A new cat showed up in the back yard. The feral cats who already live in the yard gave this new cat wide berth. He was very skittish at first, but that is no longer the case.
He's an "intact" male, and I think the other cats are afraid of him. He started showing up at meal time, and the other cats made feeble attempts to claim the food before he did, but backed off once this newcomer growled at them. He's very skinny, and I noticed that he has a huge wound on the side of his neck.
I felt sorry for him. Normally, I would have tried to trap him to get him tested for feline aids and feline leukemia, and then have him neutered, but he's so skinny, and I wanted to try to treat his wound first.
Gradually, he stopped being so skittish, and he actually became bold. He'd come running when I went outside with a can of cat food on the paper plate. He ate the whole can by himself, so I had to start bringing out two cans in two different plates. I'd put one plate up on the cedar chest for him, and then I'd put the other plate on the patio a few feet away for the other cats to eat. Some days, he'd eat his food, and then he'd start on the other plate of food. And those cats didn't argue with him...
We'd resisted naming him in case he tested positive for feline aids or leukemia and had to be put down, but he started looking less skinny and lethargic. I came up with the name, "Griffin," but Wayne said he looked more like a "Duncan," so that's what we started calling him. That's in deference to the Outlander books we're reading.
Duncan even let me pat him on the head. Once he did that, I decided to try and treat his wound. I put on a latex glove and got a glob of Neosporin antibiotic ointment and placed the glob directly on the wound. Anyone who knows me knows that I do not have a strong stomach for "blood and guts," but it had to be done, so I did this twice a day. I could see the wound getting smaller each day.
Two days ago, I put the Neosporin on the wound while he was laying down on the chaise lounge on the patio. After I finished, I patted him on his side. He did not like that, and he bit me! That did not endear him to me....
Wayne freaked out. It was only a tiny spot on my finger, but Wayne said, "Debra, he could have gotten rabies today!" Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but because Wayne was so alarmed, it made me decide to at least look up rabies on Google. Everything I read said that rabies was extremely rare, but it also said that once neurologic symptoms were in evidence, rabies was fatal.
I called for a doctor's appointment the next day. That doctor did the same thing I did, and she googled rabies, too. She didn't think there was any chance I had rabies, but she got me a tetanus shot, wrote a prescription for a topical antiseptic cream, and another for an oral antibiotic if it looked like the bite was getting infected.
I'd also called the local animal shelter and was told that the animal would be in quarantine for ten days so it could be observed. We've been trying to catch Duncan in the have-a-heart trap, but as hungry as he is, he will not eat the food in the trap. So I'm observing him in the backyard....
The bite looks OK so far, and Duncan is still lounging on the chair on the patio in the backyard, getting his meals before all the other cats. Our dog, Walter, doesn't even bother him. He just looks at Walter and hisses, and Walter backs off. I think Duncan knows he's landed in a good place. He just doesn't know that I'm planning to have him neutered....
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Catnapping
I read somewhere that cats sleep 16 hours a day. Here are some examples:
And here's Walter guarding the sleeping cats:
Harry's New Trick
Here's a picture of Harry:
He's started something new just recently. He wakes me up by biting me on the head and pulling my hair out of its braid with his teeth. I don't know why, after eight years, he's started doing this. It's not a fun way to wake up!
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Weekend Project
We collect vegetable and fruit peels, egg shells, coffee grounds, and tea bags to use in our compost bin in the backyard. The event that preceded this weekend project was my stepping in Walter's "Easter eggs" on my way to the compost bin. Ugh! So I asked my husband if he would make a stepping stone path to the compost bin - that way, I could see where I was stepping and not be surprised.
Wayne asked me where I wanted the path, and I showed him. Then he asked me to walk to the compost bin. I did, and he counted the steps it took me to reach it. That's how he knew how many stepping stones to buy. Something so easy, but I wouldn't have thought of that!
Here's a picture of the finished product:
No more stepping in poop - yay!
Wayne asked me where I wanted the path, and I showed him. Then he asked me to walk to the compost bin. I did, and he counted the steps it took me to reach it. That's how he knew how many stepping stones to buy. Something so easy, but I wouldn't have thought of that!
