The Thinker, redone as Cat

I take critter pictures all the time, which mostly results in lots of pictures of absolute crap. Occasionally, I get a good one.

I think that Frannie may have been Rodin's model, in a previous life of course.

We have a theory here that cats have multiple names, which sort of name varies from pet to pet.

Frannie's "call name" is Francesca. Her "Family Name" is Frannie or Fan-Fan. Her superhero name is FanToes, and her super hero power is detecting mice in the chimny.

Holy Crap!

So Monday night, after I've been working with King George Animal Rescue League all weekend, I get an e-mail about 10:00 pm (Not a phone call at a reasonable time of the night) saying that my dog might be put down if I don't get to the shelter on Tuesday to pick him up. No one to phone for additional info.


The roommate and I scrambled around on Tuesday, made arrangements to be there at 2:00. When I finally got hold of someone from KGARL, she said that she was the person who normally pulled the dogs for adoption outside the county, but that she was away all day, and she'd try to get someone there by 2:00. She wasn't sure who, but she'd try.


We go there at 2:00 and received a phone call from the woman who was going to meet us there. She was friendly and nice, as were the animal control officers. We paid our money, snagged our dog and ran.


He was a relatively good dog all the way home, he wanted to watch out the front of the car while we drove, but moved when he was told, and occasionally delivered little doggy kisses.


When we got home, we wandered around the backyard for a few minutes, he was calmish, so I let him off the leash. On a note to anyone adopting a dog, never, ever let the dog off the leash, even in an enclosed space, until you and he both know that he lives here now.


The dog next door barked, the heat pump kicked in and a truck backfired out across the back forty, and the dog started running. The yard is covered in leaves, and when we tried to catch him it made a big crunching noise, and he thought that whoever we were, we probably ate dogs.


He ran for two hours. I called KGARL and left a message begging for help. Their response was to send an e-mail to a third party saying I sounded like I needed some assistance. No One responded on the phone, and it was two days before anyone responded by e-mail. I can't tell you how abandoned we felt by the people who had promised to devote their resources to making the dog adoption work.

I called the vet in tears, asking if they had any advice. One of the vet techs, Heather, an angel sent by God, actually came to the house. We tried every trick in the book, and none of them worked. With the Vet's permission, we tranquilized some food. He ate, he calmed, he was caught. (I wonder what that looks like in Latin?) By the time we caught him he had been running for a solid six hours. Inside, he paniced in the crate. It was a long horrible night.

I called in "sick of the dog" to work the next day, as did the roommate. We got an appointment at the vet for that afternoon and hunkered down for the day. He picked a spot in the living room, in front of the bookcase, behind the magazine rack and settled in. He avoided the cats studiously. He ate with an absolutely scary level of dedication. He successfully took care of business outside, which was promising.

We took him to the vet, and they gave him all his shots and did the initial exam. He was Heartworm Negative. He had no internal parasites. It's a tiny miracle, really. They gave us the Stray Discount and we left him there overnight so they could neuter him the next day.

That night, there was sleeping, and a lot of it, since we didn't know how he was going to be when he came home.

When we picked him up from the vet, he was a little drugged, so I decided to let him stay in the bedroom instead of his crate. No noise, no fuss, he put his head under the bed, gave a great sigh of relief and went to sleep. Other than waking me up every two hours to make sure everything was OK, he was FANTASTIC.

I finally got hold of the animal behaviorist from KGARL, who gave me some outstanding advice and support for getting him used to his crate. Unfortunately, one of the pieces of advice was to try him on a "marrow-bone" to see if the activity would help him be calm. He attacked Tabby over the bone. Bone taken away, durable resources will be with-held until we can provde some additional training.

It's been three weeks, all of it non-stop action. The animal behaviorist from KGARL has provided advice and support and has been utterly invaluable. He still doesn't quite get the potty outside thing, but it's coming along. We've been able to transition him to a tether and then to complete freedom in the backyard, and he trots right inside when we come in. He's still good with the cats, and he's learned to sit, lie down and "leave it" when presented with his dinner (so we can get our hands out of the way before the feeding frenzy begins.) He takes treats without trying to remove fingers. He walks loose-leash with a minor amount of prompting, and will cheerfully potty along the route. He won't cheerfully potty in the backyard, but I guess we'll get there.


He had his first bath on Sunday a week ago, and was an angel.

