Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wynken, Blynken and Nod
Teeger
Wynken
Daisy had three black kittens, two short-haired females and one long-haired male. We named them Wynken, Blynken and Nod. The two females, Wynken and Blyken were identical. In order to tell them apart, I clipped Wynken's tail fur, so that her tail had a blunt instead of pointed tip. All three were lap kitties and very much people cats.
We had dear friends, a married couple, who lived in Gonzales, Texas. She was confined to a wheelchair and home alone in the daytime while her husband worked. Their adult daughter decided that her mother needed a companion. Her father had always preferred dogs, but agreed a cat would probably be better. He contacted me about taking one of our kittens. Shortly before Christmas, Blynken went to live with our friends.
Blynken soon took over their home. During the day, she is the perfect lap cat for my friend in her wheelchair.
When her husband returns from work, he puts on gloves and engages Blynken who turns into a ferocious playmate. Blynken is the cat each of them needed.
Wynken and Nod stayed with my mother and me. Wynken loves attention, but no longer likes to be held. Nod is the lap cat. He jumps into my lap any chance he gets. He is particularly fond of being held when I am at the computer. This does not always work since he thinks the mouse is a plaything. he also assists with my typing. I can blame typos on him.
Nod is now called Teeger. My mother had a stroke a few years after Nod and his siblings were born. Her speech center was damaged. Her diction was perfect; she just lost her dictionary. She could not remember what words meant. Proper nouns were completely gone. If the cat had not resided with us for more than five years, she could not remember their names. Now, twenty years before, we had owned a long-haired, black cat named Teeger. Nod, who was identical to that cat, assumed his name. Mother called him Teeger. I realized that it would be easier for me to go along with my mother's choice, so Nod became Teeger. He adjusted without a problem. Wynken never got a new name. She was The Black Cat to my mother while I continued to call her Wynken. (Mother is gone, but Nod is still Teeger.)
I just checked on Wynken's and Teeger's age: both will be ten in October. How strange, it seems that it was only a couple of years ago when Daisy appeared.
We had dear friends, a married couple, who lived in Gonzales, Texas. She was confined to a wheelchair and home alone in the daytime while her husband worked. Their adult daughter decided that her mother needed a companion. Her father had always preferred dogs, but agreed a cat would probably be better. He contacted me about taking one of our kittens. Shortly before Christmas, Blynken went to live with our friends.
Blynken soon took over their home. During the day, she is the perfect lap cat for my friend in her wheelchair.
When her husband returns from work, he puts on gloves and engages Blynken who turns into a ferocious playmate. Blynken is the cat each of them needed.
Wynken and Nod stayed with my mother and me. Wynken loves attention, but no longer likes to be held. Nod is the lap cat. He jumps into my lap any chance he gets. He is particularly fond of being held when I am at the computer. This does not always work since he thinks the mouse is a plaything. he also assists with my typing. I can blame typos on him.
Nod is now called Teeger. My mother had a stroke a few years after Nod and his siblings were born. Her speech center was damaged. Her diction was perfect; she just lost her dictionary. She could not remember what words meant. Proper nouns were completely gone. If the cat had not resided with us for more than five years, she could not remember their names. Now, twenty years before, we had owned a long-haired, black cat named Teeger. Nod, who was identical to that cat, assumed his name. Mother called him Teeger. I realized that it would be easier for me to go along with my mother's choice, so Nod became Teeger. He adjusted without a problem. Wynken never got a new name. She was The Black Cat to my mother while I continued to call her Wynken. (Mother is gone, but Nod is still Teeger.)
I just checked on Wynken's and Teeger's age: both will be ten in October. How strange, it seems that it was only a couple of years ago when Daisy appeared.
Labels: Blynken, cat names, cats, kittens, Nod, stroke, Teeger, Wynken
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Gamma the Bold
Gamma and his two brothers, Alpha and Beta, were dumped on my front porch as kittens with their mother, Irene. Gamma is a silver gray cat with a white bib, white feet, and a splash of white on top of his nose. He was about three months old when he arrived. As usual, I planned to make them indoor only cats.
