had tried quasi-successfully to raid them. He had snapped off the metal posts on a tube feeder and pulled a sturdy steel hanger on a metal feeder out of whack. He made off with the suet cage completely.

Scary, frankly.

Two days later, I came down to the kitchen in the morning and there he was nosing around the seed debris. He came very close to the house and pooped in the yard. "Oh no", I thought. "I hope he is not marking his territory or something." The ultimate in scooping....

Since then, I only put the feeders out in the depth of winter after I am sure the bears have gone down. I put them away again in mid-March. Since I feel bad about leaving the birds in the lurch, I put peanuts on the deck during the day for the avian throngs. (I have also been known to use whatever nuts I have in the freezer-walnuts, almonds, pecans.) Titmice, Blue Jays, Crows, Nuthatches, even Chickadees love them. Did I mention squirrels? Whoeee, it’s like they died and went to heaven. All that and a heated birdbath.

The cats love watching all of the drama on the deck. There is squabbling, chase scenes, robbery and flirtation. Pretty much the same as daytime TV. They line up in a row like they are at the theater. The tips of their tails twitch. They chatter their teeth. Sometimes when they cannot stand it anymore they will jump up and paw at the window. Yup, they love watching the birds and squirrels. And the birds and squirrels love watching them.

And so, the days are getting longer and warmer. Very soon my ursine neighbors will be peering out of their dens and venturing into the skunk cabbage patches to purge themselves of their sluggish winter digestion and then looking around for a snack. But not at my house. My feeders are down and in the garage.