On Wednesday morning, I brought a plate of tuna for her, and a cup of coffee for me. I put the tuna just outside the open closet door and sat quietly. She made sad little mewls from time to time, but stayed safely hidden in the closet. Eventually, she popped her head out just enough to eat the tuna (between the sad little meows), while casting sideways glances at me. After she’d eaten, she went back into hiding.

On Wednesday night, I brought her more tuna. And treats. Her favorite is Whiskas Temptations. (Greenies are a distant second.) Again, she emerged from the closet just far enough to eat the treats I’d placed closest to the door. When she didn’t eat the treats I put a little farther away, I picked them up to move them closer to her. Another hiss. I feared this was going to be a long and arduous process. But we have time. And I am learning patience. At least so far as Sophie goes.

Thursday morning, yesterday, I brought her a plate of tuna and again sat with her while I had coffee. She seemed to have calmed down some; the plaintive meows had become soft little mews. But still she would only emerge from the closet just enough to eat her breakfast. I worried that the mobile vet, scheduled to come that afternoon, would be unable to examine her. I imagined scratches and howls and struggling.

I left work early yesterday to meet with Dr. Allen. She is, hands down, the most wonderful veterinarian I have ever known. And she comes to my home so the kitties aren’t traumatized with a car ride and visit to a strange, scary clinic. Dr. Allen has a mobile clinic, of sorts. She has a big truck with a camper, filled with her equipment. If there’s a blood test to be done, or a tissue sample to be examined, she goes out to her truck and does just that, while I wait (impatiently) for the results.

I led Dr. Allen, carrying her examination kit and scale, to the sanctuary room. Sophie, not surprisingly, was hiding in the closet behind a plastic storage bin. As I moved the bin out of the closet, she shot out and made a beeline to the top of the mattress, which was leaning against the wall. (I’d taken the bed apart, at Dr. Allen’s suggestion, so she couldn’t hide beneath it.) She flattened herself against the wall, attempting to make herself invisible. Dr. Allen approached her slowly, and began talking softly to her. The next thing I knew, she was petting Sophie. No hissing! (She truly is a cat whisperer.) She checked her ears for mites. All clear. She looked at her teeth to estimate her age. Sophie is 4 to 5 years old. Amazingly, Sophie sat very still and allowed Dr. Allen to examine her. Things were going much better than I had anticipated.

Next, the goal was to get Sophie onto the scale, and then get a blood sample so we could test her for feline leukemia, feline immunosuppressive virus, and heartworms. Dr. Allen attempted to pick her up from atop the mattress, but she dug her claws firmly into the fabric. Even so, she exhibited no aggression. It was my turn to try. With the slightest bit of resistance, she let me pick her up and seemed to relax in my arms. I put her on the scale where she stayed still long enough to get her weight: 8 pounds 11 ounces. Being smaller and younger than Sadie and Sally, she officially is the baby of the family.

After we weighed her, I picked her up again and sat down on the floor for the most difficult task: obtaining a blood sample. At this point, Sophie was very nervous, but quite docile. I held her close, and she snuggled into me. She attempted to bury her face in my arm, so I placed my hand gently over her eyes so she would have the sensation of hiding. Dr. Allen put the tourniquet on  her front leg and inserted the tiny needle. Sophie remained still. But when Dr. Allen inserted the needle, the vein went flat. We tried both front legs several times, each time the vein collapsing just before the needle went in. Sophie, amazingly, remained still the entire time: nearly twenty minutes. Even so, after numerous attempts, Dr. Allen was unable to get more than just the tiniest bit of blood. She explained that when a kitty goes into fight or flight mode, the peripheral circulation reduces so that all the blood is reserved for vital organs. Sophie was so frightened, she had minimal blood flow to her legs.

So Dr. Allen went to Plan B.

Because Sophie has such long thick fur, Dr. Allen thought she’d have more success shaving a bit off her leg. She went out to her truck to get her electric razor while I held Sophie close in my arms, still hiding her face in my hand. Dr. Allen returned, plugged in the razor, and shaved a small patch of fur off of Sophie’s leg. Amazingly, Sophie registered no reaction and remained still. Dr. Allen made several more attempts on the shaved leg with no luck. She would have to go with the tiny sample she had managed to obtain, and hope it was enough. She wasn’t optimistic. If we didn’t have enough of a sample, I would have to take her to a vet clinic, where they would obtain a sample from her jugular vein, which doesn’t shut down during flight mode. Needless to say, I did not want to subject her to the stress of riding in the car and going to the clinic. Dr. Allen took the tiny sample out to her truck while I sat with Sophie, hoping for the best, but not feeling optimistic.

Feeling anxious, I left Sophie and went outside to wait for the results. My neighbor joined me as we held our breaths. Would she have enough of a sample to do the test? If so, would it be negative?

Dr. Allen bounded out of her truck camper: ”She’s negative!”

Sophie is healthy! She has no ear mites; she has no leukemia, or FIV, or heartworms. The only unknown at this point is whether she has been spayed. Since it is kitten season, and she does not show any signs of estrus, she likely has been.

After the vet visit, I thought Sophie would backtrack, taking days, or perhaps weeks, to come out of her shell, and out of the closet.

Because Sophie has been through so much, I decided she needed a special treat for supper. Since she gets tuna regularly, I’d have to take it up a step: fresh salmon. I bought a large piece and baked it in the oven. My neighbor and I then went up to her room, put the salmon outside the closet door, and sat with her, talking quietly. Sophie ate her salmon, and then went back into hiding in the recesses of the closet. My neighbor and I continued to talk, when much to our surprise, Sophie emerged from the closet. As she walked past me, I gave her a pet. She then went under the dresser, and continued to observe us. We pretended to pay no attention to her, as she sat and watched us. The next thing I knew, my neighbor, who was sitting closest to Sophie, was engaged in a lovefest. Sophie soaked up the petting, purred and drooled, and laid down on the floor snuggled up to my neighbor’s leg.

