THE SECRET LIFE OF ALBUS THE CAT

Albus tends to shy away from strangers. He will walk through the pet door, through the kitchen and turn the corner into the living room. If he sees unfamiliar faces, that means six more weeks of winter. If our visitors have dogs with them, we won’t see Albus for the remainder of their visit. That is why I was surprised to see him stretched out on my bed Saturday night when Chad and Jess were here. Albus’s ear had a cut that was actively bleeding and a scratch over one eye. This is typical. We’ve seen this before on him. Michael went to move Albus from the bed so I could go to sleep, but I stopped him. “No, let him stay in here with me and Josephine tonight.”

Usually, this is a big no. I will say that Josephine and the cat do less arguing about who is going to sleep where these days, but two pets in the bed is bit much for me. I always wake up in the middle of the night, sweating because one of them is pressed the length of their body to my right side and the other has pressed the length of their body to my left. Which is exactly what happened on this night. Nothing unusual. The next day, I saw Albus laying in various places around the house. This too is normal. At bedtime the next evening, I noticed Albus curled up in the dog crate that is in my room. This is also normal. The crate is right next to a heater vent. This time, Michael put his foot down and went to remove the cat from the crate, but when Albus got up, we could see that he was walking with a serious limp.

Michael did a thorough check and nothing seemed broken or out of place. Albus was able to hop up to his food. He could hobble out side. The next day, he had even hobbled down to the basement. Monday evening, he hobbled over and got into my lap. I gently petted his head and asked him a string of questions that I wish he could answer. “Were you hit by a car?” “Were you attacked by a coyote?” “Was it an altercation with a raccoon?” “Can you tell us what happened to you?” He blinked and continued to purr, refusing to answer. When I moved the fur around on the back of his neck, I could see scratches. He acts like none of it bothers him, yet I have fretted over that dummy for days. I hate the not knowing, but I’m pretty convinced he was in an altercation with a big dog. I can imagine the wounds on the back of his neck was from being shook like a rag doll.

This morning, Albus was barely walking with a limp. He’s much improved. He was sitting in the kitchen looking pretty smug, watching me put away dishes. I looked down at him and asked “Are you plotting your revenge?” He yawned and swished his tail to the side. I’m pretty sure that means he is definitely plotting something.

ANIMALS

Last year was the first year where the veterinarian did not lecture me about Josephine’s weight. Every year we go in for her yearly exam, Josephine comes in two pounds over weight on the scale and then her doctor spends fifteen minutes telling me that Josephine needs to be eating the most expensive diet food. The year before last, I switched Josephine to a reasonably priced diet food. Except I felt bad about the dry kibble, so I started mixing a little wet food to give her a ‘gravy’. I fed it to her twice a day and the veterinarian said at the last wellness exam that Josephine’s weight was good. I fist pumped the air and gave Josephine an extra treat. We had entered into straight up lock down and I figured that all the walks we were taking would counter act the effects of extra treats that seemed to fall down from the sky for her.

And it did, until it didn’t.

When the cat had his car accident, we started feeding him cans of Fancy Feast, crack food for cats. We had been desperate to get him to eat anything. His body wilted down to a frail and skinny version of himself that had both of us terrified. So we fed him the crack and he ate it up as long as it wasn’t salmon flavored. Now the cat expects his Fancy Feast daily along with the dry kibble he used to eat. Basically, he never wants his bowl to be empty. The result is that the cat is no longer frail and skinny, but quite hefty. I said something to Michael about the other day and Michael said that the cat just looked fat because of all his winter hair. While it is true the cat’s winter coat has come in fierce and he even looks like he has a lion’s main, he is heavy. I had to pick him up and remove him from my bed recently and it was work. I watched the cat cross the backyard and find a place to settle near the fire pit. He looked massive. Then the cat and one of the chickens had a staring contest. I really thought that the cat was going to try to take down a chicken. He didn’t, but it was a tense staring match.

Josephine’s weight started increasing when she realized that she could reach the cat’s food bowl. The cat is a grazer and often leaves his food behind while he goes and takes a break. If you are not paying attention, Josephine will sneak into the kitchen and eat all the cat’s food. We know it is her because the cat never cleans a bowl and Josephine always leaves a happy plate. We’ve taken to setting the cat food bowl up on the kitchen counter when we think the cat’s finished eating, but now the cat gets up on the counter. So be it. I’ve adjusted Josephine’s evening meal to just plain old kibble. I have to stir the kibble around with my finger before I set it down for her to eat. The first time I just set the kibble down, she looked at me with her head cocked to the side in question. I picked up the bowl, swirled the kibble around and set it back down. She shrugged and then ate all of the kibble. My plan is to get Josephine down to whatever weight is needed so the vet won’t lecture me when I take her in for wellness exam in a few months. If pretending to mix in wet food with Josephine’s dry food gets us there, so be it.

