Cats – Reflectionary

Dec 18, 2010

PussPuss

In a stack of cages at the Animal Refuge League, on the second row from the bottom, which was just about eye level for a five-and-a-half-year-old boy, there was a little cat. She had white legs and a white face and undercarriage, but the top of her head and her back and her tail were brown tiger-colored. Little Snowman, on a hunt for the right cat, picked her out after serious deliberations. We brought her home the next day, along with an older grey cat chosen by Young #1 Son.

And so we began our lives at the beginning of my single motherhood, a young mom, with three kids and two cats, the grey man cat Nicky and frail little PussPuss, who required several weeks of antibiotics and hand-feeding, deep care from Snowman and his mama. Very Little Light Princess, the same age as the little kitty, somehow got the idea that you made a cat meow by pulling on her tail. As soon as Puss felt better, VLLP learned otherwise.

We've been together for a long time. PussPuss was the pilot cat, the one following us up and down the block when we went for a walk, waiting for us at the corner if we went to the 7-11 or walked the children to elementary school, willing to sit on a neighbor's front steps while we sold Girl Scout cookies or wrapping paper or stopped in for a short visit.

She loved to be outside, and for many years had a regular route around the neighborhood, one that made her well-known. She left enough collars under neighbors' shrubs that we gave up trying to make her wear one. It was only in the past few winters that she decided snow was too much for her and spent the winter almost entirely inside.

She found the dogs worrisome as a duo, but came to love Sam after Molly's death.

She maintained a meticulous appearance, all that white fur shining, and a big part of that was rolling in the dirt, something we could never understand.

After we got her strong and healthy back in 1996, she was never sick a day in her life, though she clearly grieved for other animals who passed through our household. When she seemed low after Sam's death, I did not immediately suspect physical illness, but a couple of weeks ago at her check-up, the vet found a mass. A couple of days ago, she really sank, and yesterday we had to bid her farewell.

15-and-a-half is young for a person and oldish for a cat, especially a cat who started life as a sickly stray. It's a hard loss for us because it's one more on top of others, and because Puss had a sort of independent character that gave way to being more affectionate in the last couple of years. She sat in laps and slept with LP. And on her last visit to the vet, even though we didn't realize it would be the last, she came out of the carrier and nuzzled me lovingly.

My only consolation, after having our last old cat wander off never to be found, is in knowing we gave her a quiet end.

Farewell, PussPuss, faithful pilot cat. We love you.

Filed Under: Cats, Grief · Tagged: Grief

Nov 4, 2010

Time to Grieve

By Martha · 16 Comments

A friend shared this quote from Alban's magazine, Congregations:

"We must support those who are grieving and give them sufficient time to grieve. To shortchange grief is to rush people to a false sense of acceptance which diminishes their ability to accept the reality and finality of the loss and blocks their capacity to attach anew."

We have two cats, Puss Puss and Baby, both 15 years old, just like LP. (Yes, I am living with three 15-year-old girls now.)

Baby, once a mighty mouse huntress, is The Cat Who Lives Upstairs, and who resents anyone else's demands on my time and space. She had a lot to put up with when Sam started sleeping with us, even though I have a ridiculously large bed for one person. Sam took up as much space as he could, and I did not mind a bit. Every night I would lie there with my hand placed gently on the closest part of him, aware of his breathing and his restlessness and for some time each night, his peaceful rest. Baby would circle my head, warily, eventually finding a place to land, away from Sam. But on the last few nights of his life, she got as close to him as she could. Now she is downstairs far more than she has been in years, and I'm not sure she's pleased about it.

Puss Puss is our Cat Who Patrols the Neighborhood. She also has exhibited grief for other pets in our family who died. I remember after Pepper, the best big kitten ever, was hit by a car in 1998, Puss Puss went into a decline. When Molly left us, Puss Puss seemed to be physically sick, but the vet could find nothing wrong. And this week she is grieving again, seems depressed, and shows little interest in going outside. She's spending the day curled up in a corner of the couch, though this evening she's made a move to use my Kindle as a pillow.

