Tag Archive | cats

My heart

My heart is made of sweet words: whispered, giggled and shouted;
with soggy bits where tears seeped in and found the cracks and crevices.

My heart is made of fur: long and silken, short and coarse, baby fine and bunny soft;
with purrs that run ragged, silver, rumble and holes of black and white.

My heart is made of memories: rioting with laughter and curses;
scented with coffee, tea, flowers and balsam; and held tight in a squeeze.

My heart is full, and yet broken;
because of all that it has, and all that is gone.

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“The Naming of Cats is a Difficult Matter…

…It isn’t just one of your holiday games.”

Well, actually, in our case, it was simple enough. Our cats had been named by their shelters and we allowed them to keep their names. I spell-checked Shadow’s name, but left it intact as it suited her (and she is a little shadow to us quite often, following us about), and Phoenix kept his name because, well, quite frankly, we couldn’t come up with a better one. It doesn’t quite suit his personality but it isn’t wrong either. Phoenix has a Jellicle name he isn’t sharing.

However.

They have both acquired secondary names.

Phoenix is also known as either The Grey-beast, or Phoenix Greybeast, or even just Beast, depending on what exactly he is doing in the moment. Shadow has acquired Marie as a definite middle name, used when she is in trouble. It just rolled off my tongue one day and fit painfully well. Shadow Marie is what she is when she’s being a prima donna, a snot, and a general bully to her brother (by another mother and shelter) who is both younger and larger in frame (but lighter in weight) than she is. Those that remember the Disney film The Aristocats might have a nice chuckle over the personality that is indeed intact, even if her coloring and coat-length are completely opposite.

And of course, from a more familial point of view, they are The Boy, The Girl, your daughter, your son, and in general our fur-babies. I’ve always rather loved having fur-babies, and of course Terry has human children (who are now quite grown), but they do get spoiled and disciplined and in general spoken to as if they are kids.

Which got me to thinking: why as a society do we not add names as personalities develop and call for them? Aside from nicknames (which are “unofficial”) and religious names (Baptismal, Confirmational, et cetera, which are again, “unofficial”), I can’t think of a time when a personal name is given. On the internet, we often name ourselves. Sometimes, those become our real names.

I should look and see if there are cultures where this is a more common occurrence. It makes such good sense to me.

*The title and first line are from T.S. Eliot’s poem, “The Naming of Cats” which is from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, a collected book of poetry, which was in turn adapted into (used as a basis for) the popular Broadway musical Cats.

Grab Bag of Week in Review

It has been a particularly long, odd week.

I have not been productive creatively. In some ways, I expected lack of creativity last week (which was over-booked, and so I knew that even though I’d signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo for the first time – the first week of numbers/words would probably suck – they did at 0), but not this week which I hoped would be better. On the other hand, I helped brainstorm with a role-playing group of friends over Skype last week, and we contributed to a lot of creativity there, so I’m refusing to beat myself up too horribly. This week though, I have not drawn, I have barely baked/cooked anything that interesting (although I collected ingredients for apple-roses), and I have certainly not written anything (other than a lot of tweets and chats, and a lot of work related emails).

The grey-beast, Phoenix, has had some health things over the last few weeks. Some of it is being dealt with concisely. We know what the problem was, we got the appropriate medication, and he’s healing up. (We’re not sure how he got the bacteria that caused the problem… but having a depressed immune system makes the hows sometimes wibbley-wobbley.) Another health issue is just plain… odd. So we’re trying a topical treatment in an attempt to not have to increase his daily steroid dose, which is what is depressing his immune system, but also keeping the disease/probable cancer at bay. He is eating, having good bathroom habits, and playing. He is also being cuddly when appropriate and good natured. As the vet and vet techs constantly say, he has the best temperament and diseases are unfair and suck. In a not pleasant situation, he really makes the best of it. We confirmed that Shadow does indeed weigh more than Phoenix. Our little black cat on the dainty frame with the teeny tiny paws weighs, in fact, a full pound more than our long lean boy, coming in at just about 12 pounds. Hm. More playing is in store for her. Luckily, she likes chase (feathers, the red dot, string, her brother). I’m trying cutting back on dry food as well, as the vet worries it is hard for both of them to digest. Luckily they like their wet food quite a bit.