It seems we live in a society where even our pets need be on special diets. I feel the same way about this as I feel about the food I put into my own body. I rarely over indulge. Meals are filled with greens and rarely come out of a box. I splurge on cheese and good chocolate. I enjoy the occasional potato chip. I don’t see why this philosophy can’t apply to Josephine. Forget the cat. We let him do what he wants. Josephine is more one of us. I don’t go overboard with treats for her. She gets two little biscuits in the morning before work. All other treats are things that fall onto the kitchen floor or at Micheal’s feet. Sure, she’s been known to steal half a sandwich or drink a whole bowl of unguarded cheese dip, but haven’t we all? I’m sure Josephine regrets all of her binge moments just as much I regret my own occasional binge moments.

Like I said. She’s one of us.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Michael and I are both members on the Nextdoor app. If you are not familiar with this app, it’s like Facebook for neighborhoods. I tend to ignore most of the postings because often they’re someone complaining about a person walking in their neighborhood. Earlier this month, one woman posted a “Be On the Look Out!” post about seeing a woman wearing a ‘beanie’ taking a picture of a house. Michael and I were sitting on the couch when we read that one. We looked at each other and I said “That could have been me.” Really…it might have been me she was talking about. There’s just too many ‘be suspicious of everyone’ posts for my liking. Sometimes the app comes in handy when you’re getting rid of crap or when you want to know what animals have been spotted in the area recently because some guy posts a monthly animal sightings list.

This week, we noticed a post from a woman asking the neighborhood “Is this your cat?” with a picture of a white cat that could have very well have been Albus. She said that the cat in the picture looks just like her cat, Zero (I’m real jealous I didn’t think of that name for Albus), but that it wasn’t her cat. She said that she knows there are two identical white cats because on one evening, she had both of them in her house at the same time. The woman was okay with this cat being in her home. She just wanted to know where Zero was. Michael responded to her post saying that we have a white cat that looks just like the cat in that picture, but our cat was home with us. At least we think he’s our cat. Now I don’t know. I don’t think it was Albus at that woman’s house because she said he was snuggled up with her kids. Albus is skittish with people. He is a rare sighting for strangers that walk into this house, but now I’m wondering if sometimes these cats switch places. Like they are Parent Trapping us. It is even possible that there are three identical white cats out there, since we know that Albus isn’t the cat in the picture she posted. These cats are just rotating through houses around the neighborhood.

There is a peace of mind in knowing that Albus has a safe, loving and warm place to go to when he gets fed up with us. He’s never happy with us when we leave him for a weekend with a bowl of kibble. Albus has been very vocal about it whenever we return home from a trip. Every time he starts bitching, I’m surprised by it because he’s so indifferent to us in general. Well…except me. He comes to me when he can see the bottom of his food bowl. My lap is his favorite sleeping spot. Albus wants nothing to do with Michael, the guy who saved his life. Last night, I really studied Albus’s face while he was curled up in my lap. I took particular notice to the two scratches across the bridge of his nose. He has a nick in one ear. Not a big one, but a tiny little notch. His tongue sticks out a little bit because he has teeny tiny front teeth, like he never lost his baby teeth there. His eyes are yellow-green but sometimes they look black in certain lighting. I’m trying to memorize him in case I have to point him out in a line up of white cats.

We’ll keep our pet door open for Zero too, if he ever needs a place to stay.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

This guy. He was hit by a car. We spent the morning at the emergency vet. He's banged up, but he's going to be okay. Cats are jerks.

The neighbor knocked on our door Wednesday evening. I was the only one home. He told me the cat had been hit by a car and where I could find the cat. He told me that the cat’s face looked messed up. Our neighbor, Brian, was very sad and apologetic even though it wasn’t his fault. I said ‘poop’ and then put on some shoes, grabbed a towel and went to collect our cat. As soon as Albus saw me, he ran off and then Michael and I spent the evening worrying about Albus’s injuries and whereabouts. The next morning, Albus was home and laying in the dog bed. He gave me a weak ‘meow’ and let me pet him before he moved himself down to the basement.