We had a minor setback last Tuesday, when Tabby went to the vet to have a mass removed. Malachi shredded his blankets and urinated on everything. A different animal behaviorist says that he did that thinking that he had lost his pack, and the shredding and urination is a way to help his pack find him again. He tears up his bankets and urinates if left alone in his create for any length of time, but hopefully he'll grow out of it as he gets more secure.

We had a foot of snow and he LOVES to play in it. He rolls and runs and plays with Tabby!!

Now we're mostly caught up, I'll try to stay a little more current.

Tabitha has been very lonely being an only dog, and two months of no dog is more than I can stand, so we've been looking at Petfinder to see what happens. I indicated that I was interested in an Extra-Large Male dog. We usually get Rottweilers, Mastiffs and Great Danes, and I really wanted something fluffy, so we just kept looking. One day, we saw:


Extra-Large, Male and Fluffy. Looks NOTHING like Zachary, except. . . He reminds me of him when we first got him. A little scared and confused, uncertain and afraid.

King George Animal Control is not a no-kill shelter. Mostly in places like that puppies and small dogs get adopted pretty quick, the larger, older dogs are not adopted quickly, sometimes they aren't adopted at all.

I called and spoke to a really terrifc animal control officer (whose name I wish I could remember) who told me that since Mr. Shepard Mix was unneutered, I couldn't adopt him directly from the shelter. He told me to call King George Animal Rescue League, who could "pull" the dog for me and let me adopt from them. I called and left a message, and received a phone call about an hour later from Ms. Victoria Tate. (In my opinion, Ms. Tate deserves an award, a large cash reward. She's fantastic.)

Ms. Victoria told me to fill out an application and encouraged me to come up and meet Mr. Shepard Mix. She told me that bringing Tabby along was great and she sent me pictures, and a glowing recommendation for the dog.

Pictures:





He looks like a dog version of MorGeorge (whose pictures are generally captioned "What?" )

I drove up with Tabitha, and left her in the car. Inside they took me back to the kennel area and let me see him. The noise level was unreal. There are only about a dozen kennels, and every dog in the place was barking it's head off, except for Mr. Mix. He was really nervous, but one of the dog walkers (The two I met were really, really nice and the girl I was working with was so patient and so nice to me and Mr. Mix. Wonderful people.)

We went outside on a leash, no pulling, a little pacing, but I'd put that down to nerves generated by his environment. He let the young lady cut some of the mats off from around his ears, and while fearful, was not snappy or growly. A good sign.

I got Tabitha out of the car and let them meet. There was some posturing, and a little growling, but ten minutes later they were fine. I took him back in and walked him through the room with the cat kennels, where he tried to escape as soon as one of them growled at him. I'm going to take that as a positive sign.

The lady from KGARL called ten seconds after I got up this morning, so I talked to her, enjoyed our conversation, and I have no idea what her name is. My apologies. She wants pictures of the fenced back yard,so I thought you guys might like to see them too:

This is across the back deck to the gate


This is across the back yard from one corner to the other. It's a pretty good size, not huge, but not postage stamp either

This is from the middle of the back down to the front corner

Here's the crate room. Tabby's is the small one on the left, he'll have the Ginormous one on the right. We usually keep memory foam mattresses in them, covered with cheap blankets. I would expect we'll just give him blankets the first day so he doesn't eat the memory foam. Then if that works, he can have a comfy bed for the day.

And lastly, his comfy bed in the bedroom where he will eventually spend his nights.

I really am trying to be more regular with this.

We were on the Story of Pendergast when last we met . . . .


So, Mr Dignified showed up and was cured of what we believe to be Bartonella, a bacterial infection. Minor miracle, seriously.

He had no interest in the other kitties, and no interest in petting or lap time. He didn't play. I have a kitty hammock on the table and he spent most of his time there. I never heard him purr. About two months ago, he started pitching a screaming hissy fit when I put him in the bedroom at night. After three consecutive evenings spent under the bed growling, I decided to let him stay out and about at night. I really started thinking that I'd made a mistake and he was never going to adjust or be happy here.



I talked to the roommate, who reminded me that our goal was not to adopt a lapcat, but to give him a life outside of a crate. In this we have been successful, and if he never decides to be part of the family as a whole, he's still better off with windows and kitty cups instead of most of his time in a crate.

OK. Attitude adjusted.