Sophie is healthy. She’s beginning to feel safe. Soon I shall begin the introductions to her new cat family. Sadie most certainly will remain alpha cat. The question is, who will be number two on the hierarchy: Sally or Sophie? My guess is Sally, but we’ll have to wait and see what they decide.

What I’ve learned over the past two days:

You must remember this

A hiss is just a hiss

Related articles

• And Sophie Makes Three? (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Sophie Comes Home (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Sophie the Stray Cat (But Not For Much Longer) Photo Blog (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• .5 Cat (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Breakthrough! (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)

Until tomorrow.

Related articles

• Sophie Comes Home (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• And Sophie Makes Three? (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)

Elizabeth Alcatt

Today, March 14, is the 155th anniversary of the death of my sister Lizzie. Many of you are familiar with her gentle character, Beth, from my book, Little Women.

My sweet little sister died young, at the age of 23, just a few months before our family moved into the Orchard House. I don’t want to focus too much on death here, so let’s celebrate her life.

The antithesis of me, Lizzie was relatively quiet and very content. She loved music and played the piano often for our family and guests. She also loved kittens! It was so like Lizzie to provide a home to a stray cat wandering around Concord or our native Pennsylvania. So, I am sure she is thrilled that we are now the Alcatts. I’d also like to think that Lizzie’s acts of kindness then paid forward today and helped me find the purrfect home.

Lizzie was happiest at home with our family, her songs, her needlework  and her kittens. She was also a saint about helping our mother with her social work. In fact, we believe Lizzie’s early death was the result of an illness she contracted while we were assisting a family in need. Lizzie contracted a severe case of Scarlet Fever. Though the fever eventually broke, Lizzie never regained her stamina and died in the predawn hours of this day in 1858. I was at her side.

Though she lived a short, simple life, Lizzie lives on in my book, and in Hollywood movies. Little Women was on the Silver Screen three times already. Guess who lucky Lizzie had portray her! Jean Parker in 1939, (Kat-harine Hepburn played me, btw.) Margaret O’Brien in 1949 (June Allycatson was cast as me!) and Claire Danes in 1994 (Winona Ryder and me!!! – though I don’t condone shoplifting.)

I exercised some literary license when I penned Little Women, one of them being that Lizzie lived in Orchard House with us. She never did. But she is the only character in my book who has the same name as in real life. She was always Elizabeth, but in real life we called her Lizzie. In the book she is Beth. An Elizabeth by any other name would be as sweet.

Anywho! I still haven’t been to sleep since yesterday morning when I woke up at 7:15 AM. That was minutes over 24 hours ago.

My inability to sleep had nothing to do with hypo-mania, depression, or anxiety. It had to do with pain. Legit pain, not this bullshit fakie fibro pain. (And don’t you start jumping down my throat here! I know fibro pain is real pain! I just call it fakie pain because it isn’t from injury or anything. So therefore it’s fakie pain!)

And to think, my new dentist was telling me he was going to send me home with Motrin! Please! I eat that shit like Flintstones Vitamins! Or Twizzlers, or Whoppers….mmmmm yummy! Yeah, he was going to send a patient with fibromyalgia, who is under the care of three neurologists, one of whom is at pain management, home with Motrin after pulling out a tooth. Did I tell you guys about that?

If not, long story short; went in for fillings, he decided he was going to pull a tooth because it had a cyst next to the root that was trying to drain out a hole drilled in my jaw by my oral surgeon this past summer. He tried to just numb me right around the tooth. He started to push and pull on it to break it free, yeah I wasn’t numb, felt it all. So he did a nerve block. He came back and I told him only my cheek was numb, still had full feeling in my tongue and my back gums. He said I was more than numb, so he pushed pulled, tore the ligaments holding it in place, then pulled it out. I WASN’T NUMB AT ALL!!!!!!!!!!!

I FELT EVERY PUSH, PULL, TWIST THAT HE DID TO THAT TOOTH!

The only part of me touching the chair was the back of my head, my hands, and my feet pushing up. I broke one of the arms on the dental chair. AND HE WAS STILL GOING TO SEND ME HOME WITH MOTRIN!

Thank God my hygienist wasn’t a complete idiot! She asked what my pain rescue protocol is. I informed her I only have a non narcotic plan for migraines at this point. She called my pain management doctor. They sent me home with a prescription for some serious heavy duty narcotics.

Well, I’m not really in pain pain, but I’m still very uncomfortable. And my GERD is being God awful as well. I can’t even lean back with out it making it feel like I have lava trying to come up my esophagus. So, I didn’t sleep.

I hope I can here shortly, because I’m exhausted! But first I have to run to the store and get some cans of cat food and set the live trap in the crawl space under my office/bedroom. I have a couple of cats in heat chilling under there!

Everyone have a safe and wonderful Thursday! Tomorrow is FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!

Sophie, Our New Love

We had a bad storm three nights ago and Sophie didn’t come around for the first time in weeks. She must have known it was coming, and hunkered down early to hide from the impending thunder and lightning. The next night, the night following the storm, she showed up skittish and covered in dust. She must have found a dirty, gray place to hide. The thought of her quivering in fear, hiding from the storm, was just too much. We were coming up on three months since I first saw her, skinny and hungry and desperate for food. That first night, when she ate and ate and ate.

I couldn’t leave her outside any longer. I couldn’t bear the thought of her continually frightened any more.

Two days ago I called my mobile vet. She gave me lots of great advice on the safe room. She told me to dismantle the bed so Sophie couldn’t hide beneath it. She wanted to be able to examine her when she came. And she wanted me to be able to pet and soothe her. So my neighbor and I propped the mattress and box springs tight against the wall. Horizontally so Sophie could jump on top if she wanted to climb. I gave her stuffed animals in case she needed a mommy, and a new mouse filled with catnip. The Feliway came from Amazon today and I plugged one into the fixture in the safe room, and one in my master bedroom to soothe Sadie and Sally.