I managed to get him into Josephine’s crate, the only pet carrier I have other than a duffel bag. I tried the duffel bag first and Albus and I both agreed that the crate would be better. I loaded him into the car and made my way across town to the emergency vet clinic that our usual vet recommended. Albus cried the entire time. Which means that I too cried the entire time. Then I waited in the parking lot for rest of the morning. Albus is going to be okay. The vet said that there is obvious blunt force trauma to the right side of his face, but after careful probing he did not appear to have broken bones. I opted out on an x-ray because they would have had to sedate him. Since all of his vitals were good and the ultrasound showed no internal pulmonary issues or other problems, I figured that putting him under anesthesia was not a good idea. He got some pain management medication and he is now locked in the basement with food, water and a litter box and he hates it. He’s just going to have to keep on hating it because that’s where he’s staying this weekend while we are away camping.

We both got really mopey when that cat ran off injured and we didn’t know if he was okay or holed up dying somewhere. Michael was particularly upset. He considers Albus to be his cat even though the cat comes to me when his bowl is half full and it is my lap he lays in. But Michael is the one who rescued Albus as a kitten. It is Michael’s fault the cat is part of this family. That’s the thing. As much as I curse the cat, I have to admit that he is part of our family. We miss him when he doesn’t show up. We are concerned when he shows up with a scratch on his nose. We are sick with worry when he shows up with blood all over his face and a messed up jaw. We know that because of Albus’s lifestyle that just him coming home every day is probably a miracle. We are grateful that he is going to be okay.

Man, this year is trying really hard to kill us. We are managing to stay alive, though slightly broken and bruised. Broken things can be fixed. Bruises will heal. Both of these are things that make you really appreciate that you are still living and breathing. Let’s try to keep it that way for a while.

NOW WHAT

Instagram post by Cindy Maddera * Jan 25, 2019 at 1:21am UTC

5 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram

I don’t really know what to write right now. My goto topic for writing material is grief and usually I have a lot of material for this time of year. I’m not saying that all is well and that I don’t have plenty of grief material; it’s just not new material. Grief is the day to day grudge of missing a person that is just my way of life. Some one posted a clip of the news footage of the Challenger exploding because it was the anniversary of the event that would haunt us generation Xers for the rest of our lives. I still can’t watch a shuttle launch without holding my breath. My grief for the last seven years has been like watching the shuttle explode every single day. After a while you just get used to seeing it all disintegrate into a cloud of dust. A moment here and there spent crying in the stairwell is perfectly normal.

To tell you the truth, the year 2019 has already started to leave a stale old taste in my mouth. The month of January has been the longest and the coldest month I can ever remember experiencing. I saw a meme last Thursday that said “why does it feel like it’s January 74th?!” I had strong feelings for this meme because, holy hell yes. January is the never ending month and I don’t ever remember it being like that before this year. Not that there’s anything wrong with January other than the obvious memories of watching Chris die and the fact that the weather is the most awful weather that causes me to yell out profanities when I have to step out into said weather. I’m just saying, let’s move along. It’s not that I have somewhere to be, but I am kind of curious to know if those tulip bulbs I planted in the front yard last Fall are going to pop up out of the ground.

I heard a nasty rumor that the temperature on Wednesday is going to be four degrees. FOUR. Fucking. Degrees.

In other news, Albus has started doing this new thing he thinks is really fun. He brings a live mouse into the house and then let's the thing go. Weeee! Josephine spent one day fixated on the drawers under Michael’s bed and then the next morning I got up to find Michael sleeping on the couch. When I inquired about his sleeping arrangements, he said “there was a monster in my room.” The monster was a mouse. The same mouse that Albus had brought into the house the day before, casually batted around with his paw and then promptly allowed to run off to safety. Michael said that Albus did eventually recapture the mouse and decided to eat the whole thing while sitting next to Michael who then struggled to go back to sleep over the sound of crunching bones. The cat eats the whole mouse. Albus repeated the catch and release game with a new mouse the very next day. Michael and I managed to capture this one as it climbed up the curtains. We trapped it in a mason jar and had a long discussion about what to do with the mouse. I don’t keep bottles of chloroform around because I’m not serial killer and slow suffocation just seemed awful. The Cabbage thought the mouse was cute and I had to agree that it was a very cute disease carrier. In the end Michael let the mouse go. He released it in a wood pile across the street.

It has been nine days since this last incident. I feel like I need one of those Days Since Last Accident signs.

BIRD SEASON

Sunday morning looks different in the Spring

6 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Sunday morning looks different in the Spring"

I was up at 6:00 AM on Saturday morning. The sounds of a bird in distress makes a pretty good alarm clock. I don't know if it is a skill I should be proud of, but by now I can tell the difference between bird and rabbit distress calls. I don't know about squirrels. They never make it into the house alive. The rarely make it into the house with their heads still attached. On this particular morning, I opened my bedroom door and then followed the trail of feathers to the kitchen where the cat had the bird cornered between the back door and the refrigerator. I told the animals to scram, dropped a dishtowel onto the bird and then scooped him up. I carried him to the front yard and I could feel his wings trying to flap. I just relaxed my grip and he flew off and up into a tree branch in the neighbor's yard. Then immediately after he landed, another bird tackled him and they both fell to the ground. I have no idea what happened to him or if he was the same bird I "rescued" at 4:30 this morning. 