We're all like this: unsettled, unhappy, uncertain. I turn down the street and sigh for Sam. At 7 a.m. and 5 p.m. I want to fix his dinner. Even in my office, new though it is, I'm wistful thinking of the days he was lying on the floor next to me.

I'm taking my time with it.

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Grief · Tagged: Grief

Oct 11, 2009

Baby, the Old Lady Cat

By Martha · 16 Comments

We have two old lady cats at our house, both about 14 years old. One, Puss Puss, got the following review from the vet at her visit last spring: "Doesn't look a day over 3!"

But Baby, who is actually a little younger, is starting to show signs of her age. A cat who used to go in and out all the time, she rarely ventures out the door now, and when she did the other day, she couldn't seem to figure out how to get back in again, as if the timing of coming to the door had gotten beyond her.

I remember watching Nicky, our Old Man Cat, begin to fade. Even when the vet said nothing was the matter with him, I could see him thinning out, not so much literally as energetically.

Now Baby is the cat who over the years has created a number of headaches with her indoor behaviors. We've purchased feline Valium and Feliway (the pheromone stuff you plug into the wall) and moved a litter box into the master bedroom, which is probably what solved some of the problems in the end.

She's a little old lady cat, eight pounds of possessive purrs. She sleeps as close as she can get to me, drinks my water, walks around my head when I'm sitting on the sofa and is sure she can help with my knitting.

As she sat in my lap yesterday, I noticed some unaccustomed matting of her fur. I wondered if she had injured herself and tried to gently comb the area.

Baby felt it only appropriate to put her teeth on me in response.

Twice.

I never found an injury and in fact noted there were quite a few areas of concern; I realized she must not be grooming herself as well as she used to do. Really, I can't remember seeing her do much grooming recently.

This afternoon I consulted Google and concluded that this must be part of the aging process. Matted fur feels uncomfortable, so we're going to have to help her with her grooming. She's not going to love that, I fear.

Readers, if you have experience grooming older cats or can recommend a grooming tool, I would appreciate your wisdom.

Filed Under: Cats ·

Jun 12, 2009

This Dog Belongs to Puss Puss

By Martha · 6 Comments

Tonight I took Sam out for a walk, but he really didn't want to leave our street. We ambled rather aimlessly to the dead end, then came back on the opposite side.

Soon I noticed Puss Puss keeping an eye on us from a neighbor's yard. She looked rather like she wanted to join us, but first a car left our street and then another arrived, and you don't get to be a 14-year-old Lady Cat Who Goes Outside without understanding to keep out of the traffic.

But it subsided, and she came across the curb and began to pad toward us.

Sam, busy sniffing messages on the neighbor cat's shrubs, did not notice her. When she seemed hesitant to come all the way, I turned him toward home, where Puss Puss met us in the driveway. She walked right over to Sam, which is unusual, and they sniffed each other, nearly touching noses, which is highly unusual. Then she walked under him–he is a big fellow, after all–and to my amazement, she rubbed her head against his front leg.

Yes, I believe she claimed him as her very own.

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Chez Songbird ·

May 27, 2009

In Which Our Heroine Blocks a Sweater

By Martha · 3 Comments

I've had the pieces of LP's "Christmas" sweater carefully tucked away in a see-through zipper bag acquired on a trip to the Gulf Coast of those holidays ago. I began the project early last summer, knowing that given my hands I might not be able to get it done if I waited until fall. She didn't like her most recent Christmas sweater; it's in my bottom drawer, and I still feel tempted to weep when I see it there, knowing how much effort went into it. But I understand the problem she had with it. And I think perhaps I should have blocked it.

I had never made a sweater for a young lady before. Oh, years ago, I made a sweater for myself, but I did not have the same standards for fit that certain middle school girls do, and I don't think I had ever heard of blocking, that means for making your knitting look the way it really ought to look. To block a sweater, you soak the pieces in a warm water bath, gently squeeze out the water, and then dry the pieces flat before assembling. For some reason this sounded daunting to me. What if I ruined the hand-washable wool! (By hand-squeezing it. Yes. I know it sounds silly.)

