Post 504: I suspect there’s more to this than we might guess…

irony

🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁 🙁

This seems to be the day for oddness. I may as well add this message to the blog:

In this case you don’t know how to give for your dog is wearing a collar,
as I had a local dog training you do not have to be the Major concern for Dog Training.

What?!

I pointed out to the author that Dougy and Andy might take umbrage at being called dogs as they are Persian cats. Then I checked the post that the message was attached to. Pure non sequitur. Pure spam! Random madness! I deleted both the message and the answer, then decided you needed a “hunh?!” moment on top of the “hunh?!” moment at the very top.

Curiously, more irony, I added the tag “no cats involved” before I found the dog message. There seems to be cosmic settling going on. Or something!

p.s. WordPress is acting weird today, too. I should be able to update this without a new version going live to you each time. Sorry! This is it. No more updates, even if there are egregious misspellings, typos, inexplicable stuff that upset obsessive people, perfectionists like me.

Post 503: Interview with a kitty

Me: Dougy, you have a reputation for prowess, a cat-like uncanny ability to catch what you seek. I’ve seen you hide in wait for the pole toy critter to swing by, and there is no doubt you take your cat responsibilities seriously: You nail it, and chew that toy to pieces if given a chance!

…his prowess

Dougy: Yes, I believe in exercising my canines to the maximum possible. They are my best tools, along with my razor-sharp reflexes and Claws of Doom! (You know about those from personal experience. Rawr!)

[Me: And how!]

Me: Speaking of experience, Dougy, what do you do to keep fit and fat for hunting?

training aids work

Dougy: You know the answer to that! I make you play with me with pole toys until your fingers go numb! I never get tired!

“Yeah! We played with that one just this morning! You know both Andy and I love, love, love this pole toy bug,” says Dougy

Me: What prey can an indoor cat hope to catch?

Dougy: WHAT!? Haven’t you seen how my brother Andy and I take on crickets, spiders, flies, millers, wasps, and anything else that sneaks into the house? It isn’t just me who should be interviewed here, you know.

a likely prospect

Me: Well, that’s for sure, but Andy is scarce at the moment. You know how he is after I give him his medicine…!

Dougy: Oh, yeah…!

“Thank you for your efforts!”

Me: Come to think of it, the other day, in the bathroom, I saw you in action. It was quite remarkable. The fly walked toward you. You were still as a rock — well, except your tail, which twitched just a bit! The fly was oblivious to you. It slowly moved into range. Your right paw struck down on it so fast I couldn’t tell if you trapped the fly. You patticaked it a bit to stun or kill it, then raised your paw for a closer look. It stumbled around on six legs, but not for long: you chewed it up! How’d it taste?

Dougy: A bit crunchy, a hint of nuttiness, followed with a hint of bitterness. In short, quite good!

Post 502: bonding

The ongoing challenge of giving Andy his blood pressure medication has taken on a new twist. Instead of offering up resistance to capture, Andy’s decided to fight me when I try to wrap the towel around him.

Not that Andy is any less suspicious when I come around looking for him…!

Andy march 21 2014

So, I have a new plan, too: Catch him, hold him unwrapped, then stroke his tummy, head, and ears. I tell him over and over in a low, calm voice how he’s a good boy. When he starts to relax, maybe close his eyes, then I wrestle him into the towel. Whew!

Yes, the new plan is simple, too. I try to get the medicine down him as fast as possible so I can spend the rest of the time holding him and reassuring him all is well.

Soon enough, Andy decides he’s ready to move on. It’s encouraging, though, that it takes longer and longer before he wants let down.

I think we both secretly look forward to this special time in our day. One of these days, he might even purr when it’s medicine time.

Post 501: Mayhem ensued ~ How we observed Black Cat Appreciation Day!

Whew! Then you turn the inmates loose, you shouldn’t be surprised that things go downhill fast! So it goes.

Here’s how we observed Black Cat Appreciation Day at our house. It isn’t pretty…!

Post 500: Black Cat Appreciation Day

Black Cat Appreciation Day is a “holiday” with a purpose: A black cat is five times less likely to be adopted than any other cat, which means they are euthanized more often than not for lack of people wanting to adopt them. This day is one way humane societies and pounds can change attitudes about black cats, possibly improve the chances a black cat will be adopted instead of put to death for lack of someone to take it home .

Black cats are wonderful creatures. They are elegant, sleek, beautiful, full of cattitude, suitable for the home. They are playful. They amuse. They are like all other cats, just black. I have two myself, and I hope by sharing my life stories with Andy and Dougy I have helped remove some of the bias against black cats from some people’s minds.

I’m not alone in my enthusiasm for black cats. Panther is one such special cat, and Doug and Sharon Brown’s tribute to this beloved pet follows in this video they recently posted:

If you are looking for a pound kitty, do take a look at those that are black. You won’t have bad luck. Nothing “magical” or “diabolical” will happen to you. They are just kittycats, bundles of energy and personality that will capture your heart…if you open it up to them. Andy and Dougy, this is your day!

Post 499: reflections

Sometimes where you’re going is pretty much where you’ve been.

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Or the place you see is part of an illusion real enough to stop you for a moment to sort things out. A dream about dreaming. That sort of thing.