Here's a picture of the finished product:
New Birdfeeder
We have lots of birds that grace us with their presence, and it's been entertaining for us as well as providing "kitty TV" for our four inside cats.
I found a new bird feeder that's ideal for the smaller birds. We left the other birdfeeder up, so the larger birds can still use that one.
I found a new bird feeder that's ideal for the smaller birds. We left the other birdfeeder up, so the larger birds can still use that one.
The other thing that's cool about the new birdfeeder is that we don't have to fill it every day. It holds about a week's worth of birdseed.
A Shave & a Haircut, Two Bits
Here is Walter's "before" picture:
Then I went to a DIY Grooming workshop sponsored by the SPCA. I was really more interested in the "One Picture Saves a Life" portion of the workshop, but the speaker, Jorge Bendersky, was first on the agenda. Jorge suggested Wahl products were inexpensive, but good, and could be found in Wal-Mart. Lo and behold, I found a grooming kit as well, and so began my adventures in do-it-yourself animal grooming....
Here are Walter's "after" pictures:
It's not that big of a difference - but I trimmed his "mohawk," eyebrows, and beard. When Wayne saw him, he commiserated with Walter, and said,
"Poor Walter! I told you to run!"
On the other hand, there is a huge difference in Violet's before and after pictures, however, it's not evident until she turns around. Violet is my long-haired cat who gets "dingleberries" - for those of you who don't know what those are, you are so lucky! When she uses the litter box, sometimes bits of kitty litter and other things (ahem) stick to to the fur on the back of her legs. I decided to give her a modified Brazilian...just kidding - no wax was used. But she wasn't going to be easy to convince for this procedure. First, here's Violet's "before" picture:
And here is her "after" picture
(without being too graphic):
Voila! No more dingleberry potential!
As I said, it took some maneuvering to pull this off - I had to put her food in the corner and shave the back of her legs while she was occupied with eating, as illustrated in the following picture:
Yes, all that fur came from the back of her legs!
Hirsute people, beware!
The End of My Life
I've been reading a book called, Through Black Spruce, by Joseph Boyden. I read The Orenda, and liked it so much, that I searched for what other books he'd written. He is an excellent writer, and he tells a story in a way I wish I could write.
Anyway, there's a story about how the main character is in a canoe when he spots a moose. He slowly takes out his rifle to shoot the moose, which he needs to be able to survive the winter.
Strangely, that got me thinking about the moose. Here she is, in the middle of the woods, maybe never having seen a human being in her entire two years of moose life, and with two bullets, her life is ended. I made a connection to the moose with my own life. We don't know how our own lives will end. We may never see the end of our lives coming. And then it happens.
When I was younger, I don't think I had many thoughts about the end of my life. Now that I'm 60, and after having experienced the deaths of so many family members and friends, I can't say I think of it constantly, but I'm aware of it almost every day. We don't get to choose, any more than we get to choose what illnesses afflict our bodies.
In my early teens, I used to think to myself, "I'm never getting cramps." But then in my 20's, I had pretty miserable cramps. In my 20's, I used to say to myself, "I'm never having back problems." Ah, the arrogance and ignorance of youth. I've had back problems galore, especially for the last 30 years.
Last year, I had some blood work done, and it showed that I had metabolic syndrome, which is the precursor to diabetes. I had always thought, "I'm never going to have diabetes," as if it were something I could will away from myself. My doctor told me that I could prevent it from happening if I lost weight and exercised more. That pronouncement was the only thing that made me determined to lose weight, something I hadn't even tried to do seriously since 2008.
I've never enjoyed cooking very much. In fact, for most of my married life, my husband has done the greater part of the cooking in our home. Then I retired, and although I had never been a fan of cooking shows, I started watching The Chew. I'd print out those recipes from their website, go shopping for all the ingredients, and cook up a storm. I wasn't worried about my weight. I figured, "Hey, life is short, and I'm going to enjoy myself!"
My cardiologist had a fit when he saw my cholesterol numbers. I told him I was retired and cooking a lot now, and he said, "I bet you're watching those cooking shows and using butter." I emphatically said, "Yes!"
Even with two surgeries to repair the torn meniscus in each knee, I didn't lose weight. Even when the doctor grabbed at the area above my knee and said, "That's fat!" I wasn't motivated to lose weight.
