THANKFUL FRIDAY

I am always a little surprised when we come home from a trip and find all of our animals are still living. This sounds macabre. Josephine is always in good hands with Terry, having the time of her life playing with his three little monsters. It’s the cat and the chickens that are just left up to their own devices. We basically just put out extra food and water for both and hope for the best. There have been times when get home from a trip and Albus will not show his face for days. It is around day three of being home and no cat showing up that I start to get melancholy and right at this moment is when Albus shows up, full of meowing complaints. I was telling Amani last night that we say we hate the cat, but we really love him. I mean just the other night he brought a very large rat into the dining room and then ate it. What’s not to love about this cat?

The first thing Michael did when we got home last Thursday night was take a flashlight out to the chicken coop and count chickens. All three were present and Michael and I started talking about getting two new chicks. We can’t just get one chick because the other chickens will be mean to it. You’re supposed to introduce new chickens in pairs and we started to get a little excited about baby chicks. Then I hesitated. I worried about the size of the coop and if it was big enough to fit five chickens comfortably. They’d be cosy in the winter, but crowded in the summer. So we decided to wait until we were down to two chickens before we add anymore to our circus.

And who knows when that will be.

Every year, I am surprised when I find that the chickens are laying eggs. I will hold up the egg and say “well…this is probably the last year of eggs.” Marguerette has provided four eggs for us so far this year, which was completely unexpected. It is a joyful surprise. I’m still waiting to see if the other two are going to lay any. The weather has been so wishy washy. I figure that the other two are waiting until the ground isn’t so soggy since they prefer to leave their eggs in the window well. I am grateful for the few eggs we have received and the anticipation of more eggs, but I am really thankful that we still have at least three of our original chickens.

I am thankful that our little circus is still thriving.

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.

HUNGER STRIKE AND BROKEN BONES

Actually...that's a fracture. I can't even play a doctor on TV.

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We are not as particular about the cat food we buy for the cat as we are with the dog food. The cat eats other animals. He roams the neighborhood. He’s a wild animal. He does what he wants. We usually just buy him the same brand of stuff we get for Josephine because they sell it all at Waldo Grain. That’s where we buy our chicken food, so it’s one stop shopping for all of the animals. Plus, it is the closest place that sells our chicken food and it is a tiny Mom & Pop kind of place. We want them to stay open. Occasionally though, the cat runs low on food and one of us will pick up a bag of whatever to tide him over until we can get to Waldo Grain. Last time this happened, Michael picked up a bag of cat food from Whole Foods. Nice, fancy, healthy cat food.

The cat refused to eat it.

Michael then picked up a bag of crappy cat food.

The cat takes a few bites and then walks away.

It’s been three weeks since I have put food in his bowl. His bowl is full of food and he comes in daily with his ‘meow, meow, meow, my bowl is empty’ routine. He’s starting to look skinny, but not a good skinny. Finally, I dumped out the bowl of old food and replaced it with his usual food from the feed store. I am happy to report that our dumb cat who ate an entire mouse the other day (I mean the whole damn thing) is now eating his food. Hallelujah!

Right around the time Albus decided to go on his hunger strike, I fell in a hole in the backyard and twisted my ankle. I might have mentioned it in a previous post. Last Saturday, after a day of scooter riding, Michael looked over at my ankle and was all “WHY IS YOUR ANKLE SO SWOLLEN!?!?!” Then he made me make a doctor’s appointment. X-rays were taken. The X-ray tech let me look at the pictures. I couldn’t see anything wrong (because I’m not a doctor) and declared myself totally fine.

I am not totally fine.

My doctor called me this morning to tell me that I have a fracture in my medial malleolus. She then referred me to orthopedics, but they can’t get me in until the 25th. That’s the day before we leave for Boston for conference/vacation. So…I’m just walking around with a broken ankle all this time, still doing what I do. Teaching yoga. Spending time on the elliptical or bike. Standing at my desk. Taking walks. You know, the OPPOSITE of resting. People keep asking me about pain and I shrug and say “it doesn’t really hurt.” Because it doesn’t. It feels like a sore muscle on the left side of my ankle. It does not hurt to walk. When the doctor called and told me about the fracture, I became furious. When I scheduled my appointment with the orthopedic doctor and they couldn’t see me for almost another two weeks, I burst into flames of rage. A broken bone needs about six weeks to heal. I’ve been walking around on it for three weeks. It’s two more weeks until the orthopedic doctor sees me. That’s five weeks.

I don’t even see the point in going.

I’ve got an ace bandage and I know how to use it.

MISSING

Long

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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

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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. 

THE ANIMALS ARE WINNING

White cat/black dog

"White cat/black dog"

Josephine is ornery. I mean, not all the time, but I spent most of Sunday picking up pieces of shredded Kleenex, moping up leftover tomato soup and explaining how we do not pull garbage out of the trash can. I know she ate at least half of a bagel because she came in with the other half, hunting around for a hiding place. She has discovered that she is just tall enough to pull trash out of a full trash can. She spent diligent time practicing this skill even after Michael chased her with the trash can while banging it around with the hopes of making the trash can into the scariest thing. Now, the trash can is a little scary, but not scary enough for her to keep her from stealing delicious treats off the top. When she wasn't stealing garbage, she was in the backyard shredding the seat off of one of chairs in the backyard or trying to drag the cat around by his hind leg. I don't know what her deal was, but she had a definite bee up her butt. 

In about three weeks, Josephine will be one years old. She is still very much a puppy. I have taught her sit, down and off and for the most part, she's pretty good with those things. Coming when she's called works most of the time unless she has something in her mouth she knows she's not supposed to have. Yesterday, that object happened to be one of my slippers. We did a hostage style trade with her toy turtle. At least he squeaks; the slipper is just soft. She's not a bad dog. I'm making it sound like she's a holy terror. Most of the time she just wants to chew on a toy while you pet her. Lately she's been waking me up around 4 AM to go outside and when she comes back in I just let her stay out of the crate. She curls herself into a ball at the foot of the bed and keeps my feet warm. She is a lovable crazy hot mess of a dog. 

One of my goals for the new year is to spend some time doing some serious obedience training with her. I have the know how. It's just been a hundred years since I've had to use that know how. In the meantime, we will be investing in a new trash can with a lid and maybe some puzzle treat toys. Now if I could only train the cat. This morning I walked into the kitchen to find worm parts and guts smeared all over the kitchen floor. This evening I came home to a cat who looked like he had rolled around in a mud puddle. I'm not sure what to do about that since Michael and I value our skin too much to attempt bathing him.