As she has done nearly every night for the past three months, Sophie came tonight, mustering up her courage and yearning for affection. She ate her can of tuna and several treats. My neighbor and I petted her for nearly an hour. She’d leave and hide around the corner, giving herself a bath. And then she’d return for more pets. At long last she let me pick her up and I held her close and petted her. She purred and snuggled in my arms. And then she saw my neighbor coming with the carrier. She struggled, and as I put her in the carrier, she howled in anguish. My heart broke at the sound. I zipped the door closed and covered the case with a towel in hopes of soothing her while I carried her inside, past Sadie and Sally, and up the stairs to the safe room. All the while she howled, as Sadie and Sally looked on with wide eyes.

I set the carrier in the corner of the safe room. The light was low, the litter box in the corner alongside the scratching post was dimly lit. My neighbor had placed a fresh bowl of water and dry food well away from the litter box. I unzipped the case and Sophie let out another howl as she slunk out of the carrier. She sniffed the stuffed horse and ran to the other side of the room, keeping her body low to the ground. I opened the closet and she slipped inside and hid in the corner.

Eventually I began to pet her, and she whimpered softly. She then sprinted out of the closet and jumped atop the mattress and box spring, cowering in fear. My neighbor and I spoke softly, trying to soothe her. I tried to pick her up and slip her back into the dark safety of the closet, but she dug her claws into the fabric and wouldn’t let go. I picked up a large decorative pillow and leaned it against the wall atop the box spring, providing a little tunnel for her to hide behind. I placed another pillow next to it, lengthening her hiding place. We left her cowering behind the pillows, softly closing the door behind us.

I feel so awful for causing her to be so frightened. One minute she was purring in my arms, the next she’s stuffed into a case and deposited in an unfamiliar room. Indoors! After spending so many months outside. I know she’s safe now. I hope she knows it, too. I hope she begins to settle with the lack of constant stimulation–cars and dogs and hunger and storms and strangers and slamming doors and unfamiliar surroundings. Everywhere. Every minute. I hope she feels the tension ease when she awakens to quiet. And fresh food and water. And a warm room with a soft pillow and sheep fur.

Meanwhile, I’m lying in bed writing this post. Sadie and Sally take turns lying next to me, seemingly unconcerned that there’s a strange kitty in the room down the hall. Maybe the Feliway is working. Maybe they’ll love each other.

I feel horrible. I hate scaring her. But she’s safe, now. I hope she learns to be happy and content here.

Related articles

• And Sophie Makes Three? (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Sophie the Stray Cat (But Not For Much Longer) Photo Blog (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)

Five minutes earlier, when Max had screamed into the alleyway on his brakeless bicycle he had been saved, more or less, by the pile of discarded mattresses at the far end. They had cushioned his fall when he was catapulted from the bicycle. Unfortunately, one of the alleyway’s resident cats was not so lucky – it had miraculously targeted the Black Roger with pinpoint accuracy while trying to escape. This cat is now spread-eagled on the Roger like a Catherine wheel caught in mid-spin by an over-exposed camera. Upon seeing the boy, Max has taken his hands off the cat and is waving them in the air. The boy George squeezes his eyes shut briefly as he tries to process the scene. In the alleyway behind the frizzled old man, he can see a cherry-red bicycle lying in a crumpled heap among blood-splattered mattresses and freaked-out cats. Despite these decidedly sordid circumstances, however, Max is still determined to maintain a sense of decorum – and he does not want to defile the Louis Vitton bag with his blood-stained hands if it’s at all possible. “Boy! Open my bag!” he pleads again. With his hands still in the air, he sidles over towards the boy George, trying to position the bag on his left hip as close to George as possible. Meanwhile, the impaled puss jerks up and down like a rag doll every time Max moves his legs. Desperately, he changes tack:  ”Boy! I don’t want to hurt you!” After a minute or two of frozen, bug-eyed terror, the boy George does what any other normal 10 year-old would do under the circumstances – he slowly takes off his backpack, carefully extracts a smartphone and calls the police.

Let me in!

I’ve been caring for Sophie, the fluffy black stray kitty, since mid-December–almost three months. She now comes nearly every night at dusk. Often she’s waiting for me when I get home from work. If she’s not here already, she comes running when I call her. She likes albacore tuna. She doesn’t like skipjack tuna. She doesn’t like canned food. At least not Halo. Yes, beggars can be choosers. At least when they’re begging from me.

With food as the catalyst, we’ve bonded quite well. She adores petting, and shows her pleasure by purring loudly and drooling. Yes, Sophie is a drooler. I think that means she’s into me. She’s so into me now, in fact, that she allows me to pick her up, and doesn’t disappear for days afterward. She doesn’t disappear much at all any more.

The last few nights, we made several more significant steps forward. My next-door neighbor, who splits her time between Austin, Palm Desert, London, and Hong Kong (I think her husband’s a spy, but that’s another story), has been back in Austin this week. She’s been gone since just before Christmas, when Sophie first started coming around. My neighbor, being a bit nomadic, has no pets. But she adores animals. And Sophie is no exception.

Because she has no pets, we decided to use her home as an experiment to see how Sophie behaves indoors. The first night, we lured her in with treats. It didn’t take much coaxing, and once inside, she enjoyed her petting like never before. Her skittishness virtually disappeared. The past two nights, she’s crossed neighbor’s threshold without the need of treat bribery. Last night, she wandered around a bit while my neighbor cooked salmon. Sophie loves salmon. She stayed around for hours last night. She didn’t appear to want to leave. So I decided to take the experimentation a bit further.

Sophie, at this point, was sitting on my doorstep, enjoying the final remnants of her salmon and tuna dinner. My two fluffy black kitties, Sadie and Sally, were behind my front door, meowing loudly at my lack of fidelity. While they’d smelled the scent of Sophie on my hands for months now, they’d never gazed upon her countenance. It was time for a mini-introduction. I went inside, picked Sadie up, and slowly approached Sophie, who was still eating the remains of her dinner on my front porch. They looked at each other as I held Sadie in my arms. Sadie and I got to within two feet of Sophie, when Sophie let out a menacing hiss. Sadie, by no means the type of cat to back down, hissed back even more menacingly. I decided the introductions had gone far enough at this point, and returned Sadie to her indoor sanctuary.