Always, though, there is that narcissistic fascination with what one sees in a reflection. “Is that me? Was I ever so young/thin/good-looking/cool?”

klautern 1971 1

I wonder what I did with that sweater? I bought it in Greece, and it was the warmest thing I ever put on my body. And it itched like hell! Seriously, what’s past is past, I’ve been there before.

Post 498: “If I have to…but I won’t like it!”

Each day has its own challenges when it comes to Andy and giving him his medicine.

Suspicious….

I try not to alarm Andy when I stalk him to catch him to give him his medicine. Many times, he loses track of events and comes up to me, begging for treats or play time: I snatch him right up!

“I see you!”

Other times, when he doesn’t come around to me, I try to catch him unawares. Unless he’s in deep sleep, he generally senses me coming and skedaddles before I can snatch him up. (He’s a western kitty. Yes, he “skedaddles”!)

Not today, though. I caught him unawares, deep sleeping on top of the blue carrier he uses for his daytime outpost. Curiously, he doesn’t struggle when I catch him, then carry him to the medicating chair cradled like a baby in the crook of my arm.

That is, until I reach for The White Towel, the Object of His Oppression. Ever try to wrap a struggling cat in a towel? Five hands isn’t always enough, though I somehow manage to do it with two.

“I won’t like it!”

Awww! Poor Andy wrapped in the towel. He becomes quiet, a little oppressed victim of The Man! Because the medication is for hypertension, I rub his ears and try to calm him.

(What stress is there in an indoor cat’s life, other than his brother and me giving him blood pressure medicine? Hunh!?)

“Why!? Why!? WHY!? I’m just a little kitty!”

Dougy watches the process. He may feel sorry for his brother, though I suspect he’s more concerned that he might be next.

“Brother, are you OK?”

I give Andy the syringe full of chicken-flavored medicine in small mouthfuls. He slowly gags it down. Then I tell him what a good kitty he is — and mostly he is — while rubbing his nose (which he likes) and scratching his ears (which he also likes).

I put him down. Well, he struggles out of the towel when I loosen my grip and he “escapes” with a bound! I give him some treats. He gets over the indignity of medicine squirted into his mouth, and things return to normal for the rest of the day.

“Did you see what the human did to me, Dougy?”

Poor kitty!

Post 497: vintage in Hunawihr, 1972

The vintage in Hunawihr, France, in 1972, stands alone for me: I “helped” one day with the harvest, in a light rain, and spent the afternoon taking photos instead.

I suspect I didn’t work hard or long enough as a field hand for the proprietor and his wife (who inherited the vineyard), but I did send them copies of these and other photos of that harvest to make up for my poor performance. It was the least I could do!

The photos show the process clearly enough, I think. Some people snip the bunches of grapes off the vines and fill small tubs. The small tubs are emptied into a larger carrier, then the grapes are transferred to basins on a cart for transfer to the press. From there, the process of turning juice into the delicious wines of Alsace begins!

First photo: the proprietor’s home is the one with the light-colored Renault in front of it. Of course!

hunawihr 4

hunawihr 7

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hunawihr 8

hunawihr 2

hunawihr 9

hunawihr 3

Post 496: Andy is nuts!

Dougy remains a bit baffled by the boys’ new ball toy. Andy, on the other hand…. Well, watch the video and see!

Hope you enjoyed the show!

Post 495: yard vandalism

I used to call them “yard nazis”, a term that trivializes the victims of the worst war of the 20th Century by putting bad gardening practices on par with the murder and suffering of millions. It doesn’t equate…!

The process of weed whacking a tomato plant, rhubarb, a small herb garden, and a patch of mint is upsetting. I think “yard vandalism” may be less insensitive a term to describe that “process”, and will call it such from now on. Yard vandalism.

Yard vandalism is what you have when you rent. Though the name of the complex refers to garden apartments, there is some question about who the gardeners are. All my humble and minimal efforts apparently don’t read as “garden”, though I can’t imagine there being any doubt that a tomato plant is a keeper. Herbs give off a strong clue about their utility, too, for those too rude and crude to recognize an herb when they chop it: herbs smell like herbs!

garden north

Looking north. The stump by the white drainpipe is a lovely yellow climbing rose. “It’ll grow back,” Attila told me. It did, and it produces copious small yellow blossoms with a light floral scent.

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In the meantime, it looks like hell on earth. Roses are tenacious growers, however. Attila is correct.

garden south

Looking south. This was mostly weeds and iris, that beautiful one week wonder that looks terrible most of the year, in my humble opinion. I didn’t plant them. The yard kitsch kitty with butterfly, though, suffered a severe weed whacking. I hope it ruined the weed whacker, or, at least, slowed the vandalism down till repairs could be made. Not that I harbor ill feelings toward people just following orders…. (Oops! That wasn’t alluding to “yard nazi”.)

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The kitty survived at least 10 years in the garden up on Mississippi Avenue, and nearly 10 years here. I mean, I got my money’s worth out of it.

That said, run it through a weed whacking, and something happens. Something has to give. Something is altered.

cat tail1

The bent tail on kitty is new. Thanks, yard vandals! I believe I make a gift of it to your boss. I’m not wasting any more time or money trying do something in the dead space by the foundation. I have just so much stamina these days, thanks to the vicissitudes of illness, and if the result isn’t recognizable as a garden to you — what’s that trenchant expression I’m trying to call up? — oh, yes, %#$@ it!