Fast forward a couple of months. He has become more and more "sociable", sitting out in the living room, separate and aloof, but still, out with the rest of the crew. Sometimes he sits on the couch. (!) He plays with the cat teaser, and has switched over to wet food from dry. I can't comb him, and God help whoever tries to trim his nails, but he greets me at the door, and meows if you talk to him. Go figure.

Here's a more current picture or two. Isn't he beautiful?

I got to work today, and discovered that while I had made it to work, my laptop had not. Con permisso of El Jefe, I worked from home today.

I love where I work, and I really like the people I work with. But some days, working without the noise and the constant interruptions is really, really nice. I feel like I got about a ton of stuff done, and it was peaceful. Pendergast supervised from the kitty-cup on the table and the rest of the kitties visited from time to time. (Gracie tried to use my laptop to send an e-mail when my back was turned, but I caught it, and her, in time.)

I forgot that you guys have never met Pendergast. This is a picture of the dude on arrival.

We buy food from a lady (to be known henceforward as "K") that also runs a rescue organization for cats. I've pretty much been able to harden my will and resist all the cats who need a good home, but she had this stunning Flame Point Himalayan who looked sad. All the time. He wasn't overly outgoing, but he'd purr if you picked him up and cuddled him. His previous owners had divorced and abandoned their pets in the process. K wound up with a pure-bred Himalayan, and NO ONE WOULD TAKE HIM. (?)

Now, I already had four cats of my own, and the roommate has two more, not to mention Zach the DinoDog and Tabitha. My house is not that big people, there's No More Room. However, sad was wearing me down, (like the steady drip-drip-drip of chinese water torture.)

I asked about the adoption policy, hoping that it was unreasonable, or that the adoption fee was unrealistic. K said I could have him at half the regular rate, he'd been there a year, he was neutered when she got him, and she knew he'd be in for the good life here. *sigh*

I checked with the roommate, hoping for "are you out of your flipping mind?" and I got "Poor Kitty. He'd be so much happier here." *sigh*

The next time I went to buy food he curled up in my lap and purred. It was pretty much all over at that point. I brought him home, installed him in the back room and set to work integrating him into the home.

He had what I thought was the worst case of shelter cold in the history of cats. We had to wipe his little nose constantly (Puffs with Aloe, highly recommended, cat approved.) He also had an on-going ear infection that K had been battling since he arrived. No ear drops solved the problem and no amount of amoxycilin was helping that cold. One of our vets gave me a pamphlet that discussed Bartonella. There was a picture inside that looked Just Like Him, dripping snot, boogies, the whole nine yards. The treatment was three weeks of Zithromax. (Cats do not like Zithromax.) However, at the end of the three weeks, all the snot was gone, all the boogies were gone and most of the ear infection was gone. It's like a miracle.

(Continued Tomorrow, Dinner's ready)

So, Do you keep being Mom after your kid is gone?

About a month ago, Zachary developed cardiomyopathy followed in close proximity by an acute case of congestive heart failure. He seemed fine on Saturday, got sick on Sunday, went to the vet on Monday where he seemed to have a chest cold, so they prescribed Doxycycline. On Thursday, he passed out when I was getting ready to take everyone out to potty. They did a chest x-ray and it showed him being full of fluid, and his heart was HUGE and misshapen. We scheduled him for a visit to a cardiologist, and the vet gave him a big dose of lasix, to try and get some of the fluid off. I stayed home and he deteriorated mentally and physically all day. God love the vet, she was on the phone with me off and on all day. She was voting for taking him to the emergency center for a chest tap, but I honestly can't believe that he would have made it. After losing a cat at another emergency center to the same disease, all I could think of was him dying in that place without anyone there who loved him. I called the rommate and she came home and we had the vet put him down.

This just reeks. I no longer wish to be the responsible adult.

Pumpkins

We're back!

Comments have been enabled, please be nice.

The Roommate teaches Pre-school and it's pretty much obligatory that Pumpkins Be Carved. To carve one, you have to have one first. When she brought it home the cats sniffed it and said "Eh, it's what food eats".

Zachary kept sniffing it and smacking it to make it roll, and trying to carry it by the stem.

Once it was opened up, he pretty much lost interest, after an inital snort of it's interior to see what it was made of.

Then Tabby ate it's guts so it would be well and truly dead.

This is more extended family.

MorGeorge is about two. He was also obtained from a local rescue organization. While the roommate would like to believe that he is a Maine Coon, he shares LOTS of traits with Mr. Guido, who is probably half persian.