I'm sure the bird from this morning didn't make it.

Since I was up at six on Saturday, I went ahead and got showered and dressed. Then I cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the stove because a bird had pooped on it. I gathered my grocery bags, the list, my journal, my purse and my glasses, locked the door and stepped out of the house. With out keys. I stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. I banged on the front door a few times knowing that there was no way Micheal was going to hear me from his cave in the basement. I stepped around to the Cabbage's window and started banging. She pulled the curtain back with squinted eyes and I asked to her to go open the front door. She had a moment of panic when she didn't think she could get the door open, but I talked her down and said that all she had to do was turn the lock. I opened the door and told her to go back to bed. Later on, Michael went into her room and she said "Why did you lock Cindy out of the house?!" He didn't know I'd locked myself out or what the Cabbage was talking about.

That's probably the first time I've ever locked myself out of that house.

The rest of the weekend went just fine and dandy. My massage therapist removed a giant knot from my right thigh. I pulled up old dead plants and planted new vibrant living plants. I made the kind of guacamole that you never want to stop eating because it's laced with crack (not really, but I make some delicious guacamole). I spent time reading while swaying gently in my hammock. It was real nice. Some time between Saturday and today, I dreamed that Albus dragged a goose into the house. The house was a wreck with goose poop and feathers. It was like we'd used our living room for rituals. After that dream, I really studied the dog door. Could Albus even fit a goose through that door? Maybe. Yet my thoughts keep drifting back to the Saturday morning bird. He was a living breathing metaphor. I saved that bird from the clutches of a gruesome death only to release him into a different kind of gruesome death. It's like all those videos people post of releasing the trapped mouse into a field and then watching as a hawk swoops down and carries it off for it's dinner. 

It's really true. There are some things that are just out of your control. 

MISSING

Long

9 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Long"

I haven't seen the cat since Saturday. His food bowl is half full, the level it was on Saturday. No one is eating his food, so it's not like he's sneaking in at night to eat. Michael and I take turns despondently looking from Albus's food bowl to the backyard. Josephine has searched the house every morning for him. Michael has posted on Nextdoor and Facebook about him, but so far we've heard nothing. I checked the animal control website today and found out that they do not pick up stray cats. He's either found a new family or something bad has happened to him. I'm really hoping it's the first thing. 

When I was a kid, we had a gray tabby named Tuffy. He was hilarious and the whole family loved him. He would lay at the top of the stairs and slide down them just like we used to do in sleeping bags. He liked to walk on the edge of the tub while you were taking a bath. Sometimes he would freak out and climb to the top of the floor to ceiling baluster of the staircase. Tuffy was one funny little cat. We had him fixed and declawed so he'd stop ruining Mom's furniture and permanently made him an indoor cat. One day, I was walking back from playing at one of our neighbors houses and I stepped up the steps to the back door. As I pulled the screen door open, something caught the corner of my eye at the edge of the steps. I looked over and there was Tuffy, sleeping in a brown paper bag. I started to say "Hey! What are you doing out here sleeping in that bag, you silly cat?" but then it dawned on me that he was not sleeping. Tuffy had gotten out of the house when no one was looking and was attacked by a stray dog. You know? I can still see every detail of how Tuffy looked 'sleeping' in that bag. 

Tuffy was the last cat I cared for. After that I was officially a dog person and only tolerated cats. I never begged Chris for a kitten. It was always "can we get a dog? can we get a dog? can we get a dog?" until he finally gave in. Then, when Michael fed a can of sardines to tiny white kitten, I shrugged my shoulders with indifference. I told Michael Albus was his cat even though I ended up feeding him and it was my lap he usually plopped down in. I have cursed that cat for all of the dead bunnies, squirrels, rats, and birds we have had to dispose of. I have snarled at all of the cat hair that I sweep up from our floors. I have done my best to remain indifferent to the cat. Michael said once that we should be prepared for the day Albus didn't come home. We know he leads an adventurous life of a wild animal and it is a dangerous world out there. He never really belonged to us as much as we have belonged to him. 

That doesn't mean I am not sad about the idea of him never coming home. I'm pretty sad about it. All three of us are. 

