Nothing. Yes, dear Reader, I got almost nothing for this post today. I have been fairly productive of late, but not with writing or blogging. Again, it’s the knitting.
A friend noted that the buttons on the baby sweater I knitted for a baby-to-be might not be appropriate for a baby.
Yes, they are cute cat heads but the ears are rather pointy, not too sharp against my rough old skin, but I don’t want to the buttons to be the cause of baby’s first injury. So I swap them out for these.
And, to be honest, I think these buttons are better suited. They are pretty without drawing the eye entirely away from the sweater pattern.
I hope to present the parents-to-be with the sweater and hat tonight. I’m sure they will be pleased that at least the outfit can be machine washed and dried, and yet it is wool. Merino wool, in fact, which is very soft.
Well, that’s it for now. I’m thinking (again) of changing my blogging schedule. If I aim for Fridays, then I can have all week to write and revise my posts instead of doing them half-off as I am now. We’ll see.
Oh, and what about the classes I’m taking? Well, the Modern Poetry class is a no-go for me. It’s too fragmented: too many links to follow, an audio here, a video there. Each week brings an email (or two) with several embedded links. In contrast, a class I started a long while ago (on a lark), through the same platform (Coursera) has a very simple syllabus, with all content accessible through my iPad app. The course is historical fiction and very interesting so far. I can (and have) happily watched a video lecture while knitting. I’ll say more about that class in a later post. I’m still looking forward (with eagerness and dread) to the Fiction Workshop that will be offered free through the International Writing Program. That will start on Thursday, September 24. And, no doubt, you’ll hear all about that as well.
Until then a little eye candy for all you cat lovers: my green-eyed boy Junior. Why buy a fancy cat bed when an old basket and a couple of magazines make him happy?
Hello, dear Reader, and you may wonder what the heck the title of my post can possibly mean. Well, I have a confession explanation. I don’t have a post to post today. I’ve spent the weekend working on a course that I’m taking with my friend and fellow blogger, Luanne. It’s an online creative nonfiction course, only 4 weeks long but chocked full of readings. It’s focused on the “flash essay,” a nonfiction work of 500-750 words. Yes, I know. A few months ago it was poetry and now I’m trying another genre. Am I procrastinating? Damn right I am but at least I’m learning something in the process.
I’m also thinking about changing my blogging schedule to Wednesdays or maybe Fridays. I have less time during the work week to spend on my blog and other social media. So stay tuned if you will and I’ll sort things out eventually.
In the meantime, here’s a gratuitous cat photo, that of Wendy, our rescue from … well, Wendy’s. This is her favorite spot on our back porch. We recently purchased new patio furniture but knew we would have to keep this old chair for Wendy.
Since Thursday I’ve been battling a cold … or something. Not sure what I’ve got, and battling probably isn’t the right word since I spend the majority of my time reclined. I throw my army of aspirin, cough suppressant, and Benadryl down my throat, chased by a liter of orange juice or Gatorade, and hope for the best while the rest of me dozes, coughs, and sniffles.
Usually I don’t let a silly old cold get me down, but this one has come along with a fever. Although the fever has gone down, it’s tenaciously hanging around. Before anyone starts shipping chicken soup to me, I will seek medical advice on Monday if matters remain the same. Weakness is my current nemesis and just typing this brief post makes me want to curl up on my bed with my five odd pillows cushioning my aching body.
I made a pathetic effort at virtual socializing, and decided it’s best to just let you all know:
I. Am. Sick.
And for that reason, too, comments are closed. Here’s a gratuitous kitty movie to take the edge off my otherwise sour mood. This is an oldie but goodie. My cat Mikey (RIP) rolling around on pebbles warmed by the sun, one of his few pleasure near the end of his life.
If you recall, last week I posted a story, or rather, memoir, of a young woman wondering whether to send a letter. If you missed it, you can read it here. I’ll wait.
Twenty-five years ago, on August 21, the letter writer and the presumed letter recipient married in a small town in California. (more…)
I didn’t know there was such a event as World Cat Day, but thanks to Interesting Literature, now I do know and I also know some more facts about writers and cats. Read on and enjoy!
It’s World Cat Day! The purr-fect opportunity (sorry – we couldn’t resist) to share 10 of our favourite writer-related facts about cats.
Ernest Hemingway had over 30 pet cats, with names including Alley Cat, Crazy Christian, Ecstasy, F. Puss, Fats, Furhouse, Skunk, Thruster, and Willy. Many of them had six toes; to this day, such cats are often known as ‘Hemingway cats’.
James Joyce wrote two stories for children, both about cats: ‘The Cat and the Devil’ and ‘The Cats of Copenhagen’. You can see some of the rare illustrations for ‘The Cat and the Devil’ here.
French writer Colette started her working day by picking the fleas off her cat.
