My sister e-mailed this message to me this morning:
“I was amazed at the number of posts you received on Molly Moon and Sox and I appreciate all of them. I will never give up on finding Sox, but Molly provides some distraction from thinking and worrying about him 24 hours a day.”
Thanks to you who commented! Oh, and it turns out there is an ice cream chain on the West Coast called “Molly Moon’s Homemade Ice Cream” shop. My sister’s grandkids knew about it, and let my sister know about the name.
It’s official. I just passed my fifth year as a volunteer with the RSVP program in my community. Though I’m not much for awards because I never know what to do with certificates, pins, and the like, I appreciate being appreciated. If being appreciated involves a certificate and a pion, well, I can deal with it! Here’s the pin:
I guess I posted that in a size large enough to see…! I mostly volunteer once a week at the local military museum. Though I also drive veterans to VA clinic appointments, that’s more occasional since there are other ways for these people to get to appointments.
Like him or not, instead of trashmouthing the President for the time he takes off, take a look at your Congress and the time they are not doing the work of the nation. VOTE THE BASTARDS OUT! (I’m watching you, Adrian.)
My sister’s cat Sox went missing the morning after she moved to a new house. She let him out in the morning, the habit he was in, and he hasn’t been seen since.
It is difficult writing about his absence, more so because my sister reads my blog and she still misses her Kitty Boy very much. She had him from kittenhood. We all hope and pray he shows up some day or that some family took him in and he’s getting the love and care he was used to with my sister.
My sister, family, and friends did all the usual to try to find Sox: posters posted, walks through both the new and old neighborhoods, talking with new and old neighbors, notice given to area shelters, check up with shelters daily for any news and to view possible cats brought in.
At some point, my sister decided she needed another cat. Not to replace Sox, who is irreplaceable, but as a companion for Sox should he show up. And as a kitty for my sister regardless of the outcome with Sox: She missed having a kitty around the house.
She decided to adopt an older cat, checked out possible “candidates” available at shelters, and sent me photos of some of those she felt would do well with her. Then I received an e-mail this morning that she’d adopted one named Molly Moon, a name my sister says her new Kitty Girl will continue to go by.
Welcome to the family, Molly, and thank you for helping lift some of the burden my sister feels about Sox.
I’m proud of my sister for adopting a shelter animal, too. Not only did she give a cat a new home, she gave an older cat a new home. Everyone wants the kitties, but it takes real love of creatures to take an older one home. Molly Moon is eight years old, mellow, and very affectionate. The photo shows she is adapting quickly to her new life. That’s a happy, confident cat in the photo!
I’m not a big fan of Thompson seedless grapes. Too sweet, cloyingly so. Yet I bought a bag of them the other day. What was I thinking? A big bag, and they were on the verge this morning of turning into a refrigerator antibiotics experiment. I had to come up with a quick use for them, one that didn’t involve eating them. (Did I say that?!)
I picked them off the stems. With my immersion blender, I created a…mess that I strained for juice. I can drink the juice, I thought. Orange juice is sweet. Apple juice is sweet. I get those down. Grape juice from my Thompson seedless grapes? Urp! Thank goodness there wasn’t too much of it. Most of the mess left after the blending was skin and pulp, the kind of thing vintners turn into lovely brandies or animal feed. I like the brandies,
I couldn’t bring myself to toss the pulp, though, which amounted to maybe two-thirds the volume of the whole. I decided to experiment using it instead of applesauce in pancakes, one way I like to use applesauce. It looked like it might work!
I was hopeful. Four pancakes isn’t a lot, if the pancakes are any good. Four bad pancakes? Um, I think it’s illegal to feed failed breakfast experiments to the ducks at the park. If not, it should be.
Looking positive! They even smelled edible, with a hint of grape wafting off the pancakes on the griddle.
Something else appeared in my peripheral vision.
Andy wasn’t sure, but today might, just might be the day the human shared his food! Andy wanted to be there.
