Leaps and Bounding

Sadie continue to tall-up. She was adorable and sweet and fun, just different. Maybe not so smart, but sometimes smarter than us. We solved the litter-box raids by putting up a baby gate at the door to the laundry room. For the first few days, she’d do a double-take whenever she passed it.

A few days later Sadie seemed to realize what she was missing. She’d stop and sit, stare longingly into the laundry room for a few seconds, huff and then hoof it. She was also obsessed with the red ball.

She really loved that cheap dollar-store firm foam orb. As far as toys go, Sadie never touched the kong. Squeaky toys were instantly dismantled; pieces strewn about were discarded. Somehow, she always managed to hide the squeaker part somewhere obscure. We’d look for them, but never once found one. There’d suddenly be a squeeze frenzy days later. Many times, while one of us was on the phone and often after we’d been asleep for a bit.

Jeff discovered he could keep her entertained longer by sending her on longer indoor fetches. He had perfected a double bounce that would propel the ball into the dining room. He achieved that by launching the ball toward the right wall of the hallway, where it angle-bounced to the left wall. From there it flew it into the dining room and if Jeff and Sadie were lucky, the ball would deflect off a chair and travel toward the living room.

That worked well until the day Sadie bounded after her red ball as it bounced off the hall wall into the laundry room. I watched in fascinated dread as it seemed she would easily clear our brilliant barrier. Sadie flew after it, naturally jumping right over our stop-gap.

“Sadie! No!” I cried out. But my sudden loud outburst hadn’t slowed her down at all. When she didn’t reappear, I slammed the recliner footrest down, stumbling away from a startled Jeff.  He hadn’t quite processed what was going on, partly because he couldn’t see around the corner and mostly because I hadn’t filled him in.

“Oh, no! No, no, no no no!” I wailed in dismay. By the time I arrived at the entry door, Sadie was snout deep in Miss Fred’s refuse.

Jeff was halfway out of his chair with alarm, yelling back, “What? What?”

Sadie smiled happily at me, picked up her ball, took a running start and just as easily re-cleared the gate on her way back to Jeff.

“You bounced the ball into the laundry!” I huffed. “She jumped the gate and got into the litter again.”

“Oh, that’s no big deal,” Jeff poo-poo’ed me. “That’s what dogs do.”

“Just now!” I emphasized. “Right before she picked up that … that ball with her POTTY mouth and gave it to you.”

Jeff looked down at his hand. “Arrrgghhhh!” His situational assessment was shortly followed by “EEWWWWWWW!” and a forceful arm catapult as the ball went whizzing by my head.

Quote for the week:

2017 08 22 The fancier the plan, the more can jakorte

Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links:

Fancy Doggie: Gates

Patent Baby: Gate

Safety: Gates

Triple Dog Ambushed

Backing it up a bit….

Kelsey came into my life purposefully from the Nashville Humane Society. She was a three-legged motherless German Shepherd/Sheltie mix I met after the NHS experienced a fire. I’d gone to foster a cat, but was ambushed by a wicked fast furball that jumped into my lap, snuggled up under my ear and held on as if her life depended on it. She was so seriously quick, I didn’t notice her missing leg until I put her down a good 15 minutes later.

OK, back to the TN litter experience….

Cab was a black lab mix puppy from a purebred chocolate lab and … some other type of dog. This puppy boy was talkative in the way Cab Calloway sang: Ayow, ayowa, yowa, yow. He ambushed me with cuteness and sang the entire time I was driving. Yes, beginning in Tennessee, all the way to Michigan.

Anticipating the same sort of scenario in Michigan, I was determined not to reach in anywhere or pick anyone up.  Jeff seemed to know the farmer that let us into the dog run area. The man didn’t stick around, closing the gate behind him as he left. “I’m gonna finish my dinner,” he said. “Let me know when you’re done.”

We rounded a corner were completely ambushed by steady stream of roly-poly Jack Russell tumblers. I stopped moving at once and must have looked as surprised and terrified as I felt, because Jeff stopped, too. “What?” he asked.

“I don’t want to squish one!” I faltered. He laughed and advised me to move slowly.

“There are more in the barn,” he explained, grabbing my hand.

My eyebrows shot up and my eyes narrowed. “And you would know this how?” I inquired. “Because… I’ve already been here,” he answered matter-of-factly. I realized I’d been ambushed by my dogged husband, too.

Moving inside, it took me a moment to adjust to the dark. I was still squinting a little when one of the little spotters ran up to Jeff’s foot, sniffed and start a happy dance. “

Oh,” he said scooping it up to eye level, “you remember me!?” He scratched both ears, rubbed it’s pudgy belly and turned to me with hopeful puppy-eyes. “It’s a boy….” Jeff  offered, extending the little guy toward me.

I took him without fear, because, as I mentioned earlier, the pip squeaks weren’t ready to leave their momma, yet.

Quote for the Week:

2017 07 25 seeing past whats best for your jakorte

 

Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:

 The Right One: Animal Planet Dog Selector

Dogged: Persistence

Relief: Pets Against Depression

 

 

 

Open Doors

 

She walked in through the front door and helped herself to pizza.

It was, after all, just sitting there invitingly. All warm and cheesy, flipped open on the coffee table waiting for the Friday night after work sofa plop.