My hubby’s job situation has been a yo-yo this week. He hasn’t been very happy for the last few weeks (he says, I say months) at work. He felt as though they were more worried about pushing services and items than actually caring for clients’ needs. And he was very much chaffing at still having had no actual formal training at his new position in the company, lo these many, many months later. Well, Monday they admitted they were going in a different direction, and as his sales figures were down they were letting him go. It’s hard to get mad and fight for your job when you haven’t had a lot of support and are feeling ignored and that your concerns are minimized. So, he swung by another old job location near by (one that had reached out to him this past year to see if he was available) and let them know that he was now available. As of yesterday, he has a new job, starting next Monday. It’s a position he hasn’t held in an extremely long time (and I’m not sure he ever held at that particular employer) but he’s excited about it, tentatively. And happy to not have to job hunt or deal with unemployment.

My own work situations are about as normal. As another friend says, lots of juggling of chainsaws, whips and exploding objects. In my case, at job 1, it mostly involves holding my tongue and not saying when I think someone is not being professional (because then I would be being unprofessional) and trying to juggle paperwork that is redundant. Oh, and a lot of email regarding web issues, contracts (and supporting arcane government documents), and advertising this week. At job 2, it is mostly comparing data, digging out discrepancies, resolving them, and moving on to various scenarios – but with numbers in an accounting sort of situation. I like both, but both tire out my brain in different ways, and sometimes all I want to do is come home and poke at puzzles until I get brain dead enough to sleep. Or soak in a hot bath. Or actually just go to sleep.

And finally this morning, I woke up to twitter having a rage-meltdown over an actress become magazine editor who took and tweeted a photograph that exposed her (many tiered levels of) privilege. I think I mentally wrote 3 separate blogs while showering and preparing for work in my head about why yes, she was privileged and yes, frustration was justified but the rage and trolling were not terribly productive. Mostly it boiled down to: don’t compare this woman to that woman, this is not helpful feminism*; don’t presume she’s got no idea what she did or was doing, she’s took that photograph from a privileged position of X as well as Y W and Z; and finally, BE PRODUCTIVE IN YOUR RAGE, show why it’s messed up, don’t just bitch. The final one shows my privilege, because I have a background and education level that desperately wants more than a 140 character click-bait statement of anger. I want a thesis statement, a breakdown and a proposed alternate solution. That in itself is problematic for many people. In the end, I’ve chosen to only contribute this paragraph (and a back-and-forth chat with a good friend) to get the topic out of my system, instead of contributing to the internet rage machine.

And now, I’ve written something. It’s just a menu of my week (sans tomorrow, which will be focused on job 2, and hopefully end in home-grilled tri-tip steaks, salad and mashed potatoes), but it’s words. Hopefully that will trigger a bit of fiction writing. And I do have some Skype gaming to look forward to on Saturday.

How was your week?

This is also an example of the feminism problem that makes women say they are not feminists. They know that feminism is supposed to be about equality for all women/people/etc, but they also know that in real life, it quite often is only the “right” feminism in the “right” ways (white, middle-upper class, middle-age, cis-women) and that no one else is welcome. It’s hard to take ownership of a movement you disagree with large chunks of and that doesn’t support you personally.

Seasonal Depression

It’s about that time again.

I should probably say that when I use the word “depression” for myself I don’t mean the clinical sort. Every once in a while, I debate going to a licensed professional and finding out if I have a mild version, but as I can usually shake myself out of the mood or just wait it out, I haven’t bothered. It costs money and energy that I’d rather spend on other things.

In 2004, in September, I separated from my ex-husband. Our marriage had been in various stages of implosion and explosion for at least 4 years (although, with the power of hindsight, I suspect that it was having problems much longer). My dad was fighting lung cancer that had metastasized and gotten more complex (it got into his larynx, among other things), and somewhere between then and October is when he and mom told us that he was going to back out of his trial program. The benefits were nowhere NEAR outweighing the negative side effects. We also abruptly lost my mom’s youngest sister to a rare form of blood cancer. For us, there was no warning. I’m not clear on how much warning her kids and husband had. She’d felt horrible for years and finally was getting pushier at getting doctors to listen. I went back to see mom and dad in November for Thanksgiving. Dad had a collapse and had to go into the hospital. The next 3 weeks are a bit of a blur, but we finally got him admitted to hospice and home where he finally felt safe leaving us on his birthday, December 16th, 2004. He was 62.

