Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Best Cat I Ever Knew
My friend and I would regularly dress Satin in doll clothes. She never complained, even with a bonnet on. Placed in a doll bed wearing a nightgown and bonnet, she lay on her back with her paws draped over the coverlet and did not move. She always seemed happy to be with us. She never struggled, scratched or bit. She always purred.
Satin loved to go bike riding. We had baskets on our bicycles, and one day one of us put Satin in her bicycle basket and took off. I don't remember which of us did that first. I do remember that Satin sat in the basket as if she had been riding in it all her life. After that, we regularly took turns giving her rides, not once, did she jump out.
Satin did have one bad habit. Every Christmas, she climbed the Christmas tree which was usually about eight feet tall. Satin climbed until the tree fell over, then she never bothered it again. The result was her human family put the tree up undecorated and waited until cat and tree fell over. After that annual event, the tree was decorated and remained unmolested.
The whole neighborhood had a crisis the day a speeding vehicle hit Satin. The driver did stop. He received a scolding from the crowd that formed quickly. I doubt he ever drove down Karnak Street again. Satin's jaw was broken and had to be wired back together. Satin had to eat baby food for weeks. She recovered completely, but managed to convince her owners that she still needed baby food once a week. She lived to be an old cat. The whole neighborhood mourned her passing.
Labels: bike, black cat, Christmas tree, little girls, Satin
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Cat Riot
There must have been a cat riot last night, a riot that I slept through. When I awoke and made my way to my bathroom, I found it in shambles. The toilet paper had been removed from its holder and shredded. Fluffly white confetti was everywhere. The towels stacked neatly on shelves above the toilet tank were now on the floor, except for the hand towel in toilet bowl. I removed that and tossed it in the shower. I have a pair of baskets screwed to the wall; both contain odds and ends. The baskets were still in place, but their contents were on the floor. As I picked up the debris, I noticed several furry faces peering at me from the doorway.
"Did you cats do this?" I asked.
Two furry faces disappeared instantly. The others managed their best wide-eyed stares as if to say, "Not me, I'm innocent."
I muttered something as I picked up more toilet paper confetti, and all the cats vanished. So much for innocence.
After finishing in my bathroom, I headed for the kitchen. On my way I passed the other bathroom. This bathroom has a a built-in medicine cabinet. The cabinet door closes with a latch that must be turned before it will open. The cabinet was wide open. The sink was full of the contents of the cabinet: lipstick, toothbrushes, eyeliner, and powder puffs. On the floor were a couple of brushes and a medicine bottle containing my mother's partial plate. Again, I picked up the remains of the riot. This time not a cat appeared.
At last, I made it into the kitchen. Now, a different set of cats inhabit the kitchen, utility room, living room, and dining room. The two groups are separated by always closed doors. The doors were closed. I was sure that the kitchen, etc. area cats would not have staged a riot. I was correct. All they had done was open one cabinet and remove the salt, pepper, and other spices. Nothing was broken and nothing had been damaged.
I do not know what caused so much activity in both cat camps, but not one them will admit to anything. However, Shack has been know to open the kitchen cabinets. He is definitely a suspect. As to the bedrooom-bathroom cats, the primary suspects are the new arrivals, Rosefire and Greenmist. Questioning continues.
I did not take a picture of this morning's mess, but I did find one that looked all too familiar. Photo by gardenghelle.
Labels: Cat riot, confetti, Greenmist, medicine cabinet, Rosefire, Shackleton, toilet paper
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Shack Gets Speared
After Shack dashes out, he does a quick survey of the front yard, especially the bird feeder (too high for him to reach), gets a drink from the birdbath on the ground (for cats, not birds), then back on the porch to watch the yard. Sometimes, he stops to nibble some grass, so that when he comes in he can throw up on the furniture.
While Shack is small for a male, he is full of energy and seldom wants to be held. He misses my mother, I think, because he likes to sit in her chair. When Mom was alive, she was Shack's special person. Shack does climb into my lap for attention about once a day. (If you want to learn about Shack's arrival, click here.)
One day as I held him, I noticed a swelling on the side of his head just below his eye. I felt the area; it was hard and unyielding. Shack did not like my exam and wiggled away, but the area did not seem particularly tender. I was worried. Lumps on cats can herald cancer. Off to my vet we went.
My vet was not sure what was wrong. He kept Shackleton for observation, but started him on an injectable antibiotic. Shack stayed three days. The lump decreased in size slightly. All of the tests came back showing no abnormalities. Shack came home to finish the antibiotic regimen. If the lump was not gone by the time the antibiotic was, my vet would do a biopsy.
The lump was smaller, but did not grow smaller once Shack came home. I examined him every day, growing more and more worried. On the next to last day of the antibiotic regimen, I ran my fingers lightly over the lump. My fingers felt something. I looked carefully. There was something barely visible in Shack's fur protruding out of his cheek.
I held Shack as I found my tweezers. He did not protest as I pulled the object from his cheek. It was the pointed end of spear grass. The same grass that I had thrown at playmates in my childhood. I called my vet and told him. He agreed with me that Shack had eaten some spear grass and gotten the end embedde
d in his cheek where it worked its way from the inside out.I continued the antibiotic, and with the spear removed, Shack's lump disappeared. He is healthy. I spent my free time in the next few days prowling the yard for spear grass. I removed all I found. A year has passed, and Shack has not been speared again.