There are two important takeaways from my experiment: (1) while they hissed at each other, their behavior wasn’t extreme; no one lunged at the other, and (2) it was idiotic of me to attempt an introduction with food involved. I realized my mistake immediately, and will make my next attempt during a more neutral setting.

Even after the kitty face-to-face, Sophie stuck around and soaked up more petting, wandering in and out of my neighbor’s front door. My neighbor was filled with anguish about leaving her out for the night, when it’s become evident she was once an indoor kitty and is more content indoors. My guess is, she wasn’t even an indoor-outdoor kitty; she was strictly indoors. Hence her fear and extreme skittishness while outdoors.

While Sophie is happy wandering around my neighbor’s condo, we’ve never closed the front door while she’s inside. She can escape whenever the urge strikes her. Our dilemma is this:

Is it time for me to bring Sophie inside, and make the transition from stray to part of the family?

My neighbor fears she’ll feel trapped once I bring her in. She probably will at first, particularly because she’ll be living in my spare bedroom until I can have the tests run to show she’s got nothing communicable and can safely interact with Sadie and Sally. And of course, the introductions will take time. I can’t simply throw them together in my home and leave it to them to work it out. Sophie will be living in the spare room for a time, which means when I’m at work, she’ll be alone for hours on end. I plan to equip the room with litter box, food, water, toys, and scratching post. I fear she’ll spend most of her time under the bed, and perhaps I won’t be able to get her out from under the bed for some time, in order to have tests run. But I don’t see that there’s any way around any of this. She’s going to feel trapped for a time, all three kitties are going to be perturbed for a bit, and our comfortable routines will be topsy turvy until we all settle in.

This really is quite a commitment. Am I up for the task? Do I really want to turn my calm, peaceful household upside down? Not really. But there’s no way around it. I’m not leaving Sophie to fend for herself outdoors in perpetuity. It’s time for her to come in, and for all of us to endure the uncomfortable period of transition.

It’s for the greater good.

Do you agree it’s time for me to bring Sophie indoors into her safe room? Do you have any tips to offer for the comfort and psychological care of Sophie during this period? Should I put her in the spare bath, rather than the spare bedroom? Is there anything I need to do for Sadie and Sally to ease their discomfort during the transition?

I’m a little anxious for all our sakes, but we can’t go on like this forever.

Related articles

• .5 Cat (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Sophie the Stray Cat (But Not For Much Longer) Photo Blog (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)
• Breakthrough! (unconfirmedbachelorette.com)

In my head
I transport myself a thousand
miles or so
south.

To a warm breeze on my face,
the sight of crumbling
terracotta tiles.
The sound of soft rolling waves by day
and unseen Cicadas by night.
An occasional motorised scooter winding by
and the hushed buzz of happy people.

I think back to fresh tomatoes,
stonebaked bread,
Feta cheese,
and Mussles Saganaki.
The good mood food that makes life
that bit more vibrant.

The cats,
who could forget those friendly beggars?
Dying for affection
and a saucer of milk.

A SUPERMARKET
modestly sized, in every town
smelling of tobacco, postcards and
a freezer full of ice-creams.

Easy listening music plays in seafront bars
where drinkers gaze out onto turquoise sea,
and on the hilltop;
a monastery.

So clean and bright
blue and white stands
proud from the green bush and
dusty roads.

In towns,
I transport myself to cobbled streets and alleys,
gazing at menus,
gift shops,
a head scarfed Grandma sweeping her doorstep.

Never cold,
even at night, the hot glow of my skin
keeps me warm within.

How I long to be back there;
digging my toes into golden sand
and thinking life is simply grand.

Written: March 2013

How are you on this fine Thursday? Well its fine here where I am in Auckland and rather hot too. Yay! I love summer, even though it’s officially Autumn, I’m still rocking the “I love summer” statements J

 I am finally starting to feel more like myself again, less jumpy and more relaxed about life. I have a renewed motivation to go to the gym and keep up this healthy diet healthy living regime I’ve got going on. It’s hard when sometimes all you really want is a good decent meat pie! But I have refrained from indulging as I don’t want to have pie and find that I don’t like it anymore or worse yet all this healthy eating has ruined me for pies and makes me feel ill. I’m happy living with the memory of pie…. The glorious pastry, the real meat and mushrooms…. Mmmm

 I had a busy night last night; recently I contacted the Lonely Miaow Association regarding a family of four black cats (who I nicknamed “the Blackies” cause I am SO original!) and said that I see them almost on a daily basis when they come in and eat my cats food. So someone from Lonely Miaow came out on Sunday with a trap and brief instructions on how to use it. Fairly simple; hook up front of cage which is attached to a spring loaded board which when the weight of the cat or other animal presses the board down the front of the cage slams down trapping the animal inside. As you know I have two cats, what you don’t know is that although most of the time they are fairly intelligent often they can be downright stupid. One of them knows how to open doors and cupboards but doesn’t have the strength to open the cupboards so proceeds on opening marginally then the cupboard door slams shut… wonderful to hear at 4am on a workday. The other cat is the guard cat and has always been quite protective of me, my bedroom and the house I guess. She’s the bully and seemingly can use a single glance to get any other cat to bugger off… Im impressed with her death stares, I could use some lessons. Anyway they are quite stupid at times and I was certain that my first cat caught would be one or other or both of mine! Imagine my surprise when they were both inside, one having cuddles on my knee the other near enough to touch my foot and we heard a crashing noise and then nothing. I go outside to find a rather fat cat that I recognize as a neighbourhood cat, it was running (as much as it could run in the trap) from end to end smashing it’s head into the ends so I quickly let that one go and hoping that it’s not feeling to ick today. It raced off into the night and I’m pretty sure I won’t see that one again.