One of Daniel Defoe’s early business ventures was the harvesting of musk which he extracted from the anal glands of cats. Perhaps unsurprisingly (and thankfully for the cats involved), this venture failed.
Now, I’m venturing outside my comfort zone here, especially since I didn’t bother to apply makeup or straighten my hair. OMG, you’ll be seeing the REAL me!! Don’t say I didn’t warn you ;)
This week has been quite the emotional roller coaster, with my husband and I having a few teary-eyed discussions about our oldest cat, Luisa. I’m happy to say that right now she is stable and seems to be regaining some of her old spunk and energy.
Luisa nodding off.
Okay, she’s not looking too spunky here, but this is the first morning in a week that she’s felt well enough to walk all the way from the back of the house to the front, climb up on the couch (with a little help from moi), and then take a nap in front of the window. And I have the pleasure of giving her a cocktail of drugs twice a day: her usual methimazole (for hyperthyroidism) and Pepcid (for her tummy; I don’t know that it helps but they say it doesn’t hurt); in addition, an anti-nausea pill once a day; appetite stimulant every three days; a liquid medication for colitis; and a food supplement similar to Activa. Fortunately, Luisa is very good about taking pills and even having a syringe of cold liquid splashed at the back of her throat. We are not assuming that she’s out of danger yet. I mean, she’s at least 20 (my husband argues that she’s closer to 22) and her body is shutting down. We’re just trying to slow the process and make her comfortable. And right now, our efforts are paying off :)
With Luisa as my distraction, I’ve fallen very behind in writing and blogging and commenting. Fortunately, this morning I came across this post from CommuniCATE Resources for Writers: Don’t “Write” Yourself Off: I Don’t Care How Old You Are! Indeed, I needed to read this! One of the (many) struggles I have with my writing is my age: Will I someday be too old to publish a FIRST novel? Is time running out for me? If you ever have any of these thoughts, read Cate’s blog post.
And if you feel that sometimes the world is too full of bad news and bad people, there’s a new blog that you’ll want to visit and perhaps even contribute to: Good People Doing Great Things. This is the brain-child of Margaret Jean Langstaff, a wonderful writer and blogger that you may already know through her blog, The Langstaff Retort. For Good People Doing Great Things, Margaret wants “to hear your stories and experiences, events and acts of spontaneous kindness that you have witnessed or initiated yourself.” She is looking for guest bloggers, columnists, advisors, people who understand the importance of compassion in our humanity, as well as anyone with WP expertise who would be willing volunteer their time to make the new blog visually engaging.
Almost finally, Interesting Literature had two very interesting posts last week: one about 19th century inmates of insane asylums (click here) and another one on great quotations from women writers (click here). My favorite quote of those listed: ‘Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.’ – Virginia Woolf
Now really finally, for Belinda at Busymindthinking.com …
Dear Reader, you see this lovely specimen of a feline in repose. Reading is hard work, you know, especially of The New Yorker (such long articles!).
Luisa sleeping on a copy of The New Yorker and my husband’s stargazing log.
The girl does love to sleep. And she deserves to sleep as much as she wants because she is at least 20 years old.
Luisa asleep on the porch
What Luisa doesn’t like is going to the vet.
Luisa at the vet’s
Unfortunately, we’ve had to take her in twice in less than a week. Last week, she started throwing up her food. Nothing terribly unusual. She often had these spells of puking up food and then begging for more, and then she would be fine for awhile. But last week was different. The frequency of her throwing up increased until the point where all she could throw up was frothy liquid because there was no longer food in her stomach. And of course this was in the wee hours of the morning. So I laid in bed and told myself that “if she has one more episode, I’m taking her to the emergency vet.” And of course all was quiet after I made that decision, as if she had read my mind.
Of course, I was in denial and, to a degree, I still am. I wanted only for the vet to prescribe over the phone some anti-nausea medicine and an appetite stimulant. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention: Luisa had stopped eating.
So the first visit to the vet involved Luisa getting subcutaneous fluids to hydrate her, an anti-nausea shot, and an antibiotics shot (her white blood cell count was elevated). We took her home and observed her, tried to feed her, watched her every movement. Oh, did I mention that she was also constipated?
By Monday, she had only eaten a spoonful of food that I held in front of her. She would have no more. So back to the vet we went. I saw a different doctor this time, one that I was more comfortable with since she had treated a few of our other cats as well. It’s very simple: we can try a few non-invasive procedures and if they fail, well, there’s euthanasia. We can try invasive procedures and if they fail, well, there’s euthanasia. Luisa is at least 20 years old.
We found her in a local park almost 18 years ago. My husband fell in love with her and as days past and she seemed to always be on the top of the restrooms whenever he came to the park to run, he grew more anxious. There were student apartments nearby so we suspected the usual. When the nighttime temperatures started to fall, my husband grew even more anxious. So one day I drove out to the park, coaxed her off the roof of the restrooms, and cajoled her into a pet taxi, and off to the vet we went. I left behind info on the vet … just in case, but of course, no one ever called. So. She was ours. We named her Luisa because we found her in San Luis Mission Park.