 

(Back track: 12 year-old Talli’s kidney issues had taken their final toll. I chose not to take that ride with him to the veterinarian’s office two blocks away. I said my goodbye’s and handed him to my husband, happy to hold onto my memories.

A short time later, my husband was home, asking if I wanted another cat. Talli was such a lover, a hugger, a good one. We were beginning the search for a non-rented home, planning to be married, working full-time jobs, selling at craft shows, budgeting. Partly too heartbroken, partly too logical, I said, “No.” We donated Talli’s food, waterer, feeder, and an unused bag of litter; tossed the litter box, used toys and collar.)

 

We picked up our traditional Friday night fare of pizza, and soup. Jeff always had soup with pizza. He set up dinner as I ran upstairs to change. He stepped outside to get the forgotten soup out of the car.

Just as he came back in the door, I came down the stairs. We met at the juncture and stared. There was a furry black lump the middle of the pie, licking its way to a full tummy. Green eyes barely glanced up at us. We glance at each other, laughed, which startled the cat under the couch. We couldn’t leave it there, so Jeff crouched calling, “Here, Fred. Here, Fred!”  Fred jumped into his arms, and casually sat there are we decided what to do.

I put on my coat, picked up the saucy kitten, and went trudging through the snow door to door asking anyone who answered my knock, “Is this your kitten?” A few folks confessed to feeding it once in a while, although it mostly fed from the dumpster. Someone had tried a few times to catch the stray to take it to a shelter, but did not succeed.

Within a half-hour it was clear no one wanted to take ownership, and we weren’t going to send it back out in the freezing snow. So, we put the toilet seat down, secured the downstairs half-bath door closed; threw out the pizza, and headed to Pamida.

Another half-hour later, we had all the makings of cat accommodations; litter box, litter, food, treats, collar, toys, waterer, feeder and a new addition to our lives.

It was another week before Fred was able to make it to a Saturday health check. How my farm-knowledged husband mistook Fred for a Fred remains a mystery. Despite well-meaning recommendations of alternate names like Fredericka and Francine, she remained Fred. Although, to avoid confusion, her fill-in form name was always listed as Miss Fred, and amusingly explained as Miss Fred the Misread Cat.

She disappeared once – on the day Jeff’s mom died. I hysterically surmised she must have jumped into a half-packed moving box, fallen soundly asleep and been accidentally sealed up inside. He rationally believed she must have run out an open door unnoticed. He was right. One night later he heard her distinctive pigeon-mew, and opened the door.

Freddie wasn’t at all like Talli. She disliked being held, had an anti-purr dove coo, didn’t care to play, but loved her catnip. She tolerated our new baby Jack Russell to an extent. She would sit under the rocking chair and slap Sadie’s puppy nose as she ran by in pursuit of a ball. We always thought we could easily make $10,000 on America’s Funniest Home Videos, but Freddie never cooperated when the camera was rolling.

At 11 years old, she seemed bored, slept a lot and was getting chubby. A friend of mine rescued an adorable stray. I checked with a vet and was told as long as the new kitten was a boy, we should all be fine. Three years into being a two-cat household, H. Blu was still willing to be friends, and Freddie was still not.

When we moved into the condo this past March, the frequency of Fred’s 3 AM “I’m-not-amused, I-don’t-like-you, I-don’t-want-to-play-with-you-and-never-will” zombie wailing lessened, but never went away. Mid-April, her voice changed a little, she began losing weight, and making funny sounds when she swallowed.

Two and half a months of vet visits, decongestants, antibiotics, and steroids only slightly slowed down the tumor making its way from her ear canal down her throat. Her dry food became painful to swallow, so I fed her tuna and chopped pork.  When she stopped eating soft foods, I created tuna water and offered milk.

After two separate veterinary recommendations, I made an appointment at a specialty clinic for Wednesday. The information on their website almost talked me out of it siting statistic such as 92% of feline nasal tumors are malignant, and extended survival after treatment is an average of 382 days.

Sunday night, she refused both cold liquid dinners, so I warmed up some beef broth. She worked at it a while, and maybe got 2 tablespoons down. Monday morning, we woke up together as the alarm went off. I went through 3 snooze cycles just enjoying her company, even though she could only get one eye open, and was trying to purr but couldn’t. I phoned the vet again.

This morning, at 14 years old and 9:00 AM, I opened a can of Hunt’s Garlic and Cheese Tomato Sauce, spooned some into her milk dish, and set it down with a prayer.  She didn’t understand, because she couldn’t smell it. I scooped a bit on my finger and touched her mouth. She didn’t hesitate a second, and when that finger was clean, I scooped another bit, and another. Her feasting sounded painful to me, but she kept going, and kept her nose pressed to my finger between extra-long breaths.

When she had enough, I sat with her for a while then scooped her up. She didn’t resist or complain, and for once went quietly into the carrier. I missed this part with Talli.

It was better and worse than I imagined; sad and painful, but only for me. Miss Fred went quietly through another open door, and I went home without her.

I doubt pizza is a staple in cat heaven, but I’m sure Jeff will find a way to get it for her.

Quote for the Week

2015 07 21 strength to watch love leave jakorte

Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links:

What it is: http://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/why-we-love-cats-and-dogs-introduction/4538/

What is was: http://animalsurgicalcenter.com/Library_articles/oncology_nasal_tumors.html

What now: http://www.humanesociety.org/animals/resources/tips/coping_with_pet_death.html