 I then went back out about an hour later to find one of my blackies! I was so excited that the trap worked, then felt sad for the poor darling who had gone in there in search of food that had been eaten by the previous fattie! This little one that was trapped was hissing and spitting at me so I brought the cage into the garage and covered it with a towel. My door opening cat (Kitty) was very kind and sat near Blackie gently miaowing at it and then sat near the cage almost protective. She was quite curious about the caged cat. The guard cat (Lily) on the other hand wanted to make it known this was her house and proceeded to jump up onto the toweled cage and rub around on top of it making the towel smell like her. Blackie wasn’t impressed with Lily and let us know. I eventually got some food for Blackie and water and left it to it. I don’t know if this cat is a male or female, didn’t try to pat it in case I got attached!! Today on my lunch break I went to the SPCA with the cat, it was fairly well behaved in the car ride only trying to escape once, so I had to put my handbag on top of the cat so it couldn’t pus the cage front up and slip out and then kill us both attacking me or getting under my feet. I felt a little sad leaving the little one with the SPCA but am glad that it is now somewhere it can have medical attention if required and will be safe and warm and fed daily not having to creep into houses and sneakily eat the yuck food the spoilt pets that live in the houses don’t eat.

 On my way back a crazy VW driver just about t-boned me at an intersection that I had right of way at. I actually screamed as I slammed on my brakes, stupidly I might add as if I’d kept going and he hadn’t stopped then he would have hit further back rather than if he had hit me I’d be smushed right about now. I could have reached out my window and touched his bonnet where he stopped. Idiot drivers! I also noticed he was wearing glasses, not sunglasses but glasses to aid vision, perhaps these need replacing?! So I’m still feeling quite shaky, and am actually still shaking from the fright! But it’s a lesser feeling than the intruder so I’m pleased it wasn’t worse than just giving me a fright!

I think it’s time the universe gave me some peace and calm in my life! I’m off to Ed Sheeran on Saturday, I can’t wait!

Have a wonderful weekend people

Crazy Cat Lady xx

Essa é um sonho!

 cute

meio Amy Winehouse

essa é a minha predileta! já postei no Facebook, Instagram, inferno dos capetas etc. Linda, linda!

It seems like a lot of neighborhoods have at least one person who regularly feeds a lot of strays cats. On the surface, this may seem harmless enough. However, this can be more of a hurt than help when:

• They are unvaccinated and otherwise untreated, leaving them free to spread disease and parasites. Fleas, ticks and worms can be transmitted to other pets, as well as people. Unvaccinated cats are also at risk for spreading disease like rabies.
• The cats are unaltered and reproduce. The average female cat can easily produce three to four litters a year. Many large colonies have resulted from a single queen and one or two litters.
• In many cases, the neighbors don’t want the cats around. They might fight with and injure pet cats in the neighborhood, soil on lawns or flower gardens and spray.

Most people who feed the strays have good intentions, but need to know when their actions are causing problems. In the case of stray cats who are friendly, efforts might be made to place them in good homes. Trap, neuter and release with volunteer caregivers might be a good option in rural areas, but may be a problem in suburban or urban areas. In more populated areas, trap, neuter, relocate and release to farms or ranches with owners willing to care for them is better.

I saw it on Sojourning Abroad and it claims to be a color coded map with a list of local emergency numbers. Hmmm, I think to myself, wouldn’t that be a nice, permanent addition to the Poe Travel Binders.

So I clicked on it. And this is what I saw. Is it me or are those numbers teensy-teeny tiny? I mean, seriously. You’d need a microscope to read those numbers! I can just imagine the scenario now:

Poe walks absently down some foreign street, distracted by many shiny things. Would-Be Robber (WBR) lurks stealthily several steps behind, waiting patiently, yet intently. Poe reaches down to pet some mangy stray cat, leaving her purse dangling. WBR seizes the opportunity and slices the purse strings. Poe pulls out her trusty travel binder with a map of foreign emergency numbers, but alas, her map-reading microscope was in the purse that just got snatched. Poe sits on dirty foreign curb and cries while mangy cat rubs around her legs and gives her foreign fleas. 

AND SCENE.

I tried opening the image in a separate tab, but that has not helped at all.

I’ve been looking around my browser for ways to blow it up, but frankly, I’m too bone-weary tired to worry about my safety anymore. Well played, WBR, well played.

In addition to The Cat Who Isn’t Our Cat, we now have a Dog Who’s Not Our Dog!

Six weeks ago my darling daughter suffered a shocking bereavement and is now adjusting to raising my twin grandsons without their beloved Daddy. Of course we’re on hand, to help with whatever we can and I’m drawing on my own experience of losing my father, when I was little older than the boys, (they’ll be four in April.) But much as I wish I could erase their pain, I know that I can’t ~ I’m only able ease it, wherever possible.

So The Artist (a committed cat~person) and I are fostering their seven year old fox~terrier cross, until Rachael is in a better position to have the family pet back. Indie’s only been with us six days and it’s working out even better than I expected, (and I’m an eternal optimist!)

Summer, the stray cat, wasn’t too impressed initially ~ scratching my arm deeply, as she struggled to flee from the inquisitive little canine. So we’ve given her the run of upstairs, feeding her in the studio and letting her in and out via the front door. Indie remains downstairs, is allowed into the kitchen garden and Secret Courtyard and gets walked around the neighbourhood twice a day. We’ve met a couple of other dog~owners, who’ve given me the heads~up on more open spaces and ~ when we’re confident she’ll come back to us ~ we can allow her off the lead in these.

Yesterday morning Martin suggested we drive to one of the Island’s beaches, where she could trot along the shore in safety. The tide was high, (must check the tables in future) so we romped with her in an empty field alongside the cliff path instead.

Despite the fact that I feed her and have the enviable role of poop~scooper, she regards the Artist as leader~of~the~pack and is already devoted to him. Typical! It’s exactly the same with the cat, who miaows at me plaintively until I fill her bowl then ~ when she’s replete ~ sits on his lap, purring loudly!

But, as Becca will readily confirm, this is not a one~way exchange. As we nurture this unlikely duo they reward us with uncomplicated affection, complete trust and tons of fun. And I’m certain that very soon they’ll make friends and happily share the same spaces. (Did I mention that I’m an optimist? )

As the step~daughter of a veterinary surgeon and the mother of two children, I’ve looked after many different animals in my time. And, although I appreciate those experiences, I’d never have chosen to have more. Then Summer turned up and now Indie is in need of temporary accommodation. But they’re not our pets, we don’t own them ~ we’re just borrowing them for a while.