The proper name for this grass is Nassella leucotricka; common name: Texas speargrass or Texas wintergrass.
Drawing courtesy:USDA-NRCS PLANTS Database / Hitchcock, A.S. (rev. A. Chase). 1950. Manual of the grasses of the United States. USDA Miscellaneous Publication No. 200. Washington, DC.
Photo courtesy: Sam C. Strickland; Wildflower Center Digital Library
Labels: antibiotic, cat, cheek, lumps, Shackleton, spear grass
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Irene Relaxes
She does not like to be held, but she does like to have her head rubbed. For several years, I have made a point of petting her head any chance I get. At night now, she climbs onto my bed, then my chest and waits for her head rub. I try always to oblige. Irene becomes quite irate when I need to move or roll over. She considers it a personal affront.
Irene has also managed to convince me to provide her her own private drinking glass. There is a large bowl of water on the floor that is always available, but she prefers her water untouched by other cats. I do not remember the first time I filled a large plastic medicine bottle for her to drink from, but now it is a habit. When she jumps up onto the vanity around the bathroom sink, I fill her container to the brim. She drinks happily. Since she has had kidney problems in the past, I am glad to indulge her.
Irene still carries on a running commentary on the evils of human hands whenever I pick her up, but she seldom struggles or bites. Once in a while, she obviously thinks I am taking liberties and will still give me a nip. Sometimes, I think it is a test to see if I am as resolute as ever in keeping my hold. (I am.)
My goal is to convince her that a life as an indoor only cat would be quite acceptable.
Labels: head rub, house cat, Irene, kidney problems, nip, private drinking glass
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Harlequin Bites
An enormous black and white cat began hanging out on our block. I soon determined that this was an unaltered male, that explained his frequent disappearances. He was not fat, just long and sturdy. I asked around and even put an ad in the paper (this was before the internet). No one knew anything about this cat. I tried approaching him, but he was very skittish. Over some weeks, I was able to pet him. Gradually, he became friendlier. Eventually, I was able to load him in a carrier and take him to my veterinarian. There, I had to provide a name. Harlequin came to mind, and Harlequin he became although in time he was just Harley. Harlequin got a full physical (he passed); then he was neutered and vaccinated. When I picked him up, I received a warning. He was a biter.
Harley did not fit in with the other cats because he wanted to attack any cat in his territory. I had a large cage (4ftx4ftx2ft) that I used for sick or injured cats where I put him to recuperate. I made a discovery. He relaxed in the cage and completely ignored the other cats. He also was much more relaxed with me. I formed a plan. Harley could go out during the day where he would be our only outdoor cat. At night, I would bring him in and place him in the cage. To my amazement and relief, this worked. Harley actually loved the arrangement. In the morning he waited for me to take him outside, and when I came home from work, he was ready to come in. I did have to watch where I placed my hands. Too close to his head and Harley would bite. My mother would not touch him.
The day came when Harley got a kitty cold that turned into a respiratory infection. Off to the vet, then home with pills to take. All went well for several days, but Friday night, I was tired and Harley was in a bad mood. As I gave him a pill, he spit it out. I retrieved it and started to drop it back in Harley’s mouth. I don’t know what was the trigger, but Harley nailed me. His teeth went through the flesh of my left hand between the thumb and forefinger, all the way through, double punctures. He seemed to realize what he had done and to have regretted it. I was able to push the pill into his throat then put him back into his cage.
I washed the wound out with soap and water, and tried to squirt antibiotic ointment into each of the holes. The wounds had bled freely. I hoped that I would escape infection. I did not. When I woke Saturday morning, red streaks ran from the holes several inches up my arm. I called my doctor’s emergency number and reached the doctor on duty. I had to demand antibiotics. He wanted me to wait until Monday and see my own doctor. I finally did convince him, and he called in a prescription for three days worth of antibiotics. (Antibiotics are problematic for me because I am allergic to many of them.) I started the antibiotics immediately, and by Monday when I did see my doctor, the infection was under control. My doctor continued the antibiotics, and I healed without incident.
Cat bites are extremely nasty. Always see your doctor if a cat bites you. A friend had to have hand surgery when a cat bite infection did not respond to antibiotics. The surgery was successful, but she was disabled for several weeks. She was bitten because she stopped her cat from biting the vet by putting her hand in his mouth, although that was not her plan. I have been bitten several times and twice needed medical care afterward. Always respect your cat. I have never been bitten by a feral cat, only by a pet.
Labels: black, cat, cat bite, Harlequin, Harley, tuxedo cat, white
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Snowball's Bed
Snowball became my maternal grandmother’s cat. She first appeared as a white stray, claimed by no one in the neighborhood. Once I determined that the stray was a female, I knew I must act. Soon, she had been to my veterinarian, had a check-up, shots, and been spayed. She returned to become one of our household.