Gamma was a climber. Nothing stopped him from reaching the top of the tallest bookcase, about nine feet off the floor. He scrambled into every nook and cranny in the house. After only a couple of days, he discovered the deck off the kitchen. The deck, enclosed by lattice including the roof, was accessible through a doggie door. Gamma adored climbing the wooden ladder I had set up there for the cats.
There was only one problem with Gamma's adventures. If he found himself unable to extricate himself from a place, he cried piteously. I then had to rescue him. In the house, there were few places this happened.
At three one morning, I heard those familiar wails. Gamma had got himself trapped somewhere. I got out of bed then realized that the cries were coming from directly above my bed. There was nothing but roof there. I listened more closely. Gamma was outside on the roof!
I hastened to the deck and called him. He must have squeezed through the lattice to get to the roof. Maybe I could squeeze him back through. I tried, Gamma tried, but we could not find a space big enough to get through. I gave up.
I put on some shorts. I slept in underwear and a T-shirt. At three-thirty, I headed outside. I retrieved the extension ladder from its place and put it up to the roof. Gamma was there immediately. I tried to convince him to come down the ladder, but that didn't work. So, with a deep breath (I'm afraid of heights), I climbed the ladder.
Gamma was waiting impatiently. He had had enough of the roof. I grabbed him with one hand and brought him to my chest. Using only one hand to hold on to the ladder, I inched down. Gamma was unperturbed. I think he enjoyed the descent immensely. My legs were weak by the time we reached the ground.
Once inside, I sealed the doggie door after making sure there were no cats on the deck. Of course there were none in sight. I knew where they were: in my bedroom, sitting on my bed where they had all enjoyed my struggles.
Gamma was a climber. Nothing stopped him from reaching the top of the tallest bookcase, about nine feet off the floor. He scrambled into every nook and cranny in the house. After only a couple of days, he discovered the deck off the kitchen. The deck, enclosed by lattice including the roof, was accessible through a doggie door. Gamma adored climbing the wooden ladder I had set up there for the cats.
There was only one problem with Gamma's adventures. If he found himself unable to extricate himself from a place, he cried piteously. I then had to rescue him. In the house, there were few places this happened.
At three one morning, I heard those familiar wails. Gamma had got himself trapped somewhere. I got out of bed then realized that the cries were coming from directly above my bed. There was nothing but roof there. I listened more closely. Gamma was outside on the roof!
I hastened to the deck and called him. He must have squeezed through the lattice to get to the roof. Maybe I could squeeze him back through. I tried, Gamma tried, but we could not find a space big enough to get through. I gave up.
I put on some shorts. I slept in underwear and a T-shirt. At three-thirty, I headed outside. I retrieved the extension ladder from its place and put it up to the roof. Gamma was there immediately. I tried to convince him to come down the ladder, but that didn't work. So, with a deep breath (I'm afraid of heights), I climbed the ladder.
Gamma was waiting impatiently. He had had enough of the roof. I grabbed him with one hand and brought him to my chest. Using only one hand to hold on to the ladder, I inched down. Gamma was unperturbed. I think he enjoyed the descent immensely. My legs were weak by the time we reached the ground.
Once inside, I sealed the doggie door after making sure there were no cats on the deck. Of course there were none in sight. I knew where they were: in my bedroom, sitting on my bed where they had all enjoyed my struggles.
Gamma continues to go out, but he is inside every night. He would like to be top cat, but Wellington stands in his way.
Labels: kittens
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Shackleton Appears
One spring afternoon, I opened the front door to find the woman who cleaned house for me standing there with a shoebox. Instantly, I had a sinking feeling, shoeboxes meant trouble. Baby possums, birds and other critters always arrived in one of those cardboard ubiquties. Elena (I'll call her that) smiled at me and removed the lid of the box. Sure enough, inside was a kitten, a tiny orange and white fur ball, one eye closed, the other just beginnning to open. I knew from those eyes that this little one was less than two weeks old, too young to be separated from its mother.
Elena began a detailed explanation in Spanish. While my ability to understand Spanish far exceeds my ability to speak the language, very little of what Elena said registered. What I did understand was that I was the solution to the problem. What problem? I made Elena repeat her story, and I interrupted frequently to be sure I understood.