A great deal of effort goes into a sweater. This sweater, a tunic, has five pieces: a front, a back, two sleeves and an i-cord belt sort of thing. Blocking allows the knitter to be sure the pieces really match up in length and breadth, to encourage the yarn in a certain direction. The tunic has darts, and I am using blocking to encourage those little tucks in the pattern to NOT look like little holes!

Which is to say, I'm finally blocking it. The dining room table cleared off, the weather dry and cool, enough towels clean that half a dozen can be spared, the pieces lie flat and drying gently. Influenced by Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World to practice reverence as a kind of focused attention, I blocked both a scarf and the sweater at lunchtime yesterday. (So far, so good, though the darts continue to be a problem and that piece may be going back into the water.)

In the past, I've blocked socks on the dining room table, and I've walked off and left them there, because my cats just didn't go into that room, a favorite of the dogs. So it took me by surprise when Baby followed me in on an inspection tour and, before I realized what she meant to do, took a walk across the pieces.

When did the dining room become a cat-friendly zone?

Well, Sam does not chase cats (much), and the cats have grown bolder and bolder in the months since Molly died.

As I look back over the past year at 1FP, I see us making similar efforts and living through our own changes. We've tried things that felt new and perhaps challenging. We've gone back to the drawing board. And we've learned that without some people in the church family, the dynamics change in unexpected ways, ways that open possibilities for some of us while reminding others of their losses.

LP will, I hope, wear this sweater, and I will move on to other projects. I'm finishing a necktie, and have two pairs of socks on the needles. 1FP will continue into the next phase of a transition when I go, and this is the hard part of Interim Ministry. The reports I get on how their sweater looks will be second hand, at best. But if the process has been reverent, and it has for me, I must let them wear it and trust the fit.

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Interim Ministry, Knit Without Ceasing · Tagged: Knit Without Ceasing

May 17, 2009

Making Home

By Martha · 12 Comments

Sam and I participated in the Arthritis Walk yesterday (many thanks to those who donated!), walking the 3 mile course slower than some people but faster than others, but mostly, by ourselves. We stopped several times so that he might be petted and admired by strangers. We both admit that it’s been a while since we walked three miles all at once, so we paced ourselves. And even with that, Sam dragged behind me at the end.

Later in the day, we went to 1PF to drop in at the Spring Sale. I picked up some white/purple violets. I love violets. We bought some purple violets at a plant sale at Light Princess’ Montessori School many years ago (8 or 9?), and they inhabit various corners and create interesting borders in our backyard, far from the places they began. I’m going to plant the white/purple ones in front and look forward to seeing where they will travel.

We’ve lived in this house for almost eleven years. I moved in with children ages 12, 7 and almost 3, along with two cats, ages 6 and almost 3, and we soon added another cat to the family. I think I was a little bit of a crazy cat lady at that point in my life. Unemployed, trying to go to seminary and take care of the kids, what made me think I could manage and maintain TWO pets, let alone three? But there was something about having my own house (possible because my parents had died) and my own life, and I had a determination to create something post-divorce.

I had a desire to make a home.

I didn’t think logically about what might define home. I moved through a process as befits an ENFP, reaching out around me and drawing in what felt right, what seemed needful.

At the time, that included cats. Later I drew in a man, and then two dogs. And as I’ve mentioned recently, the change from a house with three cats, two dogs, two teenage boys, a man, a woman and a young girl to the current cast of mother and daughter with one dog and two old lady cats, well, it’s fairly stunning.

Last night I murmured something about the house seeming unnecessarily large. Light Princess turned on me, “What do you mean?” Her reality does not include the possibility of other living arrangements.

This is home.