Oh my gosh! This is heavy, gaggy sweet, too much. Andy was on the table long enough to check it out, but even he would not bother with it! I wrapped the remainder in plastic, put it in the refrigerator, and, maybe, will have it for breakfast tomorrow. Now, thanks to strong black coffee, I can get that taste out of my mouth! Poor Dougy! Is his gagging in response to a hairball or are these pancakes really as bad as I think?
I may have started another refrigerator antibiotics experiment.
Whew! Dougy does not like his photo taken! That makes him a true member of my family. I did, however sneak one of him at the back door, resting on the little red chair, a favorite of both boys.
I pushed his button, but don’t think Dougy doesn’t know how to push one or two of mine back…!
You wee fart! You know you aren’t supposed to use the furniture as a scratching post! I’m scandalized, Dougy, scandalized!
I got another shot of you, Dougy! And I’m bigger than you, too!
🙂 > < 🙁
On a more positive note, Andy and I had an uneventful time this morning. Continuing the no-scruffing rule, I had no problem picking Andy up and medicating him in short order. A few minutes later, when I was making my breakfast, we exchanged blinky-eyes with each other till our eyelids hurt.
Oh, yeah, and I rubbed his ears, scratched his chin, stroked his head and ran his fine tail through my hand, saying those words he likes to hear, “What a purrrdy tail, Andy! Purrrrdy! You’re the kitty with the purrrdy tail!” And he is.
Yesterday, Andy was a pill. It took till a bit after 9:00 AM before I finally caught him to give him his blood pressure medicine. I suspect part of the reason it took so long was I sometimes scruff Andy to catch him or to settle him down to wrap the towel around him to immobilize him a bit to give him his medicine.
Scruffing a cat (grabbing it by the loose skin on the neck) may not be a good idea, though Momma Cat does it with her babies to move them. I read that yesterday after I scruffed Andy, who then was very wild and almost wouldn’t let me wrap him in the towel.
Yes, I scruffed Andy up till then if I had to, and he got a lot of scruffing when I caught him, then tried to wrap him in the towel yesterday. Learning that it hurts the cat is enough for me to stop doing it. I always heard it produced endorphins so kitty was in a natural druggy state because of this rough business. Maybe so in kitties, but their loose skin isn’t holding up 10 or so pounds of adult cat, either.
Also, I learned that it might be a challenge to the cat’s self-esteem. Oh dear!
Well, I don’t know the veracity of what I read, just that it might explain part of Andy’s reluctance to be medicated some days. Yesterday, for example. It might not all be reaction to nasty-tasting medicine. I mean, they lick kitty butt with those tongues! Surely that’s at least equal in nastiness to any medicine.
Today, I resolved not to scruff Andy under any circumstances. I walked up to him where he lie on the seat of the old beat up backless computer chair the boys won’t let me toss. I reached down and picked him up. No fuss. Easy! Usually, he scampers away, and we begin a minutes to hours long cat and mouse game (hee! hee!) till I catch him, towel him up, and squirt the medicine in his mouth.
Over to the medicating chair we went. Towel wrapped around kitty, I squirted the medicine into his mouth. It was over in less than half a minute from picking Andy up to the fun part where I rub his nose, scratch his ears, stroke his head and tell him what a really good boy he is for taking his medicine like a big kitty! Of course, the part he likes better is when I loosen the towel so he can hop down to the floor for the treats I am about to put out for good boys. 🙂
I’ll see how things go from now on out, but the zero-scruffing rule seems to be a good move for both cat and man.
What about that big box that sat in my kitchen these past almost six weeks? Yeah, the one in the photo:
It held a replacement glass for the front of that black box to the right of it, my stove.
Someone in design at the manufacturer said to someone else in design, “Wouldn’t it be sexy to have smoked glass on the front of this oven door where kids and clumsy adults might accidentally bump into it in ways that cause it to crumble into a million pieces all over the floor when taking a hot casserole out of the oven?”
