From cats to dogs

 Never mind that the Chinese calendar says this is the Year of the Monkey.

Livestock and Projects

      I glanced over the kitchen sink last night and saw movement below the window.

Caught between a litter box and a leash

We’ve been mired in a quandary here for weeks, asking ourselves – should we pull our feet out of our big metaphorical boots into the sloppy world of risk and commitment?

Going Cold Turkey

Last fall we said a final goodbye to Satchel, our eighteen-year-old black cat. He was arguably one of our favorite pets, more of a dog in a cat suit than anything else. He was certainly the only cat we’d ever had who would play fetch. 

          We are now in unfamiliar territory – the land of the petless. Since my husband tends to stay rooted in his recliner, there is now no one to run to the door when I return home. My clothes are strangely fur-free, and the twin odors of cat litter and Friskies tuna no longer waft through the house. When I hear an odd noise I actually have to pay attention instead of dismissing it as my sixteen-pound cat thumping around upstairs. 

          Now when I visit friends with pets, they probably wonder why they’ve bothered to invite me at all since their animals get more attention than they do. Molly, the giant Newfoundland; Shultzie, the miniature dachsound; Blue, my son’s skittish cat – whoever they are – big or small – as long there’s fur, when I leave they’re a bit worse for the wear. Most rewarding of all are my daughter’s cats, Marvin and Dusty, who bear a strong resemblance to the cat in the Peanuts cartoon. They drape themselves over you like so much Spanish moss. 

          We had planned to swoop into the local animal shelter this spring and bring two more cats home to what is unquestionably Cat Heaven. However, we will likely be away for some of next year, beginning with a two to three-day road trip.

     I do recall seeing other cars with a cat stretched below the back

window dozing blissfully, but the more likely scenarios for us are an animal ricocheting around the vehicle like a furry icon in a video game and/or two people with clenched jaws, whose faces match their gray hair, the result of being trapped in a car with the unending complaints – and emissions – of an unhappy pet in a carrier. 

          So now I’m spending way too much time watching cat videos, I wait anxiously for news about Albert at Going Gently http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/ (don't even get me started on Winnie), I melt at pictures of Eli at Henny Penny Lane http://hennypennylane.blogspot.com/, I look forward to what Chance is up to at Far Side of Fifty http://farsideoffifty.blogspot.com/ , and of course I've hit the motherload at Knatolee's World http://knatolee.blogspot.com/ , where she's apparently preparing to build an ark. 
        Meanwhile, the moles have turned the front lawn into their own personal Disneyworld, and the chipmunks in the yard are closing in, now that my mighty hunters are gone.

Saga of Satchel

                     

Words for Wednesday

            

  Is a writing prompt that can be found at

      

    Under the Porchlight

                      http://ramblingsoftheterminallyaging.blogspot.com/

     I’m a little late, but how could I resist this week’s words, containing as they do the name of a favorite cat?

Minute, aggrieved, instantaneous, burlap, satchel, purloined

(The true story of Satchel the cat.)

Empty laps, absent purrs had left us aggrieved

How could we solve this, could it ever be relieved?

It had been many months without creatures hirsute

And the places cats filled in our hearts not minute.

To the shelter we sallied, the hall filled with mews

To a cage in the corner, a source that would soothe.

In a nest of brown burlap, dark face and bright eyes.

Bond instantaneous, to my arms he did fly.

My heart was purloined as I held him that day

His bunkmate came with him, couldn’t leave him to stay.

For Satchel and Sidney, fresh air and soft laps

For us, years of contentment, just call us cat saps.

R.I.P.

Satchel

1997 - 2014

Bumps, Bums, and Bugs

Yesterday was less about the utopia of being retired and more about the indignities that can occur in the course of a perfectly ordinary day.

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning. The universal day of sleeping in. Everywhere people are having a good scratch, a small snore, and turning over for another hour’s sleep.

Not here.

Sad Eyes II

  

   As you may recall, our neighborhood had a small issue yesterday. A cat has been wandering around for a few days, bedraggled and shy, wearing a flea collar

Sad Eyes

After a week of vacation followed by three days filled with obligations, I had promised myself that today would be set aside to work on my long-neglected book.

Why Life Would Be Boring Without Pets

Any pet owner who's paying attention can tell you that each animal has his own personality and quirks.

Impromptu Visit

   Any lingering doubts about Satchel’s keen instincts have been laid to rest. They’re gone, kaput, fini. Not only is he deaf to all but the loudest door slam, his sense of smell is questionable, too.

Creatures and Culture

We live not even a half mile from the center of town, but we do have our share of woods and sometimes it does feel a bit as though nature is closing in around here.

Sticks and Stones

Sunday definitely brought a break in our routine as we headed for the emergency room, Mr. Welcome Words folded into six foot three of agony.

Geriatric Gato

(Big doings! This is my 100th post!)

I’m living in Backwards Land.

Unlike most women who spend much of their life campaigning for lowered toilet seats, I patrol my house putting them up.

Satchel's preferred position nowadays 

My cat Satchel is now seventeen years old and one of the side effects of his advanced years is a raging thirst. He’s on medication, which helps to some degree, but his deep naps are still interrupted by a need to find the nearest water bowl.

  We've accommodated him with water bowls by his food, on the porch, outside.



    They're everywhere.

One more water bowl

In spite of this, he must feel age has its privileges, and will sit by the toilet calling me loudly until I raise the seat.

For my part, I’m amazed he can climb that high. As it is, I have an old ottoman next to my bed so he won’t break a brittle old bone jumping up or down. This works well except for my own midnight runs to the toilet when in the fog of sleep I forget that it’s there and almost die in the night falling over it.

Once a hunter who brought home everything but a live deer, he’s less sure of himself now, perhaps due to failing eyesight or hearing. When I’m home, he’s constantly stalking me, waiting for me to provide a lap. If I move to another room, he’ll wander through the house calling until he finds me. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to sit and read without having a tail or furry arm blocking the print. Much of my time at the computer is spent removing his paw from the space bar.

In his prime he was so hefty that visitors to our neighbors have mistaken him on more than one occasion for a bear cub. 

I’ve often wondered if he’s really a dog in a cat suit. 

As a teenager he would play fetch, retrieving tin foil balls and bringing them back and dropping them at our feet. And he’s always been friendly, coming over to join in when we stood in the road chatting with neighbors. On one occasion I looked up from my magazine out on the deck to see him chase away a red fox. The fox stopped on the edge of our property and looked back at us and Satchel went after him, only stopping when it disappeared in the neighbor’s shrubbery.

He’s what, ninetyfive? He's a sweet old cat. But I still remember him as the little black kitten that, unlike the others mewing shyly at the shelter, jumped right out of his cage into my arms seventeen years ago. 

Springtime for Satchel

I think most of us will agree it's been a long winter. 
Maybe longer for some. 

Gato Blades

    Below is my entry for this week's Five Sentence Fiction. 

http://lilliemcferrin.com/

The topic was 'blades'. 

      He entered the room, desire in his predatory eyes.