My grandmother (Granma) tolerated our cats, but they were not allowed in her room. We did not expect this cat to be any different. We were wrong. When Granma was a child, we learned that she had had an all white farm cat called Snowball. Granma informed us that our new white cat was to be named Snowball. Neither my mother nor I had any reason to object, so Snowball it was.
We soon discovered something even more shocking. Snowball was allowed to sleep on Granma’s bed. She had her space at the foot of the double bed on the side opposite from where Granma slept. Snowball was Granmas’s companion in the day, too, sitting beside her or even in her lap.
Granma was 96 years old when she died. Granma had seven children, all still living at the time of her death. All came to her funeral. One son and his wife flew in from Ohio and stayed with us. We gave them Granma’s room to sleep in. Not until the day they were leaving did we learn about Snowball’s behavior.
My uncle and aunt had visited before, so they knew Snowball and her special relationship with Granma. The first night that they slept in Granma’s bed, my uncle wound up on Snowball’s side of the bed. Snowball had taken her regular spot on the bed. My uncle nudged her with his foot to move her away.
Snowball bit his toe!
My uncle explained that it was not a vicious bite, more of a nip, but Snowball was clearly asserting her claim to her spot. I asked him what he did. He told me he simply moved his feet closer to his wife’s and gave Snowball her space.
Snowball would live for many years. She always slept on Granma’a bed.
Labels: bed, bite, cats, grandmother, sleep, Snowball, stray, white cat
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Love a Feral
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Wellington the Last
Wellington lurks under the yellow jasmine where he can survey the yard and keep an eye on me. If I have the audacity to invade the jasmine, he trots across the yard, tail high, to the nandina near the house. Further pursuit on my part results in his disappearance under the house. I live in an old house with a pier and beam foundation. There is no basement, just a skirted space under the house where the cats retreat.
Wellington does have one weakness: catnip. If I am really desparate, I can bribe him with a fresh sprig of catnip. This almost always works. Wellington has dealt with his weakness. He simply leaves the front yard long before I search for him. I do not know where he goes although I suspect my neighbor's fenced and locked yard.
The result of all these tactics is that Wellington is the last cat in at night. Once darkness falls, Wellington will come when called. Well, maybe not the first time. If I have been unsuccessful after several tries, I can get in my car and drive around the block. Wellington always comes to meet the car.
As I come up the sidewalk, he lies down in front of me. He wants to be picked up and carried in while being told what a wonderful cat he is. There is only one problem; Wellington weighs in at twenty pounds. He is a lot for an arthritic with a bad hip to handle. My doctor has forbidden me to carry heavy bags of litter or cat food because he fears my bad hip may fail. (I had a bone disease as a child.) I have never told my doctor about Wellington. He probably suspects.
I only have to carry Wellington to the door. He expects to be put down so that he can strut into the house. Once inside, he heads straight to the dry food bowl. He snacks for a moment, then begins his evening patrol of the house. Once satisfied that all his subjects are properly subservient, he takes his place on top of the refrigerator.
Wellington is not the first out in the morning. I think he believes that would be beneath his dignity.
Labels: cats, night, outdoors, yellow jasmine
Monday, February 04, 2008
Catnip
I have always had fresh catnip for my cats. When I only had two cats, Teeger and Tippy, a brother and sister, I could grow catnip behind the rose bushes in a corner of my garden. Teeger was a large, long-haired black cat; Tippy a robust tortoiseshell. Both were indoor/outdoor cats.
After Teeger's debacle, I had to find a new way to grow catnip. My solution was to switch to a hanging basket. The hanging basket proved successful. I can grow large quantities of catnip in a basket hung from a chain under the oak tree. I trim the catnip back ever so often and share the green bounty with my cats. I think the fresh catnip is particularly good for my indoor cats.
Winter is a problem. I tried bringing the hanging basket inside, but that resulted in total destruction of catnip and basket. I still don't know how the cats managed to reach the basket. Now, I hang the basket on the front porch where it is protected from all but the hardest freezes. For those extremely cold times, I put the catnip in my office which is off-limits to the cats.
My cats know that I have been writing about their favorite herb. They all have that look of expectancy. I will go cut some for them to enjoy.
Labels: catnip, cats, eat, fresh catnip, grow, roll
Friday, February 01, 2008
Gamma and the Pigeons
While the boys check out the yard, I feed the pigeons in the alley. I throw out seed and a flock of twenty or so descend immediately. This week the pigeons have been absent some days because a falcon has been cruising the area. Gamma has been very disappointed because he loves the pigeons. Actually, he loves to eat the pigeons. He has never managed to catch one of the flock in the morning, but stragglers later in the day seem to fall prey to him all too often. I sometimes manage a rescue, but too often Gamma disappears with his victim.
Gamma and I often have discussions in the morning as the pigeons eat. "These are my pigeons, Gamma. Do not try to catch them," I say. He looks at me with his yellow eyes and seems to agree that these birds are only for looking, not eating. I tell him to come back inside for breakfast, and he dutifully follows me into the house. Except when he has a pigeon in his mouth, he is very obedient.
Labels: cats, Gamma, gray cat, pigeons, Sydney, tabby, Wellington, yellow tom