Last summer we did some rehab to our swing set in anticipation of young visitors, and after they left I noticed that our neighbors with younger children than mine have already taken theirs down in favor of a carpet of green grass. I’ve noted that their children are never in the yard anymore, while LP strains the swings to their ultimate height capacity almost every day after school. Really, a mother must look away when she turns herself practically upside down and pray she doesn’t get tall enough to have her head graze the ground.

We’ve grown up here, all of us, but it seems that is not quite over.

Pure Luck, far away for at least half this year, may be away for even more of it, as both his car and his laptop appear bound for the boneyard, and he pays cash for everything. We’ve been married almost seven years, and I’m starting to look ahead to the day when no children will be at home, and wondering where we will be and how we will live, but for now, this is home. And perhaps the next phase of growing up is learning not to be a baby about this long absence, to be grateful that he has work in this economy, and so do I.

Which brings me to kittens. You see, there were kittens at the Spring Sale. A church member has three kittens, almost 8 weeks old. They look alike, the three of them, black with a few white wisps, blue eyes from their Siamese grandmother, just precious little creatures. When you hold one in your hand, it bends around you, soft and flexible and full of curious energy.

I’ve said for a long time that when the current generation of old lady cats “retires” I would never have another cat. But apparently, I’m once again attracted to new, young, mewling life. And I think it’s because I feel better. I walked three miles yesterday with more energy than the dog. I’m on half the dose of anti-inflammatory drugs I used to take. I’m sleeping well. I’m happy about my work life. I’m enjoying my dog and my daughter. I’m writing poetry. I feel on the brink of exciting things.

And maybe that’s the lesson of the kitten. Changes are coming. New life is on the horizon. When it stops raining, I’ll plant the violets. If the sun comes out again, the lilacs will soon reach full bloom. When we find a break in the schedule, Pure Luck and I will find a way to see each other. At the other end of a long year, we’ll spend the winter together, making home.

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Rheumatoid Arthritis, The Great Outdoors, The Inner Landscape · Tagged: Mawwige, Rheumatoid Arthritis, The Inner Landscape

Nov 6, 2008

The White House Puppy

By Martha · 16 Comments

If you love dogs, as I do, a high moment in President-Elect Obama's speech had to be his words to his daughters, Malia and Sasha, promising that when they move into the White House, their long-held dream of a puppy will be fulfilled.

Here's a picture of the current occupant, Barney, referred to lovingly in remarks by our current President just this morning. (And apparently Barney is unhappy about leaving…)

Seven years ago, 11-year-old Snowman reminded me that I had promised our family would get a dog when I finished seminary. I pointed out that graduation was still six months away, but he pointed out that such matters deserve some study, and we invested in a book about dog breeds, which he perused exhaustively.

My real plan? To get a rescue dog, of course. Our cats came from the refuge league, surely our dog would, too. I believed in rescuing animals, not buying them. I certainly knew better than to go to the pet store in the mall, having some vague knowledge of puppy mills.

There is no question that the
Obama's puppy search presents an opportunity to educate the public
about the right way to find a dog, whether a purebred or a mutt. If you
want a purebred, go through the national and/or regional breed club for
a list of breeders who meet the club's qualifications for ethical
breeding standards. In the case of a Bernese Mountain Dog, that
included doing certain kinds of testing for inherited health problems. If you want a rescued dog, check out the pups at your local shelter, and ask a lot of questions, including why certain dogs are not placed with certain families. (Chloe, pictured here, is a rescue pup featured on The Daily Puppy.)

In the late winter of 2002, I began visiting the Animal Refuge League, looking for a pup. But the refuge league had NO puppies (due to the
effectiveness of spay/neuter education in Maine) and would not place any of the
other dogs they had with a family that had cats and/or a child under 10. They
knew and liked us from cat adoptions, so it wasn't personal. I'm certain almost
any rescue group would love to place a dog with the new First Family, but
realistically, most rescue groups have standards for the families with whom
they place a dog, and those standards need to apply in this case,
too.