Nurturing Thursday is the idea of Becca Givens, author of ‘On Dragonfly Wings with Buttercup Tea.’ To read more about this, or to join in, please click here.

Click here for A Tale of Two Kitties, Part 1.

Financially, I feel more comfortable limiting myself to one pet because I feel more confident that I can handle any potential health issues that crop up.  A few years ago, my rabbit Petey had bladder issues and last year Sadie had a severe kidney issue — both resulted in large vet bills.  That said, when Pippin stood up, put her paws on my patio door, and meowed, I had to take her in.

I may have been a couple hundred dollars poorer by the end of February 8th but I was thrilled — aside of worms, Pippin was healthy.  I dosed her with dewormer and within a few days knew that it would be hard to consider finding another home for her.  I still worry about the financial aspect of having a second pet but we’ve bonded; I will just have to find a way to save more money in case health issues arise.

The dilemma now is convincing Sadie and Pippin that there’s room for both of them in my apartment.  Sadie’s been an only child for 4 years now and who knows what Pippin has endured while she’s been fending for herself — her torn ear and the scar above her eye are testament to at least one fight.  Both Sadie and Pippin are young adults, so they’re well past the kitten stage when every new creature is a potential playmate.  The vet recommended that I keep them separated for at least a week but cautioned that it might take a good deal longer for them to accept one another.

Luckily, Pippin seems quite content in my guest bathroom, despite the fact that there are no windows.  The bathtub has been cozied-up with a kitty cube, a padded crate mat, and several toys.  For the first time in who knows how long, she’s safe, she’s warm, and she’s comfortable.  Sadie has been less certain of this arrangement — unable to see Pippin but able to smell her, for the first few days Sadie seemed convinced that something huge and terrifying lurked behind that door.  She refused to walk past it.

About midway through the first week, I started opening the door for short periods but I planted myself in the doorway as a human barrier.  I intended to follow the vet’s advice and keep them separated but I thought they’d both feel more comfortable if they could see as well as smell each other.  So that they would associate good things with one another, I gave them both treats while doing this.  I also took turns letting each of them chase string.  This definitely did wonders for Sadie — rather than avoiding passing that door at all costs, she began to sniff it cautiously, and now makes herself comfortable on the other side of it.

While Sadie appears to be warming up to the idea of having a sibling, Pippin still has reservations.  We’re now in our third week and I’ve begun leaving the bathroom door wide open while I’m home and awake.  Pippin has ventured out of the bathroom exactly twice.  Sadie has tried to approach her cautiously but Pippin hisses whenever Sadie gets within three feet of her.  Sadie backs away quickly and gives me a puzzled look when this happens.  I reassure her that she’s a good girl and reassure myself that it will work out in time.  It’s early yet.

Later in the morning the rest of my family and cousin’ s arrived to hang out for the last couple hours before we had to leave for the airport … I finished carefully packing my suitcase and as I was taking a fair amount of food stuffs I made sure I’d packed everything properly so I wouldn’t end up with crumbs or leaked juices everywhere …

My Gran also gave me a bunch of home cooked meals she had frozen for me to take back … we were eating the food for ages after wards … we left with plenty of time to get to the airport and I said goodbye to my grandparents at the house before leaving … we got to the airport all ok … traffic wasn’t too bad and I had a little over two hours before my flight once I’d arrived …

In Shiraz Airport only passengers can go through to the check in desks … they have a security check point where they scan the bags and you before you can check in so only passengers are allowed through … all my troubles that day started when I said goodbye to my family and went through security …

The security checkpoint is segregated into men and women only sections … but the x-ray bag scanner machine for the ladies was broken so I had to pass my bags through the men’s side and go through the ladies and collect them on the other side … but when I got to my bags and was about to pull them away one the security guy’s took one look at me and asked me to open my bag …

Now this has happened to me before when I’ve travelled with my family … inevitably one of bags will sometimes end up being opened … but this was the first time I had to deal with it on my own … and the best way to get through it is to just go along with what they ask … if you start talking back you only make more trouble for yourself … so with that in mind I was extremely polite and did what they asked without complaining about it …

The security guy just rifled through my neatly packed suitcase and randomly pulled out a couple bits to scan again before telling me to pack it up … thinking that was the end of it I packed up my stuff and was about to go join the check in queue when the same guy stopped me again … he then called one of the female security guards over and basically told her to search all my bags … at this point I was starting to get nervous …

Now I knew I had nothing to hide … I didn’t have anything in my bag that would be a problem or wouldn’t be allowed … it’s just I can be a bit of a nervous flier in that I worry I’m going to miss my flight … I’ve always been the person who gets to the airport way too early for the flight … I’d rather wait around in the airport and relax than be freaking out that I’m about to miss my flight …

So back to having my bags searched … the woman started with my handbag … she literally took every single thing out of it … checked all the zipped up bits … flicked through my notebooks and even checked in my purse …

Then once that was done and I’d started to pack it back up she began on my hand luggage bag … emptying it out … checking my laptop … camera equipment … etc … she even unzipped the lining on my bag and checked it …

Then they (by this point there were two of them checking my stuff) moved onto my main suitcase … the bag I had spent ages meticulously packing and organising so everything fit perfectly … they emptied it out … completely … unzipped the lining and everything … they manhandled all my stuff and searched every nook and cranny in my bag … before finally turning round to me and saying ok now you can pack it up again …

So not only did they empty all my stuff they then just stood there while I had to repack it all … and then they had the nerve to tell me to hurry up … by this point I’d been held up for over half an hour and was starting to get agitated and worried about checking in …

Once it was all packed I grabbed my bags and was about ready to go when the security woman stopped me and asked to scan my shoes … I was really trying hard to bite my tongue and not say anything that would cause me to be held up any longer … so while my shoes were scanned they decided to pat me down again … bear in mind they already did that when I first passed through … but this time it was more of a grope than a pat down … it was very uncomfortable…

After all this was over and I had my shoes back on again I thought I could finally get on my way … but no the woman turned back to me and asked me to follow her to Radiology … At this point I think my jaw dropped … still I kept my cool and followed her into a room which was set up with a full body X-ray machine … I stood there as she scanned me from head to toe with what looked to be a really old and decrepit machine … who knows how much radiation I was exposed to in those few minutes!