To which the someone else in design said, “Yes, that’s a winner! Call down to copy and have them make up a page in the manual on how to remove the oven door. Put in lots of warnings about glass breakage so the owner knows we know they know we know they know we know they think they might have a basis for a suit when they inevitably break the glass.”
Genius! And the replacement glass, which I found easily enough on the Internet and had got the model number and serial number to order by lying down on the floor in an extremely painful and awkward position with a magnifying glass and flashlight and somehow transferred to paper with my third hand (I guess) cost about $103 for glass and the box it came in.
Keep in mind, physically, I could star in one of those “Help! I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” commercials. While down there on the floor the first time — yes, I didn’t have a flashlight and magnifying glass the first time because I didn’t realize the information on the label is in 8 point type and placed vertically on the side of the frame — I wondered how the cats would take care of themselves after I died there, unable to get up. I shudder…!
But up I got when I realized what else I needed to do the job. I’d thoughtfully placed a folding chair close by, something to support myself on to get up on my feet, and it worked. I got the information the second time down, placed my order, and this big box arrived within a week. Great service! I guess they keep a good supply on hand since all over the country people are breaking these pieces because they are stupid and clumsy customers. Of course, having the glass and having a clue are two separate parts of this story: I had no clue how to replace it, though I formulated a theory or two by looking at the door.
While I pondered the “how” of the repair, I lived with the big box right where you see it in the photo. If it was in the way, the theory was, I’d do something to get it out of the way faster. Ha! Little did I know me! It sat, and sat, and sat, always in the way, taunting me and my poor handyman skills.
First, I thought the glass might just slide in from the side since there is a trough on the bottom where it rests. Two problems there: I couldn’t slide it in from either side because of the width of the glass and the lack of space on either side of the stove unless I could bend the glass somehow without breaking it. Besides I realized when I tried that, that the top slips in under the door handle piece, which meant I had to find the instruction manual to read again how you do it! Need I say that in the several weeks from breaking the glass till I decided to deal with the repair, I’d put the manual someplace where I thought I’d be able to find it quickly? Of course, I couldn’t remember where that was!
The old joke about finding something the last place one looked took fifteen minutes of digging till I got to the punchline: I was not laughing. But I realized everything was simple from there on out. I had the instructions, right?
Sure. What I learned was I had to unscrew the trough at the bottom first and do some acrobatics requiring at least five hands to get the top of the glass in the door handle piece, replace two side pieces that just slipped out with ease and slipped back in with great effort and a touch of magic, place the trough over the bottom of the glass, rescrew the trough to the door bottom (and drop at least one unique screw somewhere while in one of those five hand positions), and…oh! Forgot that damn double-sided tape! So I repeated the necessary steps till I had a repaired door. None of this was in the manual except how to take the door off the stove.
The manual notes the door is heavy with the glass in it — no kidding! — so placing it on the stove was tricky and required three or four tries before I got the exact angle it has to be before it’ll lock into place. I locked the door on to the stove, congratulated myself for doing the repair, and vacuumed the kitchen.
Now, with any luck, the glass won’t fall out on my clean floor.
Doesn’t sound like much fun, does it? When you have two Persian cats, however, a lot of hair covers everything in short time. Unfortunately, I am not a very good housekeeper, and a lot of hair becomes a cat’s worth or two before I decide even I can’t live with it any more.
Today is the day. Bring out the Dyson.
Remember that photo? That’s from one cat on one day. Yes, I better bring out the Dyson. Today!
I am tired of Facebook. There is something insidious about a mix of cute kittens and virulent diatribes against a US President no matter what he does: Where is the balance?
I’m tired of it. And I’m taking a time out from liking, posting, or commenting on that site. To those people who follow what I post there, this blog will continue to appear on Facebook because I set that share up as an automatic thing. For the duration, though, I won’t be around to respond to comments or questions.
I’ll miss the cute kitties.
🙂 😉 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
UPDATED: Interestingly enough, my readership total went from 321 this morning to 304 after I posted this to Facebook. Let’s see how low we can drop it. Time of this observation: 8/21/14 at 8:47 AM.