It hasn’t been all roses with Luisa. She is a “crazy tortie.” Until recently, she wouldn’t tolerate being petted. She always wanted to be in the same room with us, but we were to look and not touch. It was hard not to laugh when I would go to pet her and she would hiss and slap my hand.
But in the last couple of years, perhaps you could say now that’s she is in her dotage, she seems to enjoy being petted. In fact, she sleeps with me, often curled up on the inside of my left arm. Or on my pillow where her whiskers tickle my face. She is still with us, as of this writing. We are trying the non-invasive treatments: anti-nausea medicine, appetite stimulant, another round of subcutaneous fluids. But if this regimen fails, we can do no more. We will do no “heroics” for our aging queen. All we want to hear her purr and know that she does not suffer.
So, if I seem to be absent from blogging or distracted when I am here, she is my cause. I don’t want to let her go. Of course, it’s inevitable. She’s not getting any younger, and keeping her beyond her comfort zone would not be fair to her. But right now, she does not seem to be in distress. She still seems alert. But she still won’t eat.
For now, dear Reader, understand that I am rather preoccupied because Luisa is still here and I need every minute with her that I can get. Even if she spends most of those minutes sleeping.
Here is the 24th installment of Ten Top Lists of What Not to Do by Marie Ann Bailey of 1WriteWay at http://1writeway.com and John W. Howell of Fiction Favorites at http://johnwhowell.com. These lists are simu-published on our blogs each Monday. We hope you enjoy.
10. When traveling with a cat by car, do not assume that your cat will not get car sick. Take it for a short spin first. Usually five minutes is long enough to determine if you will need to pull over to the side of the road and empty the pet carrier of the results of a double end evacuation response while keeping kitty contained in the car.
We were on our way back home after a two-day business meeting in another state. We still had about 200 miles to go when we decided to stop at a Wendy’s off I-75 and break for dinner. I was tired and hungry and sat facing away from the windows when one of my coworkers pointed past my shoulder and said “Look!” I turned and my heart sank. A thin cat was slinking along the ledge of a window, rubbing against the concrete dividers, and begging for food. I sighed and looked away, telling myself that she was likely a stray, probably feral, and I should ignore her because I was 200 miles from home and I already have three cats.
And I keep telling my husband that we cannot have any more cats. Even in the best possible environment, they grow old, they get sick, they die. We’ve had to put down four cats in the 20+ years we’ve lived here. Luisa is almost twenty years old, and I dread the day when she’ll start to fail and we’ll have to make “the decision” yet again. Junior and Maxine are not so old, but I can’t imagine life without them.
So I turned away, but this cat continued to walk along all three windowed sides of the fast food place, catching my attention. Finally, I bought a hamburger and my coworker gave me a tray to put it on. I went outside and couldn’t find her. I circled the place twice and was ready to give up. The three of us consulted and I put the tray of cooked meat down around some bushes. We moved toward our van when a car started and the thin, now obviously young, cat came shooting out from under it. She followed me to the tray, rubbing against my legs as we went.
I was able to pick her up. She let me pet her. She wasn’t feral, not at all. She was a young cat, perhaps younger than one year old, and all I could think was that she was lost. I don’t remember what I said next, but whatever it was, it prompted my coworkers to suddenly start brainstorming about how we could get her to my home.
One coworker brought the van around to where the cat was eating; the other went into Wendy’s and got a bunch of paper napkins to line the recycle bin that we had used to transport documents. There was a department store in the next lot, so we drove there and they insisted on looking for a pet taxi. Aside from our luggage, we didn’t have a closed container to put her in, and it was too dangerous to let her roam loose in the van.
While my coworkers were in the store, I called my husband, just to warn him. I’m bringing home a cat. My coworkers are enablers. They want me to call her Wendy.
They came back with a pan of cat litter, a large fleece blanket, a bag of kitty treats, a bottle of water, and a double-bowl dish. As soon as the van started again, she made for the floor. I tried to get her to settle in the recycle bin but she would have none of it. Finally, I loosely wrapped the blanket around her and pulled her to my lap. She laid there, purring, sleeping and stretching for three-and-a-half hours.
So we have a new cat. Her name is Wendy (although my husband likes to call her Wendyz). She had been spayed (yea!) but she had not been chipped. Well, she wasn’t then, but she is now. To her original caretakers: I am sorry you lost your cat. I don’t know of any way to find you since she was found at a fast-food restaurant off a major interstate and she didn’t have a chip. Your loss is our gain. She is beautiful and she is sweet and she is safe and we will do everything to give her a long, happy life.
I know The Association’s song is “Windy” but it still kept popping into my head on that long drive home.
Marie at 1 Write Way 