The kitten had been found in the garbage behind the restaurant where Elena worked nights, by a busboy putting out trash. The kitten's helplessness had caused a stir among all the staff. Even the restaurant owner had been brought into the discussion of what to do with such a tiny one. Elena happily told me that she had announced to all that this was no problem because she knew a lady that would care for the kitten. She, of course, meant me.
While I appreciated her confidence in me, I knew it might be ill placed. A kitten this young, separated from his mother, was not likely to survive. I told her that even as I checked my watch. My vet was still open; if I hurried I could get the kitten to him. With a quick explanation to Elena I headed out.
I arrived at my veterinarian only minutes before closing. My vet, Dan, was also familiar with shoebox catastrophes. Without a word he took the box. My first question was "Will he live?"
"He's about ten days old, but he has a chance. Let me keep him over night. Does he have a name?"
"No, I haven't thought of one."
Dan's assistant chimed in, "We'll call him Baby Kitty."
The next morning I called around ten. I knew from experience that the clinic settled down around then and I could expect immediate help. "How's the kitten?" I asked.
"Doing fine. You can take him home."
Ten minutes later, I had the shoebox and its orange contents again. Dan said, "it's a male. You'll need to feed it often and stimulate it to defecate and urinate. I think it has a good chance."
I headed to the nearest locally owned petstore to buy kitten supplies. As I purchased the requisite bottle and formula, everyone had to see what was in the box. Everyone oohed and ahhed over Baby Kitty. Many had never seen a kitten so young. Baby kitty did not seem to mind the attention.
When I reached home, I knew I had to devise a way to keep my adult cats away from this little one. The solution was to ensconse him in the largest cat carrier I owned. I made a litter box out of the top of the shoebox, covered in foil. Wishful thinking. I fixed a bed with a clean towel in the rear, but the kitten looked lost. Then I remembered. I had a black and white stuffed cat for visiting kids to play with. I found it and soon the kitten was snuggled up between its front paws. That stuffed cat would be Baby Kitty's surrogate mom until he was several months old.
The next week and a half went well. Baby Kitty loved his bottle and responded appropriately to stimulus. I had noticed that he was not as active as kittens his age we had raised before. At first, I just decided that it was the lack of a mother that made the difference, but a few more days passed and I knew we had problems. Baby Kitty did not seem able to see even though his eyes were open, and he was not walking at all. Back to my vet and half day stay for evaluation.
When I picked him up, the diagnosis was not good. He was blind and his rear legs did not work although he had feeling in them. Dan thought the kitten had neurological damage either from birth or from being tossed in the trash. I asked for a prognosis. There, I was luckier. Dan thought that there was a good chance that Baby Kitty would be able to see because most to the problem seemed to be a lack of muscular control of his eyes. Dan just didn't know about the legs. He had never seen a kitten with this problem.
When I reached home, I told my Mom, who had Parkinson's Disease, the diagnosis. Mom looked at me and grinned. "He'll fit right in."
I understood instantly. I had a problem with the nerves leading up the left side of my head into my brain. Mom had had a stroke as well as Parkinson's. What better place for a brain damaged kitten than with two brain damaged women.
Baby Kitty did fit in. Mom would sit on the front porch in the mornings and Baby Kitty sat between her feet. He played with her shoes and her shoelaces. Slowly, he was gaining eyesight, but those rear legs just did not work. He sort of scooted around Mom's feet and played with those rear legs as if they had no connection to him. Then one day he managed to get both rear legs under him. Baby Kitty stood up.
From that moment on Baby Kitty worked at walking. Obviously, he had to think about what he was doing. He also had no idea where his rear legs were, but he walked. His gait was slow and stumbling and since he could not see very well, he ran into everything and fell often. He persevered.
By his next check-up, he was almost normal. Dan was satisfied that Baby Kitty would lead a full life with little noticeable handicap. Dan was correct.
Baby Kitty has grown into an adventurous, although smaller than average cat. He has a name - Shackleton (Shack for short). Shackleton was an Antarctic explorer who did not give up when faced with life and death struggles. My Shackleton has that same fierce spirit.
Elena began a detailed explanation in Spanish. While my ability to understand Spanish far exceeds my ability to speak the language, very little of what Elena said registered. What I did understand was that I was the solution to the problem. What problem? I made Elena repeat her story, and I interrupted frequently to be sure I understood.