KITTY CAT

Storage solutions

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 1 like

When we go out of town, I fill a large bowl with cat food and place it in the basement. Then I make sure the big outside water dish is full of fresh water. The last thing I do is close up the dog door that leads from the garage into the kitchen. Albus still has access to the garage and the basement. He just doesn't have the opportunity to drag in any half dead creatures that he can slowly dismember on our living room rug or worse, our new couch. That's the thing about cats. You can just put out a bowl of food and leave them to fend for themselves, particularly if you already have the type of cat that only seems to love you when his food bowl has an empty spot in it. 

I say that about how much Albus seems to not care about our existence, but when ever we return from our trips, Albus is right there meowing at us and rubbing his head on the dog. He really does appear to have missed us. This is usually one of those moments that make my heart soften for the cat and I look at him and say things like "Did you miss us kitty?" as I scratch the top of his head. On normal days, I am usually cursing the cat, most likely because I am scooping up squirrel parts into a trash bag. He's taken to sleeping on my new desk and he's filthy. I'm pretty sure he's got fleas and he always seems to be at his most loving at 3:30 AM. 

We got home Friday evening from spending a few days in Oklahoma. We were exhausted from our long drive and had a car full of stuff to unload. I opened the door and let Josephine into the house before walking to the kitchen to open the dog door. I fully expected Albus to be sitting just on the other side of that door, waiting for us, but there was no Albus. We unloaded the car, unpacked suitcases and put leftovers into the fridge. Still no Albus. Michael and I settled in on the couch to catch up on some TV. Still no Albus. Several hours went by and there was still no sign of that cat. I started to get worried. I peaked into the basement and called his name. I sat on the back step looking into the backyard.

Ever since Albus entered this family, we knew that there might be a day when he just didn't come home. He's an inside/outside cat. He's really more outside than inside. We don't even have to clean out his litter box any more. The world's a dangerous place. We have a pack of pitbulls chained up in the yard behind us. There's opossums and raccoons that roam the neighborhood and the street we live on is a high traffic road. The cat lives a dangerous life out there. I thought about all of these things while I sat there on the back step. I thought "well...this is it. we've lost our cat." and I felt a little sad about it. Honestly, I felt a lot sad about it. I went back inside the house and was just about to say something to Michael about it when I heard a "meow". I looked behind me and there was Albus. This time as I scratched the top of his head, I said "Oh kitty! I'm so happy to see you!" 

And a few hours later, when I went down to the basement to get the laundry basket and I found him dismembering a squirrel, I didn't really mind that much. 

LOVE THURSDAY

Albus is enjoying some TV time.

"Albus is enjoying some TV time."

I am not a cat person. I've always slightly clashed with their indifferent attitudes and the way they love you one minute and then want to claw your face off the next. Then Michael fed a little white kitten a can of sardines and the next thing you know, we're owners of a white cat who is for the most part indifferent to our existence. He's very loving when his food bowl is low. Other than that, we rarely see him. He prefers to hang out in the basement or on a shelf in the garage that is just out of Josephine's reach. In the evenings he will come into the dinning room and sit or lay behind a piece of furniture with only a paw or tail visible for taunting Josephine (do you see a theme?). We originally had named him Albadine because it rhymed with sardines and Josephine, but when we realized she was a he, we adjusted the name to Albus. He may or may not recognize this as his name because most of the time I just call him "cat" as if I were Holly Golightly. 

Albus has access to outside, but I've never seen him venture out further than the back step and garden area until recently. He's been hanging out in the front yard lately. I think Michael and I are just waiting for the day Albus decides we aren't his people after all and steps out into the world never to be seen again. He sticks around because we feed him. This weekend we put two bowls full of food out and plenty of water and left Albus all on his own. The benefit of having a cat. They seem to take care of themselves. I figured he wouldn't really miss us and might even enjoy a break from the dog. So I was not prepared for the onslaught of love that greeted us when we came home Monday evening. Albus rubbed his head on my shins. He has rubbed his whole body up the full length of Josephine and I am sure Michael has received the same treatment. Albus actually jumped up on the couch to touch his nose to my face before walking over to do the same to Michael. That's the first time he has ever climbed up into my lap. 

I figured once I filled his almost empty food bowl up, he'd chill out, but nope. He runs figure eights around my legs as I move through the house in the mornings. Josephine has a habit of grabbing one of her toys and hanging out behind me on the bathroom mat as I get ready and  now both of them are in there. Albus prefers the toilet seat lid or the lip of the bathtub or even flattening himself out on the middle shelf of our bathroom trash can/organizer. I guess you can say that our absence has made his heart grow fonder. Which is sweet. It's made my heart soften a bit towards that darn cat. We might just be unofficial cat people after all. 

Happy Love Thursday!