The Cat and The Other Cat

Boris the Bully

Tiger the Twit (note bare area near base of tail)

The Cat Who Thought He Had It All

Looks? Yes. Charm? Definitely! Complete genitalia? No.

Tiger is a eunuch. I mean, if a eunuch is a guy whose testicles have been removed prior to sexual maturity, he's a eunuch. He just doesn't act like one. I've been thinking of asking the vet to check for a third family jewel that never descended, but Daughter states authoritatively that "The T" -- testosterone -- is produced by other glands as well.

We suspect Tiger's other glands are overproductive.

Tiger struts around like a tom's tom. The vet says it's all about attitude. Well, that Tiger does have in great abundance. Moxie too. As timid as he can be about some things, the truth is there's a devil running loose in the adorable beast, and we've never known him to shrink from a fight.

We suspect he rather enjoys fighting, to tell you the truth.

Christmas Eve, the kitty was outside in near-freezing weather, much longer than is typical for him. We were getting nervous, but he finally showed up, rather late, looking like something he had dragged in. Tufts of fur jutted out irregularly around his head like a makeshift crown. Patches of His Majesty's fur were missing from about his head and neck, as if they'd been harvested with a scythe.

We thought he looked rather pleased with himself, all the same.

As he attempted to make himself comfortable on my lap he kept twitching and suddenly lapping at various body parts. There arose from him an aroma that defies description. That was when Hubby educated me about some of the finer points of cat fights. I will spare my readers details; suffice to say, cat fights aren't just about claws and teeth.

On Christmas day, Hubby and I took our daily walk and noticed several cats on our street that were new to us. They looked quite young and they strongly resembled ... Boris! We have a kitty population explosion on our street. Fast, young, strong, agile masked cats are proliferating and prowling while Tiger gets older, slower, weaker and clumsier. And stupider.

Boris the Bully is producing more bullies and Tiger the Twit is taking all comers. "Bring it on!"

We've observed that no good comes from an attitude like that.

We understand there's such a thing as vet insurance; we're looking into it.