Six years later, 2010, in late fall (I want to say November, but it’s actually blurred and I don’t trust that), mom also chose to check herself into hospice. Mostly because her doctor was honest. He might be able to give her up to a few more months. Maybe longer. But it would hurt and she might spend a lot of it in the hospital. Hospice would allow her to be at home. On Christmas Night, she finally was able to let go. She was 64.

Two years after that, in October, I lost Domino, my cat of 14 years. He was more than just my cat. He was my baby boy. I still tear up sometimes thinking of him. That was 2 years ago.

It isn’t all bad.

I still love the fall, even though it hurts to remember. Some of my best family memories are of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Mom loved the cooler seasons. Dad loved any excuse to be silly and eat food that was probably too rich for him but oh-so-delicious. I’ve inherited all of that.

We adopted our two current cats right after the Thanksgiving after losing Domino. I thought it was much too early, but I was also probably worrying Terry a bit with being so sad and he missed having someone furry and welcoming in the house. We were only going to get one, and found a shelter participating in a Black Friday event at a pet store in town. We picked out Shadow, and took her to the vet, who gave her a relatively clear bill (she had the feline equivalent of kennel cough), but strongly suggested another kitten about the same age to help keep her company and to socialize. So we went back out the next day, and found Phoenix. After a week or so of separation to allow their individual upper respiratory sicknesses to get through their systems, they got to meet each other and actually began to get along much more quickly than I expected.

And I can’t forget that my sweet hubby proposed to me on New Year’s eve.

So there are good things to look forward to, most definitely, but I can very much empathize with people who suffer from seasonal affective disorder as well as depression. I have a much higher likelihood of wanting to hide somewhere cozy with a book during this time of year. And for the last few years, that’s been more about escaping than just enjoying whatever I might be reading for what it is. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I feel much better, even if the book makes me cry (The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman did). In its own way, that’s a welcome catharsis from the greyed out feeling I experience a lot of the time. Sometimes I can forget. Or keep a mask firmly in place.

But it’s part of the season now.

Thankful

I have a few friends who post Thankful posts. One does it whenever she needs a pick-me-up, I think. Another sometimes tries to stick to a Thankful Thursday schedule, but I think really she does it to remind herself of good things in this world, too.

I have a complicated relationship with things I’m thankful for. Some of them make me sad, you see, so … they don’t really so much pick-me-up. On the other hand, they’re still good things, and I’m thankful for them. They’re just often more part-and-parcel of who I am, as opposed to immediate.

So, below, a few…

Read More…

For the love of a pet…

I get very attached to pets, but more specifically to cats. I actually went through a stage where I was fairly anti-dog. I’ve relaxed on that stance fairly recently, perhaps because I haven’t had to care for one. But I think that helping care for dogs during the year I lived in Georgia, as part of a volunteer group, actually helped me see a variety of dogs and be a little less annoyed with them.

I still connect more deeply with cats and while I will agree dogs can be very rewarding, I think I see the relationship with cats as being on a more equal balance. They have more autonomy and less of a pack mentality. As a result, they see you as a partner… maybe as a parental figure but just as often a litter mate. Dogs need a leader, and if they don’t have one they attempt to be that leader. Cats are okay with no one being the declared leader, although they will work within guidelines and rules, and actually prefer a schedule.

The attachment part can be an issue for me. When I had to make the decision a little less than 2 years ago to let Domino go it was heart-rending. I had been very upset when the cat of my teenage years was put to sleep due to health issues when I was a young adult, and when we had to make the decision for Francis who we’d adopted as an adult, but it wasn’t anything like letting Domino go. He was my baby. I’d raised him from a kitten. I’d gotten him through a near-death experience as a kitten with a spider bite. I imagine it was a fraction of what it would be like having to help a human child through a horrible life threatening ailment and saying goodbye. Although it seems odd to admit, it hurt worse than helping both of my parents through hospice care.

As a result, I really wasn’t sure I wanted to adopt a new cat anywhere near as soon as we did, and I certainly had no plans of adopting two. The second one came about because the vet pointed out that as a kitten, Shadow might socialize better with a playmate. So we went back to some of the shelter pages we’d been looking at, found another adoption event at one of the pet stores in town, and went out and met Phoenix.