But when my doctor told me I was pre-diabetic, that did it for me, so in the past three months, I've lost 35 pounds. And yet, I still think about the end of my life.
The point is, I guess, it doesn't do a lot of good to wonder what it will be that takes us out of this life. We live our lives the best we can. I like the saying by John Wesley, "Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." That doesn't mean I live my life as a Pollyanna, without any character flaws. I have many flaws, I assure you. And I've grown very cautious in my older age. But I still hope to have adventures.
Yesterday, I spent about five hours weeding the herb garden in my back yard. My knees don't work as well as they used to, and and so I sat on my little rolling garden caddy, to be closer to the ground. I pulled and hacked and cut until I could barely move. I didn't realize how long I'd been at the task until I came inside and saw the clock. I was so enervated, I could hardly make it through my shower without collapsing.
That got me thinking, as it usually does after these marathon gardening sessions, about how long I'd be able to keep up my gardens. Would I still be able to do this in five years, ten years, or even next year? I have no clue, but I will keep on going as long as I'm able, and try not to think about the end of my life too much...
Anyway, there's a story about how the main character is in a canoe when he spots a moose. He slowly takes out his rifle to shoot the moose, which he needs to be able to survive the winter.
Strangely, that got me thinking about the moose. Here she is, in the middle of the woods, maybe never having seen a human being in her entire two years of moose life, and with two bullets, her life is ended. I made a connection to the moose with my own life. We don't know how our own lives will end. We may never see the end of our lives coming. And then it happens.
When I was younger, I don't think I had many thoughts about the end of my life. Now that I'm 60, and after having experienced the deaths of so many family members and friends, I can't say I think of it constantly, but I'm aware of it almost every day. We don't get to choose, any more than we get to choose what illnesses afflict our bodies.
In my early teens, I used to think to myself, "I'm never getting cramps." But then in my 20's, I had pretty miserable cramps. In my 20's, I used to say to myself, "I'm never having back problems." Ah, the arrogance and ignorance of youth. I've had back problems galore, especially for the last 30 years.
Last year, I had some blood work done, and it showed that I had metabolic syndrome, which is the precursor to diabetes. I had always thought, "I'm never going to have diabetes," as if it were something I could will away from myself. My doctor told me that I could prevent it from happening if I lost weight and exercised more. That pronouncement was the only thing that made me determined to lose weight, something I hadn't even tried to do seriously since 2008.
I've never enjoyed cooking very much. In fact, for most of my married life, my husband has done the greater part of the cooking in our home. Then I retired, and although I had never been a fan of cooking shows, I started watching The Chew. I'd print out those recipes from their website, go shopping for all the ingredients, and cook up a storm. I wasn't worried about my weight. I figured, "Hey, life is short, and I'm going to enjoy myself!"
My cardiologist had a fit when he saw my cholesterol numbers. I told him I was retired and cooking a lot now, and he said, "I bet you're watching those cooking shows and using butter." I emphatically said, "Yes!"
Even with two surgeries to repair the torn meniscus in each knee, I didn't lose weight. Even when the doctor grabbed at the area above my knee and said, "That's fat!" I wasn't motivated to lose weight.
But when my doctor told me I was pre-diabetic, that did it for me, so in the past three months, I've lost 35 pounds. And yet, I still think about the end of my life.
The point is, I guess, it doesn't do a lot of good to wonder what it will be that takes us out of this life. We live our lives the best we can. I like the saying by John Wesley, "Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." That doesn't mean I live my life as a Pollyanna, without any character flaws. I have many flaws, I assure you. And I've grown very cautious in my older age. But I still hope to have adventures.
Yesterday, I spent about five hours weeding the herb garden in my back yard. My knees don't work as well as they used to, and and so I sat on my little rolling garden caddy, to be closer to the ground. I pulled and hacked and cut until I could barely move. I didn't realize how long I'd been at the task until I came inside and saw the clock. I was so enervated, I could hardly make it through my shower without collapsing.
That got me thinking, as it usually does after these marathon gardening sessions, about how long I'd be able to keep up my gardens. Would I still be able to do this in five years, ten years, or even next year? I have no clue, but I will keep on going as long as I'm able, and try not to think about the end of my life too much...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)