The Cat Who Used Up A Life

Tiger has only been with us for two of his nine years, so we don't know how many of his proverbial nine lives he's expended. On Saturday, though, we're pretty sure he used up one of whatever he has left. He came indoors from his morning rounds, acting perfectly normal and even helped Hubby make the bed before curling up on it for a snooze. Situation normal. It wasn't until we realized he'd been in there for an unusually long time that we checked and found blood on his tail. There was none around the bed or on the floor. It was most mysterious. He barely looked at us with dull eyes, and even his fur didn't feel right -- not as soft and silky as it had just hours before. Very, very gingerly, he licked at the blood and at his tail, but he refused to let us get a close look. He never likes to be handled on any but his own terms, and we bear many scars from the times when we've had to force the issue. In case he had a broken bone or internal injuries, we decided not to insist. We didn't want to make it worse. For the same reason, we decided not to force him into a carrier and take him to the vet. We decided to watch him as closely as he would allow and if his condition worsened we would act accordingly. It was a long, restless night as our little friend laid unmoving on his spot on our bed. It was unnatural not to feel him move around, shifting position and grooming off and on through the night. It seemed very possible he might expire in the night, and I found myself praying. At first light on Sunday, he was still with us, and though not feverish at all, he was still lethargic and still very protective of his tail. Stiffly, he rose from his spot and jumped from the bed. He took some water and food and returned to bed. Over the next few days he spent almost no time outside. He went out to do his duty and then returned to bed. By Monday, though, the light had returned to his eyes and his fur felt silky and wonderful again. He started to make his funny little growly noise when making a move to jump down from or up to the bed. He purred contently from time to time, but he also purred when he was warning us away from his wound. We observed that his tail, which he so often kept straight up, with a cute curl at the tip, hung down -- and a bit to the right. We wondered if we'd ever see it in "up periscope" position again, or even whether it would ever hang to the middle again. His wonderful, expressive tail -- how we would miss its messages! Monday evening, for the first time since his injury, he joined us on the couch, curling up on my lap and purring. During that night, we felt him moving on the bed. On Tuesday he spent a good while sunning and bathing himself outside. He had not, however, meowed even once since he had been injured. Normally a very vocal fellow, he was nearly silent. What sort of event steals a cat's meow?! We speculated about what might have occurred. The primary downside to having an outdoor cat is that not only is he more likely to be injured, but we're less likely to know where and how the injury occurred. We know he has an arch enemy with whom he has tangled repeatedly. At one time he was toppled by The Other from his alpha position. More recently, they seem to have established an uneasy truce, though with Tiger maintaining control of the much-envied top of the old fence. Tiger on top & Clayton/Boris below Did they fight over it yet again? Was The Other also injured? If so, how badly? If it wasn't a fight, did Tiger catch his tail in a gate? Did he fail to dodge a moving car? Did Curiosity try to kill the cat? We don't know. We might never know. For now, we're just glad to still have our little friend with us. He's family, really. We can hardly remember what life was like before he adopted us, and we're in no hurry to experience life without him. We hope there are special kitty angels who guard and keep him when we can't be with him, and we give and receive all the love we can when we are with him. Really, that's what we do with all our friends and family. Love them and trust that the same mysteries that uphold us are upholding them too. C'est la vie. ================ Update: Late on Tuesday night we noted that Tiger had licked part of his tail bald, so we realized we had to take him to the vet in the morning. The vet diagnosed an abscess and found the cat bite mark that caused it. He still wasn't running a fever, though. They stuffed Tiger in his travel box and carried him from the room to treat the abscess. When he returned, we learned it had taken three people to hold him down while they shaved his fur and drained the abscess. It was an unhappy kitty who was returned to us, yet again stuffed into his box. He'd received an antibiotic injection and we were given instructions on keeping the wound open and clean at home. Well! We certainly see why it took three people to hold him down! Alas, there are only two of us, but twice a day until this thing heals we have to pin down the kitty and torture him for his own good. The tail, though, is already riding higher. He is being very Tiger-y again, and we're relieved about that. =============== Update 2: Monday, Dec. 19 -- The tail behaves like its old self, but of course looks funny with a shaved spot. The culprit who bit our little guy walked by the window yesterday and Tiger whimpered as he passed. We don't know his name, but we used to call the culprit "Clayton" because he has a black mask and Clayton Moore was Hubby's favorite portrayer of the Lone Ranger, as in "Who was that masked man?!" But now we call him "Boris", as in Boris Badenov, the chief villain of the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. He's small and he's mean. He also happens to be cute as a bug. We would love to make friends with him. We would love for Tiger to make friends with him. Given their history, though, friendship seems not to be in the cards. Since Tiger is not going to become an indoor kitty (it's been tried before), the best we can hope for is that he's learned to stay away from the thug.

Consistency Matters

I subscribe to "Daily Cat Tip" from catster.com, and when I got a tip the other day about house training a cat, I couldn't help but wonder: Why is this so obvious for cats, but seemingly not for kids? I see countless parents failing to heed this very basic and sound advice where their children are concerned. Are they any more likely to apply them to their cats? When it comes to training [teaching] a new cat [a child] the rules of the house [or classroom or society], nothing will undo your good intentions faster than being inconsistent. .... One family member doesn't allow the cat on the dining table [the child to play at the table], but then another will. .... It's not fair to send mixed messages to your cat [child] and then get mad when [he or] she doesn't seem to respond to your training [teaching] requests. Make sure all family members are on the same page when it comes to training the cat [teaching your child]. Well... DUH!