Anyway so I was finally allowed to go … and just before I went I did ask the woman if she could tell me why I was stopped and searched … her response was that she didn’t know … because the male security guard had told her to search my bags she did and that was it … no other reason … I never found out what they saw in my bag that caused me to be harassed in such a way … I guess I must just look that suspicious …

When I finally got to the check in queue it was a mile long … I was one of the last people to check in and had to rush through the rest of the security check points to be sure I caught my flight … it didn’t help that they pretty much strip searched my hand luggage bag once more on my way to board the plane …

The whole time from when I first got stopped by the male security guard until I had gotten past the last check point getting on the plane I was constantly asked questions about my family, where my parents were, what I was doing in Dubai, and about my life in general … it was such a stressful couple of hours for me, so much so that I didn’t even realise how hot and flustered I was until I got on the plane …

It wasn’t how I wanted to end my trip but I guess things don’t always go as planned … either way I had a great time overall while I was in Iran and I am looking forward to going back there again soon … and hopefully with Perry next time I go …

And to brighten up this post here are a few pictures of some of the beautiful stray cats I saw around Iran … to be fair I didn’t feel too bad for them as  they all look pretty well fed to me … my Granddad puts out scraps for the strays in their area every day …

That’s it for my Iran updates … this is the last of the posts I had lined up from this trip …

Thanks for tuning in …

Till next time …

Mina X

I love all of God’s creatures.

Well, ok… not all.  But most.

Have I told you lately about the bats in Sierra Leone, Africa?  They have a six-foot wingspan.  Six-foot!

But I don’t actually mind cats.

We had TONS of outdoor cats growing up:

(Thanks to my mom and dad for digging these photos out of the scrapbooks and scanning them this weekend.  Also, thanks to my mom for allowing me to start choosing my own hairstyles in the fourth grade.  Not a moment too soon, friends.)

See, I do like cats.

I will admit, I mostly like when they live outside, but I also love how independent they are.  They are literally one of the easiest pets to own.  Growing up, we’d just put a bucket full of dry cat food and a bucket full of water in the cat pen.  Every few weeks, we’d give them more… easy as that!

I also love how useful they are.  We rarely had trouble with mice when I was a kid.  We lived in the country on five acres surrounded by corn and bean fields, but I can only remember a few mice actually making it into our house.

As adults, Chance and I actually had a cat of our own for a while when we were at our previous ministry and in our previous home.  His name was Howard.

The Reverend brought Howard home… but not without asking first.

Chance called from a friend’s house one day and said he wanted to bring home a “kitten”.  The “kitten” was “very small and very cuddly,” he said.

The above photo was taken a week after said “cuddly kitten” came home.

The cat was probably four or five years old…

Regardless, I let the cat live in our garage.

Howard ended up being the most inbred, insane cat I had EVER met.  His tongue was too big for his mouth, so it always hung out.  He had perpetual sinus infections and would “sniffle.”  He refused to sleep on the bed of towels and blankets we made him, but instead he slept in Chance’s toolboxes – not appearing to notice the nails and screws poking him.

Despite that, we kept Howard as our pet.

Eventually, we bought Allen (our Shih-tzu).

Allen was not inbred and was a sweet puppy.  An actual puppy.  Not a puppy-disguised-as-a-full-grown-dog puppy.

Allen took precedence over the crazy cat (they hated each other) and we eventually gave the cat to Chance’s grandparents.  At their house, Howard would lay in the horse feed and bask in the sun.  According to Chance’s grandfather, Howard would even climb onto the horse’s back and relax (you can’t make this stuff up…)

The last day Howard was seen was the day Chance’s grandparents poured the concrete foundation for their new home.

May Howard rest in peace.

So, you can imagine my dismay when this happened last week:

The Lord knows I do not need one more creature to take care of…

I do not need to feed another mouth or respond to someone else’s cries.

I’m good.

I’ve got the Reverend, the high-maintance dog, and the insane Bulgarian.

I’m good.

Not to mention the newborn who will be gracing us with his presence in three months…

Like I said, I’m good.

Despite my protesting, I did agree to allowing the cat to stay with us until the snow storm passed and we could find the scrawny thing a good home.

In the meantime, Nasko named the cat “Cinnamon Roll.”

Thankfully though, an angel from church and her family responded to my desperate pleas on Facebook yesterday:

They came and picked up the cat today.  They even said they were interested in keeping her name, Cinnamon Roll!  I think she will be very happy in her new home.

And thus ends the most recent event in my essay on the history of cats in my life.

And thus also ends the reason why we do not need a cat (in case you are my future children and I sent you to this blog page as evidence…)

Freewheel Burnin’- Judas Priest

Life in the Fast Lane – The Eagles

Jerry Was a Race Car Driver- Primus

Built For Speed- Stray Cats

Bonus song!

Too Fast For Love- Motley Crue

If you have been following this blog you will know that we have been adopted by these two lovely dogs . . . they spend most of their time with us – at their convenience and our expense!  Because they also roam, we decided that it was necessary for them to be castrated.

In Portugal, and in many other countries, there are thousands of unwanted litters of puppies and kittens. Although there are no official figures it is estimated that there are around 1 Million stray dogs and cats in Portugal.

In Portugal as many as 100,000 animals are destroyed each year by municipal kennels.  Any animals rounded up by the municipal services are held for 7 days before being destroyed.   Animals given up for adoption are not sterilised.  The policy here in Portugal is a failing one, which focuses on trapping and destroying strays.  A campaign to support the sterilisation of cats and dogs, would be kinder to the animals and also reduce the number of stray and feral dogs and cats.