Terry had liked both of them. Shadow for her quirky tail (although when she climbed up my arm to look around better, I admit I appreciated her curiosity), and Phoenix (well, really his brother Battle) for their silvery blue fur. (The shelter supposed they might be Russian Blue mixes… the vet said they were probably just grey tabbies, heavy on the grey/blue coloring.) In person, Battle turned out to be a major handful and not particularly inclined to cuddle or socialize with us. Phoenix on the other hand, was willing to play with his brother, bat feathers and balls around, AND be picked up and snuggled and purr. So I asked if we could consider Phoenix over Battle. Also, I liked Phoenix’s face more. It seemed more calm and amused at the world, whereas Battle was incredibly focused and hyper all at once. We passed approval and Phoenix went home.

I was not dealing well without cats in the house. I know that. I know it was worth it to bring them home. I don’t regret that decision. They have brought us a great deal of joy and love and made the house feel inhabited again.

But.

Both were shelter cats. They had issues with upper respiratory problems. The feline version of kennel cough, basically. Phoenix’s lymph nodes in his back legs were pronounced enough that I knew that’s what they were and was concerned. He’s always had an amazing attitude, and aside from a slight fever early on, been playful, eaten, and done well.

Until this last month. He started isolating and eating less. His paw pads were swollen and I thought the lysine to boost his immune system and various allergy fighting things we were doing wasn’t helping as much as it ought. The isolating really bothered me. Hiding behind the couch to sleep isn’t his style.

So we took him in. Vet couldn’t see anything wrong, but did a blood draw and we gave him a steroid shot to try to help the allergies … he’s over a year old, so his system should be able to handle it better now. Then I got the very worried call on his blood count: his white cells were through the roof. He’d lost almost a pound. So we got a good general antibiotic and put him on a week of that. He gained a smidgeon of weight, looked much better, but we did another blood draw to be sure. Another worried call. White cell count was good but hematocrit had plummeted. His glucose levels were also odd, but that COULD be stress and the fact that we had not fasted him. So another focused antibiotic to fight bacteria. That helped. The hematocrit levels came up to almost normal. But he still wasn’t gaining weight. On the plus side, his appetite was returning, his paw size was down, and the steroid shot seemed to have helped. He was playing. The next week, he’d lost a bit of weight again, so… we went ahead and did an ultrasound of his abdomen to see whether he had a blockage. Something confusing his tummy and not working through his GI tract.

I wish that’s what it was.

Unfortunately, we got the call last Friday that his spleen, kidneys and other organs are not well. They suspect lymphoma or mass cell carcinoma. To be sure, they’d need to do an aspirate test on his spleen. Either way, it’s cancer.

At best, he has less than a year. At worst, a month or two.

And I’ve fallen in love with him, now. He’s attached himself to me and trusts me. And at some point, I’m going to have to say goodbye. Yes, with Terry’s help. He’s OURS, not just mine. I know he’s had a good life, but it’s so damn short.

I can almost understand how people at the end of their rope threaten people who can’t really help them. Because if I had a cancer researcher handy I might shake them thoroughly, and ask why such a frustrating, complicated disease still exists. I know logically it’s not because they aren’t trying, but just at the moment, it really doesn’t matter to me.

He’s not even 2 years old.

Obviously, I had to work up to talking about this. I might not talk about it anywhere else for a while. I’m prone to tearing up if I try in person. Well, and just typing this.

We have some decisions to make based in part on whether to do the aspirate test (which might come back negative for everything as these things do) and how best to keep him happy, which he is currently. He wakes me up for breakfast, begs for treats, plays tag with Shadow, snuggles on the couch, and basically, aside from being too thin, is acting normally. Occasionally, now that I’m hyper-vigilant, I will see momentary flashes of dilation in his eyes and wonder if he isn’t experiencing a bit of pain, but he doesn’t isolate too badly, and seems able to distract himself.  So we’re trying to take things day by day as best as possible, and do everything we can to spoil him rotten and love him dearly, just as we have since adopting him.

So I’m sure I’ll blog about it again, but don’t be surprised if I lurk more than be active in social media, or blog about something completely different as well.