Reflection of the Times

As a new volunteer at the bookstore that raises funds in support of our libraries, I learn a lot. I learn really cool things and I learn things I'd as soon not know. How did I get here? As it happens, they needed someone to take on the section of warehouse shelving that is in my field. I have a yellowing degree in Home Economics -- Child and Family Development, and the prospect of spending a few hours a week sorting books was appealing. Those hours are rewarding without being a major drain on emotional or psychic energy. Plus, they provide snacks. Perfect. It's not all cookies and literate people, however, although both are present. Now and then it's a wake-up call. I recently learned that in the front area of the book store (the place that's normally open to the public, where all the best books are sold for ridiculously low prices) the parents who buy books about parenthood don't want anything more than a year old. My reaction? "But Penelope Leach is the greatest resource ever!" As soon as I'd said that, I realized my mother might have said the same thing about Dr. Spock. Yes, sorry to say, I was a "Spock Baby". My daughter was a "Leach Baby", a major step up according to pretty much everyone in the know about such things. So, who do today's new parents follow? I'm not clear about whether there's any one stand-out author answering the questions posed by today's expectant and new parents, but I did learn about one pair of them. Skinny Bitch Bun in the Oven is the title of a book that came to my section the other day. The subtitle? A Gusty Guide to Becoming One Hot (and Healthy) Mother! I turned the book over and read the back. "So you're knocked up, huh? Congratulations! This is one of the most magical and miraculous times in your life. But that doesn't mean you have a free pass to shovel crap in your mouth all day long! .... So the Bitches are back to tell you what the hell to eat through all nine months and beyond." The chapter headings include "Carbs: Eat 'Em, Dumb-Ass" and "What the Hell to Eat". The authors, Rory Freeman and Kim Barnouin, are pictured on the back, looking like normal, civilized people. They are educated people. Even so, we are informed that "Both Bitches live in Los Angeles." Charming. From perusing the book, I find no fault with their facts or their priorities when it comes to maternal care and nutrition. It's their language that's off-putting to me. I get that they are catering to a specific audience -- one that might not pick up a book that doesn't include raunchy language in every second sentence. Maybe they're doing the next generation a great favor by educating their mothers about their bodies and the importance of balance and of avoiding toxic habits. But does this mean my grandchildren will be "Bitches Babies"? We live in raunchy times. The 1920s scandalized previous generations with behavior that inspired a musical and its title song, "Anything Goes". In olden days a glimpse of stocking Was looked on as something shocking. Now, heaven knows, Anything goes! But the truth is that even in the 20s, not everything went. There were still things that were left unsaid. There were standards. There were parameters. In 2011, it seems the only distinct parameters have to do with murder, incest, and cannibalism. Apart from those things, anything, it seems, goes. Nothing is private, nothing is indecent, and nothing is in place to discourage people from bleeping their way through any and every conversation. In my quaint little world, to punctuate one's sentences with profanity is to expose one's ignorance. If educated people can build an empire based on liberal use of bleepage, what hope is there for the future? Despair though I might, (and I do despair), what is painfully clear to me is that this is not my world anymore. The next generation is coming into their own while my generation is retiring to book sorting and snacking. The world is theirs to make or break, and I pray they do a better job than we did. If language is an indicator, though, our grandchildren face harsh times, indeed.

Visits from loved ones

Words aren't usually difficult for me, but a recent experience seems to defy description with words. I'm not sure how to tell this story without sounding coo-coo. Perhaps a little background to start.... My dad died of cancer in 1981; thirty years ago come October. He was fifty-six years young, and we all felt royally cheated by a universe that would cut a remarkable life so short. A source of comfort for me through the decades has been what I call "visits" from Dad. He shows up in dreams and we talk about things that matter and we share a cry -- (something we did only once in life, on his death bed). Sometimes we share a laugh. Sometimes he teaches me something new, or affirms something I've learned. He appears in random stages of life in these dreams -- sometimes middle aged and healthy, sometimes middle aged and dying, and sometimes quite elderly and preparing for his second departure. This is profound stuff, and it nourishes a part of me that misses him terribly. That's probably why I was feeling a bit lost when, on the six month anniversary of my mom's death I hadn't dreamed about her at all. I couldn't shake the look of her in her final days, and it hurt not to be able to call her healthy face to my mind without a lot of effort. I blogged about it on February 22, and since then my brother has shared with me that he's been in the same condition. There was something about writing that blog that unlocked something inside of me, though, because within a month afterward I was dreaming about Mom, too. Sometimes she was middle-aged, sometimes she was old, sometimes healthy, sometimes sickly, sometimes she and Dad "visited" together, sometimes not, and most often Mom appeared as about my current age -- middle-aged and graying, but healthy and vital. Then, a few weeks ago, I had a dream that was different from all the others, and it had a profound impact. When I described it to my brother and said I wanted to blog about it he wished me luck in translating it into a blog. Well, here goes: I'm elderly and I'm on my deathbed. My daughter is there, middle-aged and holding my hand. We're talking about my imminent demise, about my lack of fear, about my love for her, and then I see my mother standing beside my daughter. I say, "Mommy?" My daughter looks confused and I explain, "I see my mommy. She's right beside you. She's going to show me the way." But Mom appeared to be in her twenties and she was radiant. She literally glowed with -- what? -- happiness? No, it was beyond happiness. It was joy. Besides that, she was beautiful. Her familiar pale blue eyes shone with a light I'd never seen in them before. Her skin was perfect -- a peaches and cream complexion. She looked stunning, and without so much as the lipstick she always (always!) wore in life. My brother didn't need the explanation I'm going to give you, dear reader. He knew Mom, and he knew we'd never seen her radiant and he knew she'd been denied physical beauty in life. This was an extraordinary vision. I told him I had the sense that I was seeing our mom the way God (or whatever) has always seen her. Within these fragile clay suits we wear reside pure beings -- pure spirits -- and I believe that is what I was allowed to see in that dream. Mom is not gone. She is with us on some level all the time. We came from her and she is part of us. She is free now, though. She's free of fickle flesh, of life's dramas and traumas and the evidence they leave upon us. She's free of disease, of dementia, and she's even free of the possessions humans drag around from place to place and try to keep track of. She's free and happy and existing in life's purest form: spirit. And she will continue to exist for us as long as we remember her and talk about her and continue to do the things we loved to do when we did them with her. I will always remember what it was like in those final days of Mom's life, just as I remember the same about Dad's, but now that isn't the image of her that predominates. It's one among many, and now I also have that radiant image of her from beyond to hold in my heart. Somehow it closes the circle for me. Preachers speak of "ashes to ashes, dust to dust", but I think if they really understand what comes after this life they should also speak of "light to light, joy to joy, purity to purity". Mom's ashes, Mom's dust, sits in a container in my house, but she is not there. She is free. And I am freer now, too. Thanks for visiting, Mom.