Organisations including Animais de Rua, and ARPA rely on the passion and commitment of volunteers to improve the situation of abandoned, stray and feral animals in Portugal, by running Trap, Neuter & Return (also called Capture, Sterilise & Release) programmes.  This involves trapping stray animals, neutering them, and then releasing them back where they came from.

Mum & Pups – Animais de Rua

The sterilisation of dogs and cats is the most animal friendly way to deal with over-population, and saves lives.

Jack & Cadpig had their operations a week apart, and we took them to Cãofraria dos Bichos. We personally found the whole thing quite stressful.  Particularly looking after dogs who are not used to being indoors much, or on the lead – which was necessary for the first days after the operations.  And generally worrying if they would be okay .

Cadpig needed to be under ‘house arrest’ longer than Jack, as his sensitive skin meant that he was sore and wanted to lick the stitches.  So Cadpig had to wear the Elizabethan Collar for 4 days and 5 nights.

They are both now, full of fun and excitement, playful as ever, and we can relax again that they are in good health, and will not ‘father’ any unwanted litters.

There is much more to say on the stray dog issue in Europe and worldwide. There is a campaign called 600milliondogs which aims to develop a ‘food’ product that can be fed to stray dogs to sterilise them, which will, when it is available, avoid the trauma and stress for feral animals of being trapped.

It is a sad thought that over 75% of the dogs in the world are strays.  One un-neutered female can if she and her offspring breed and so on – produce more than 60,000 puppies over 6 years.  And for a cat the figure is much higher – over 350,000 kittens in 7 years.

If you love and care about animals, please support campaigns to neuter cats and dogs; and please adopt rather than buy if you would like an animal companion (or two or three or more) in your life.

Imagine my surprise when I came home one night to see the cat sitting by my patio door, looking in expectantly.  This was a first and I didn’t want to frighten the cat by approaching it, so I went about my routine.  It was soon time to fill the food bowl and the cat was still there, so I got the food and opened the door.  A few weeks ago, the sight of me walking towards the door would have sent the cat running — however, this particular evening, the cat only moved to the edge of the patio.  As I poured the food into the dish, the cat came up to me and started rubbing against my legs, purring.  I was surprised, thrilled, and tormented.  I sat down and started petting the sweet little girl and she continued purring and rubbing against me.  It was cold and I wanted to bring her inside but I had no idea if she was healthy and I didn’t want to risk Sadie-Cat’s health.  So I got a blanket and sat outside with her for a long time.  When I finally went inside, I left the blanket on the chair so that she’d have something to snuggle in.

This routine expanded and continued for a few days.  I’d wake up early to feed and pet both cats and I skipped evening workouts in order to come home earlier to feed and pet both cats.  It was obvious by now that this sweet little stray had once had a home.  I didn’t want to take her to the shelter — sweet as she was, she had a partially-torn ear and a small scar above one eye so she wasn’t likely to win any beauty contests among the other cats desperately wanting homes.  I started asking around, trying to find a home for her.  I also began working on a plan to bring her inside without risking Sadie’s health.  My apartment is small but I do have a second bathroom . . . .

And then the day came.  I’d fed and petted both cats, I’d gotten ready for work, and I was heading towards the door when the sweet little stray stood up, put her paws on my patio door, and meowed.  I opened the door, scooped her up, put her in the second bathroom with cat necessities.  On my morning break, I called the vet and made an appointment to have her checked out that afternoon.  I’ve decided to name her Pippin — like one of my favorite hobbits, she’s sweet but timid.  I’m hoping her curiosity will override her timidity when it comes time to properly introduce her to Sadie.

I was in town to attend a conference, and on Friday morning the conference organizer mentioned my book & reading, and then we broke for our next round of plenaries. When we reconvened, the sound guy — who had previously relied on the esteemed *Kind of Blue* for incidental music, cued up “The Magnificent Dance,” which of course got the two of us talking. He clearly remembered the summer of 1981, when WBLS cued up different mixes of “The Magnificent Seven,” and even rattled off the names of the DJs responsible for the more popular remixes. The gentleman then revealed that the sound tech gig was merely his day job, and that Track 1 Entertainment keeps him busy on nights and weekends. Thanks Mr. Mason for getting my Friday started on the good foot!

For the reading, I reprised my own position on The Clash vs. Van Halen circa 1983, and how frequently I encountered back in the day the triangles of homosocial male bonding around muscle cars, after market stereos, and VH’s Diver Down. I have more sympathy for Diamond Dave’s decadence now, but back then, it seemed so reckless and absurd, so “cheap and real phony,” so complicit.

One of the real pleasures of putting together Stealing was my review of primary sources by way of google books, which provides full-text search capacities for Billboard magazine, Spin, and a host of others. In “Sweaty & Filthy & Crazy & Drunk,“ Steven Russell employs the oral history method to capture the joy and absurdity of US Festival 1983 and, of course, doesn’t get to the complexity of the showdown between the festival organizers (including Apple’s Steve Wozniak) and The Clash camp. The New Wave Day included, in order of appearance, The Divinyls, INXS, Wall of Voodoo, Oingo Boingo, The English Beat, A Flock of Seagulls, Stray Cats, Men at Work, and, after a long band-inflicted delay, The Clash.

Between the more rigorous accounts of Marcus Gray and Pat Gilbert, it seems safe to conclude that Bernie Rhodes orchestrated quite a bit of the mess, which ended far worse for The Clash than anyone else. As fate would have it, it was the last live appearance of Stan Ridgeway with Wall of Voodoo, and the last concert appearance of Mick with the band he started.

Lastly, it was 36 years ago today that The Clash made their NYC debut, at the Palladium, of course, with Bo Diddley as the opening act. Andy Warhol and other glitterati made an appearance, and later Andy took Joe over to Studio 54.

Breaking news: the song Paul Simonon allegedly wrecked during his initial meeting with Bernie, Tony James, and Mick is up for consideration as the official state song of Massachusetts. “I’m in love with Massachusetts” indeed.

Have a lovely week!