The kitten had been found in the garbage behind the restaurant where Elena worked nights, by a busboy putting out trash. The kitten's helplessness had caused a stir among all the staff. Even the restaurant owner had been brought into the discussion of what to do with such a tiny one. Elena happily told me that she had announced to all that this was no problem because she knew a lady that would care for the kitten. She, of course, meant me.
While I appreciated her confidence in me, I knew it might be ill placed. A kitten this young, separated from his mother, was not likely to survive. I told her that even as I checked my watch. My vet was still open; if I hurried I could get the kitten to him. With a quick explanation to Elena I headed out.
I arrived at my veterinarian only minutes before closing. My vet, Dan, was also familiar with shoebox catastrophes. Without a word he took the box. My first question was "Will he live?"
"He's about ten days old, but he has a chance. Let me keep him over night. Does he have a name?"
"No, I haven't thought of one."
Dan's assistant chimed in, "We'll call him Baby Kitty."
The next morning I called around ten. I knew from experience that the clinic settled down around then and I could expect immediate help. "How's the kitten?" I asked.
"Doing fine. You can take him home."
Ten minutes later, I had the shoebox and its orange contents again. Dan said, "it's a male. You'll need to feed it often and stimulate it to defecate and urinate. I think it has a good chance."
I headed to the nearest locally owned petstore to buy kitten supplies. As I purchased the requisite bottle and formula, everyone had to see what was in the box. Everyone oohed and ahhed over Baby Kitty. Many had never seen a kitten so young. Baby kitty did not seem to mind the attention.
When I reached home, I knew I had to devise a way to keep my adult cats away from this little one. The solution was to ensconse him in the largest cat carrier I owned. I made a litter box out of the top of the shoebox, covered in foil. Wishful thinking. I fixed a bed with a clean towel in the rear, but the kitten looked lost. Then I remembered. I had a black and white stuffed cat for visiting kids to play with. I found it and soon the kitten was snuggled up between its front paws. That stuffed cat would be Baby Kitty's surrogate mom until he was several months old.
The next week and a half went well. Baby Kitty loved his bottle and responded appropriately to stimulus. I had noticed that he was not as active as kittens his age we had raised before. At first, I just decided that it was the lack of a mother that made the difference, but a few more days passed and I knew we had problems. Baby Kitty did not seem able to see even though his eyes were open, and he was not walking at all. Back to my vet and half day stay for evaluation.
When I picked him up, the diagnosis was not good. He was blind and his rear legs did not work although he had feeling in them. Dan thought the kitten had neurological damage either from birth or from being tossed in the trash. I asked for a prognosis. There, I was luckier. Dan thought that there was a good chance that Baby Kitty would be able to see because most to the problem seemed to be a lack of muscular control of his eyes. Dan just didn't know about the legs. He had never seen a kitten with this problem.
When I reached home, I told my Mom, who had Parkinson's Disease, the diagnosis. Mom looked at me and grinned. "He'll fit right in."
I understood instantly. I had a problem with the nerves leading up the left side of my head into my brain. Mom had had a stroke as well as Parkinson's. What better place for a brain damaged kitten than with two brain damaged women.
Baby Kitty did fit in. Mom would sit on the front porch in the mornings and Baby Kitty sat between her feet. He played with her shoes and her shoelaces. Slowly, he was gaining eyesight, but those rear legs just did not work. He sort of scooted around Mom's feet and played with those rear legs as if they had no connection to him. Then one day he managed to get both rear legs under him. Baby Kitty stood up.
From that moment on Baby Kitty worked at walking. Obviously, he had to think about what he was doing. He also had no idea where his rear legs were, but he walked. His gait was slow and stumbling and since he could not see very well, he ran into everything and fell often. He persevered.
By his next check-up, he was almost normal. Dan was satisfied that Baby Kitty would lead a full life with little noticeable handicap. Dan was correct.
Baby Kitty has grown into an adventurous, although smaller than average cat. He has a name - Shackleton (Shack for short). Shackleton was an Antarctic explorer who did not give up when faced with life and death struggles. My Shackleton has that same fierce spirit.
Labels: Baby Kitty, cats, kittens, Shackleton