Stormy Weather

These charming critters are oyster catchers. They're our favorite shore bird. Besides a somewhat clownish appearance, they giggle when they fly. It's sort of a screechy giggle, but very funny. So, when the tide is low and you hear something out there sounding quite amused about something, look for these goofy birds.

Hubby and I have just returned from a week in Pacific Grove, where adventures and misadventures always await. We are blessed to have access to a relative's house there, and so get to visit fairly often at little cost, so we seize the opportunity whenever we can.



Every year we have a big treat, such as seeing a live theatrical performance or a concert. (Yeah, if it costs about $100 or more, that's the annual treat. We've a budget to keep.) This year, our big treat to ourselves was to go whale watching. As the Sea Wolf II departed the marina, we saw this pair of otters -- mom and pup -- floating toe-to-toe.

Also in the marina were hundreds of sea lions and cormorants both in and out of the water.

There was a pretty decent storm surge, with swells predicted to be as much as 15 feet. We're pretty sure that was a conservative forecast. I learned a whole new respect for wildlife photographers that day. It is incredibly difficult to get decent photos from a pitching and rolling boat! It was our first experience of being on the ocean. Hubby, being a lover of roller coasters, had no trouble with this. I had taken a homeopathic remedy for motion sickness, and was only a little woozy. Several shipmates were very ill, so I counted myself fortunate.

This image is the best I got of several gray whales we saw. They seemed mighty huge to me, but other times of year there are blue whales in these same waters, and they're the biggest creatures on earth, so we're going to make another annual treat some time of whale watching when they're around.

The whales were neat, but our favorites were the dolphins -- especially the pacific white-sided dolphins who liked to play with the boat. This is my best shot of them, but it doesn't show that there were dozens of them swimming along side of the boat and following in our wake. They were great fun!

We thought the cat had the perfect life, but these guys are in close competition. The sea lions compete for space on this buoy. My first glimpse of the buoy was just in time to see a sea lion make a jump for it and bounce off back into the water.

I couldn't get good pictures of them, but we saw quite a few Black-winged Albatrosses of Hawaii. They're massive, with a wingspan of some 16 feet! We learned that these birds spend days and weeks at sea without even touching down on the water or anything else for a rest. (The next day we would stumble onto a presentation about albatrosses at the aquarium, where we would learn that they're able to do this because they don't use muscle to hold their wings out. They lock them in place and it's no effort at all to maintain that ideal shape for gliding.)