MorGeorge is named MorGeorge because The Roommate wanted to name him Lancelot or Percival, which I think hangs a tiny sign around his neck saying "Hit Me". I wanted to name him George, so we could "hug him and squeeze him and call him George" (Go watch some Bugs Bunny cartoons if you didn't catch that reference). We were at an impasse. We went to dinner with some friends and Mrs. Friend said " all Black Cats are named Mor something. Mordred, Morgana, etc." And, so, the idea being odd enough to suit us both, he was christened MorGeorge, also called Morgie for short.

Sadly, he is so astonishingly stupid, he has never learned his name.

On the other hand, he is also thoroughly sweet. Not in a sacchrine sort of way, but in a good tempered, easy-going sort of way.

He also cannot meow. Something happened to his little vocal cords before he got to us and he whispers. Kheh. Khhew. PKheh!

He hates, detests, loathes and fears Francesca (with good reason) and has begun making these odd Kazoo noises when he's trying to warn her off.

He is also an Excellent Mouser. (Many thanks to Critter Control for fixing it so he no longer exercises that ability inside my home.)

Some of the extended Family

This is Gracie. Gracie belongs to the Roommate. She is about five years old, and was adopted from a local rescue organization.

Gracie is a Rumpie Manx, and looks like she could be a pure bred most days. She's about six pounds, and can jump like a bunny.

Since Gracie can slip through the rails on the deck, she has to be harnessed and leashed before venturing into the great outdoors.

Gracie loves people, and hates every other living thing in the house. They reciprocate. This makes life both difficult and interesting, in a slightly unpredictable way.

So how does one sit down to write everyday, or even weekly? I have no doubt that what I have to say in interesting to me, but why would anyone else want to see it? I read several blogs regularly, and still have no idea how to make this a success.

Off we go.

I am middle-aged, with more than a little spread. I have a dog, (My divorce settlement), a smallish house, (My hard effort and years of eating cheap mac~n~cheese and Beenie~Weenies), 4 cats, (My complete inability to say no to desperation), A New/Used Dodge Magnum (My car accident, we can discuss that some other time) and a profound sense of the ridiculous.

I have good co-workers and a job I enjoy, and a fairly long commute, but a quiet one.

I have Parents and a Brother who love me, I have two nephews and a niece who love me, and friends who love me.

I am in search of a new church home, and a diet plan I can stick to. And a personal trainer who's just starting out and needs a before and after project. (That'd do it.)

Let me introduce you to the immediate, furry family:

This is Zachary Scott. He is about Nine years old now. I got him pre-divorce, when he was just under a year and a half old, (he weighed ninety pounds and I thought he surely couldn't get any bigger. Boy was I wrong.) He was an abused rescue and continues to have issues. He understands that I'm the Alpha of our tiny little pack, but thinks that we are defined in terms of Alpha Human vs. Alpha Dog, which would be him.

My job is to provide Food, Love and structure.

His job is to keep everyone in line, cats, dogs, complete strangers.

This is Guido Golden Bollocks. He is around Eight Years Old. He was five months old when I got him, and I didn't choose him, He chose me. (That's another good story for later) He was neutered before I brought him home, but came equipped with a very nice imaginary set made of brass, if you get my drift.

Mr. Guido believes that he is the ultimate center of the universe, being descended from palace cats who were worshipped.

I'm pretty sure that Mr. Guido is a republican, because he believes in Peace through War. If there's a fight, or lots of noise, Mr. Gui will put the beat down on all parties involved (Cat, Dog or People) until the fuss ceases.

Christopher Thomas. Chris-Chris is a rumpy Manx. He's four'ish, he's adopted from a local rescue group. He has some issues with his hips, most likely because of being a rumpy manx.

He has solid black fur that feels like silk. He has never met anyone he doesn't like.

When Christopher is in he wants OUT! When he is out he wants IN!

Miss Charity. Also know as Cherry-Bounce. She's sweet and loves everything and everyone, including Zach. Sometimes she cleans his ears for him.

She is a Diva, who knows that everyone loves her and wants to shower her with attention and catnip mice.

She would like to be an evil overlord, but lacks the necessary jobs skills

The latest arrival is Francesca, AKA Fan-Fan. She was out in the middle of the street and came home with me one very cold night after I walked the dogs.

She had an ear infection, worms, ear mites and no meat on her at all. She's fattened up quite nicely, and if you open the door to ask her if she wants out, she gapes at you in astonishment and turns around to go the other way.