We ended up seeking a Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, and Molly joined our family that spring. I still had not learned how to navigate the world of dog breeders; I did not use a referral program. We brought home a puppy with a long list of physical problems we would later discover, though no one could beat her for joyfulness in living. We couldn't possibly regret having Molly, but I learned a lot about the way to find a dog, the questions to ask, and the support available in the world of purebred dogs.

All over the web, well-meaning dog people have offered up opinions about what kind of dog the Obamas "should" adopt. I hope dog-loving groups and individuals will take into consideration the many
factors the Obama family will be considering as they choose a puppy to take to
the White House and not focus on making their choice for them. The last
thing the dog world needs is a bad match with a little girl's allergies and a
dog who has to be "returned" to rescue.

People are raising their "voices" to swear that there is no such thing as a hypoallergenic dog, but I want to ask for some peace and space for the Obamas.

If a Bichon is the little girls' favorite, please don't accuse them of going Hollywood.

If they really love a labradoodle, let's not have a purebred fit about the fact that they are deliberate mutts, neither labrador nor poodle, okay?

If they go with a nearly hairless Chinese Crested, let's not berate them for having an elitist purebred, agreed? (And if anybody says they're ugly, send them over to talk to me.)

If they bring home a Standard Poodle, don't call them effete, but meditate instead on the idea that the whole family will be tall, athletic and smarter than most of the rest of us.

(And there is no rule that says they have to be, as Light Princess said when younger, "cut into shapes.)

A White House dog must adjust to multiple staff
members, people coming and going, even Secret Service protection. Temperament
and training will be crucial to a happy placement. Molly tells me she would willingly volunteer for this national service if only her coat would not make a child feel ill.

(Sam feels he can better serve at home, although should bad people try to get through the gates, he could certainly bark at them, fiercely. While wagging his tail.)

Finally, the Obama family will be fine on two of the touchiest issues with both breeders and rescuers. At the White House, *someone* is
always at home. And the yard? Definitely fenced-in.

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Children, Dogs · Tagged: Children

May 6, 2008

Full of God’s Creatures

By Martha · 2 Comments

O LORD, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24, NRSV

Last night I got a phone call from a friend in the regional Bernese Mountain Dog Club (or Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, as St. Casserole dubbed them), to check in about planning a picnic for this summer. Yes, I do belong, believe it or not, to a breed club. Two, actually: one regional, one national. It happened because Molly had many orthopedic problems as a puppy, and when I went to the Internet looking for information, I found the clubs.

I had always been a cat person. It came as a great surprise that I could love a dog, and now two dogs, with the abandon and occasional anxiety previously reserved for my children. I expected larger cats. (Yes, I hear you dog people chortling at my foolishness.)

Dogs and cats, and any animal we can love, really love, prove God for me. Oh, there are other things, too. Sunsets, harvest moons, lilacs, daffodils, mountains, the ocean, things so beautiful they couldn't possibly be merely random. And then there are human relationships, with their aggravations and their deep satisfactions, and physical pleasures. Love, and really good sex, and a piece of gooey pepperoni pizza–all these things transcend ordinary reality and make me want to shout, or purr, or wroo-wroo my praises.

Animals, with their determined focus on their own pleasure or their desire to be faithful to us, with their enthusiasm for chasing each other or rolling in something that smells delicious, for curling up next to us when we feel low, for simply being present to us–they are made in God's wisdom.

Yes, even Baby, the cat who brings wildlife indoors, brings some of that wisdom to the fore. She loves me as much as a cat can love a person. She suffers when I turn her out of the room, hoping to sleep. She spends her days contentedly on my bed, rubbing up against anything of mine I don't think to put on a hanger.

If only I spent my days as attentive to God, even when God seems absent…

I will sing to the LORD as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have being.
May my meditation be pleasing to God, for I rejoice in the LORD.
(Psalm 104:33-34)

Filed Under: Bearnaise Sauce Dogs, Cats, Dogs, Psalms · Tagged: Psalms

Apr 22, 2008