Our trip was through Monterey Bay Whale Watch, and we had a good time. The naturalist on board did a good job of not only pointing out the critters, but also talking about how to find them and explaining their behaviors. She made herself available to answer questions, which was a nice touch. Our only complaints were that the boat seemed less than optimally maintained and the engine was extremely loud. After our three hour tour (cue Gilligan theme) my ears rang for at least a half hour, and audiologists tell us that if your ears are ringing, the damage is done. I had ear plugs with me, but was unwilling to block out what the naturalist had to say. Next time, we plan to try out Randy's Whale Watch and then we'll have a basis for comparison.

We had chosen the one predicted dry day to take our whale watching trip. The drive to Pacific Grove had been stormy and slow, and our first full day there had been wet. The day after whale watching started out windy, but mostly sunny, and we saw this very obliging red-shouldered hawk on our way to the aquarium.

While we were inside the aquarium, the sky opened up and we were drenched on the walk home. We later learned we had only to wait for the 1X bus and we could have ridden home, but then we would have missed out on the adventure of being thoroughly wet and cold.

If memory serves, that was the night there were two massive downpours, and the next morning the house weather station said we'd had 1.33" of rain in the past 24 hours. We visited the Natural History Museum, but it was rainy and threatening to get worse, so that was our one outing of the day. It was just too wet and yucky. There's something to be said for hanging out indoors. That may have been the day we discovered the Criminal Minds marathon on cable. Oh boy!

We had planned to eat out that night, and we got dressed up and started to walk to a nearby restaurant where we could both enjoy cocktails and then walk home. It was yucky out there! So, we retreated back into the house, changed back into comfy clothes and discovered a really wonderful pizza place that delivers. Pizza My Way makes delicious gourmet pizzas, including many with white sauce instead of tomato. YUM! Even the salad was special and delicious. I love that it's unique to Pacific Grove, although if it were a chain, maybe we could have their wonderful pizza at home, too.

That night, the story was wind. Gale force winds whipped around the house and moaned across the top of the chimney. We retired for the night wondering whether we might awaken in Oz.


Fortunately, we did not awaken in Oz, and we seized dry moments to go to the beach. Sometimes the sun even came out for us, illuminating the wonderful colors of the sea. Truly, the quake and tsunami victims in Japan were not far from out minds as we watched the powerful storm surge produce beautiful waves for our pleasure.

It was one of those days when showers opened up and sent us running for cover. This image, taken from our car, shows the contrast between the black cloud that was dumping on us and the blue sky right beside us. It only took a few minutes for the shower to pass, and then we were back on the beach.

There weren't a great many of beach-goers that day, which suited us fine, but we didn't mind sharing it with this chubby ground squirrel.

The next day was our last full day at the coast, and we took a long walk along the bay's edge. There we saw many of these quick little birds. In person, they looked like plain blackbirds except for the yellow beaks. When the sun hit them just right there would be a flash of color. I'm glad the camera caught the colors so well. I neglected to look them up in the bird guide, so I can't say what they are, but they sing a very pretty little song.

The herons in Sacramento tend to be large and staid, but the herons at the coast are smaller and more active. I got many shots of this one acting pretty much like the stoic herons of home, but was happy when it decided to leap from one rock to another.

To us, this looks like about the last thing we want to do. Get in that cold pacific water, wait for the right wave, then risk life and limb for a brief, albeit dramatic, ride? Not us. Son thinks we're way too safe about the way we live our lives, but we're quite content to photograph other people taking the risks.

Storms have a way of blowing in delightful surprises, so we don't really mind that our trip included stormy weather.

Lessons in Home Ownership

We purchased our home in 1994, and owning this house has been a very educational experience.

We've learned that when our home was built in 1954, the sewer lines were made of what was essentially thick tar paper. We've learned that tree roots fairly easily defeat thick tar paper. We've learned that rooter services can run a camera through one's sewer line to see just how bad it is. We've learned it's cheaper in the long run to replace the tar paper with a modern plastic line than to hire a rooting service twice a year to keep the roots at bay. We've learned there's a "trenchless" option for making that replacement. It costs extra but it's worth it if one has a landscape worth preserving.

We've learned that there is always more to it. Whatever it is -- whatever repair, replacement, improvement -- is needed, there is always more to it than what they tell when when you contract to have it done. There are always surprises. Surprises cost money. We've learned to budget 50% over the estimate in order to cover those costly surprises.

We've learned how to recognize dry rot, toxic mold and rodent damage. We've learned how to clean drains and drier vents. We've learned how to replace our own siding, how to prep and paint, how to replace the business parts of toilets, how to replace handsets on doors and how to install deadbolts. We've learned our local Ace hardware store rents out hand tools that the typical home owner might use once or twice in a lifetime, and for a very reasonable rate. This is just a sampling. We've learned lots of other stuff too.

Coming from knowing way less than home owners ought to know, we're pretty pleased with all we've learned. That's why it comes as a surprise when we find out about another thing we really should have known, but didn't. The latest one has to do with the garage door opener. It was old when we bought the place, but has bravely marched on with minor repairs and adjustments from time to time.

A couple of weeks ago it stopped working. It tried to lift the door, but couldn't. It would stop about a foot up from the ground and just shut off. So we got clever. We pushed the button and used our muscles to help it lift the rest of the way. For about two weeks. The good news is, we didn't come and go very much during that time, so it could have been worse. The bad news is that the reason the door stopped working was because of a broken spring. Having this pointed out to me by the repair person, I felt rather foolish because it was a pretty obvious break. He stopped me from demonstrating the problem by activating the door. It turns out that running a garage door opener when it has a broken spring is bad for the motor. It can get burned out that way. We were supposed to disengage the motor and open and close the thing manually until getting it repaired. Oh yeah.

The truth is, I've wanted a new garage door opener for as long as we've had the house. I want a new one with two remotes that are small and hang on a key chain. I want one that's quieter, too. But somehow, as long as we can nurse the old one along it seems frivolous to replace it. There's a coolness factor, too, in possibly possessing the oldest garage door opener on the block. It's a Genie, and it has a really old model number. It was made back when Genie was running TV ads with the jingle, "Get a Genie automatic garage door picker-upper and you'll never leave your car out anymore!"

It's vintage.

The repair guy is working on it as I type, so I don't yet know whether or not the motor is shot, but whatever the verdict, I'll be happy. I'll either have a fully functioning vintage Genie or a brand new something. And I'll have learned something.

Too Plainly

Too plainly, I see you still as you were at the last.
I call forth images of younger days -- healthy years.
But snapshots fail to replace the motion picture
Playing too vividly those tender final moments --
That last week of days and nights tangled in a knot.
Your morphine could not dull my senses.

In the wee hours when nothing else seemed useful
I sang to you songs of life, love, comfort and faith.
These songs I sing now, all these months later,
Begging them for solace, and I am less raw.

I remind myself of time's healing ways,
And on days such as this I see the truth of it.
I congratulate myself for making and taking time
To feel, and yet...

Too plainly, I see you still.

The Cat Who Settled In And Settled Down

When the beast officially joined our household in April we often referred to him as "fraidy cat personified". He was hyper-vigilant -- I mean even for a cat, cats being known for hyper-vigilance. The only time he seemed to be able to relax much at all was when he had at least one of us with him.

Some ten months later, it has dawned on me that he no longer jumps out of his skin at every sound. He does notice sounds, but he doesn't declare a red alert every five minutes. He turned seven in December, so some of it may be maturity, but I think it's mainly that he's finally figured out that this is his home, we are his family, and he is safe here.

He is less vocal now, though just as expressive as ever when he does vocalize. He has a remarkable vocabulary, with great variations on meows and growls. He has even been known to say "uh-oh" quite clearly, although we know he doesn't mean uh-oh when he says it. Still, it's very funny and truly endearing, all his vocalizations, as well as his body language.

His previous owner came to visit last week and the cat didn't struggle to escape his arms as much as in the past. He even rested comfortably on the floor nearby while the humans chatted, instead of hiding.

He continues to keep other cats out of the yard, almost entirely without fighting. We only know of two fights since he moved in, and he's been none the worse for both of them. Hubby and I know quite well the power of the beast's glare; we just find it amusing.

He hasn't entirely settled down, thank goodness, and his inner kitten surfaces at least once a day with great growling and pouncing and running about on paws that sound absolutely adorable pattering on the hardwood floor. His very favorite thing to do is help Hubby make the bed, and his second favorite is to lie on my lap where, after about 30 minutes, he transforms from a cat-shaped statue to a blanket of fur.

Very warm, very funny, and very welcome to the family is The Cat.