can't we all get along?

On Tuesday, Theo had his First Visit to the Vet. He weighs not quite five pounds. Dr. Randy came in to see him. He examined Theo from tip to toe. He played with Theo. He aggravated Theo. He tried to get Theo to stop purring for just two seconds so that he could listen to Theo's heart. He told me what a fine fine cat I have and that it's lucky I saw him first. Apparently, Dr. Randy has a kitty, CB, who is very much like Theo, and of whom Dr. Randy is quite fond.

Then, out in the waiting room, I put Theo in his carrier on top of the counter so that I could pay the bill. While I wasn't looking, Matt (the fabulous vet tech) sneaked over and scooped Theo up and held him for a while; then Kris (the charming receptionist) did the same. All in all, Theo was a hit.

Back at the ranch yesterday morning, Robert and I had play time with the kitties, then changed lobst-er- I mean cats. I finished up with Theo, walked away, then turned around in time to see him making a covering motion on Robert's bed. Intrigued, I walked back to find a puddle on the bed. Argh! We had forgotten to remind him to facilitate before all that play.

So Theo at least got to visit his box. We got paper towels and rags, and stripped the bed, and Robert ran the quilt downstairs. We were both downstairs at the tail end of our commotion when we heard that distinctive "thundering herd of elephants" sound.

When we eventually went upstairs to investigate, we realized that Koa was on the wrong side of the barrier. Mind you, the barrier came up to my chin, and she's not a large cat. Theo was in hiding (he's so young that when he hides and a person comes by, he helpfully meows to let us know where he is). Koa was just hanging out.

While we were trying to convince Koa to go back to her usual side, we brought Theo over to Koa's side. He was absolutely terrified and tried to jump over the divider. OK, so he can jump pretty high too. Finally, we got him into the bathroom with the door closed, escorted Koa back to her apartment, and closed the door, and then let Theo out into his space.

Koa spent the day in her rooms (I'm sure she was fine), and Theo in his. Then last night, Robert built a taller barrier. Koa seems to know she can't get over this one, at least I hope she knows that. And we're creating narrow vertical slits so that the humans can see through. I've labeled the peephole "Junior construction supervisor".

And of course, the wall is named for Rodney King.

i know it when i see it

We've had a few instances where I've come rushing when I've heard a low long moan or hissing. I'm not sure how it starts, but Koa seems to be getting more aggressive toward Theo, or maybe she's curious-aggressive. To protect both cats, it's unfair to lock Theo into a tiny bathroom, but also unfair to leave him unguarded.

Robert had the brilliant idea of building a barrier. It's an accordian structure, three moving boxes high, and wedged diagonally from one edge of the hallway bathroom to the opposite edge of the staircase.

Version 1 was put together with packing tape which melted in our recent heat wave. At one point, Koa whacked it, the structure came tumbling down, and I arrived in time to see two cats with gigantic tailes, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

So Robert made a series of hinges out of cardboard, and attached all the parts with strong twist ties. The thing is sturdy and we can easily lift it out of the way to get to the other side of the hallway. Theo has access to the west half of the upstairs; Koa has access to the east half plus the downstairs. They each get their own personal bathroom, which they share with one human.

One of the best features (besides the graffiti I've started to add -- suggestions are welcome) are little peepholes. Theo occasionally looks through, but Koa cannot resist. She stares and stares with hopes of seeing the baby. The look on her face says it all -- I know it's pornographic. It's disgusting and repulsive. Show me more!!

mr. himself

Introducing...

Theo, at four months, second day home

rules of life... another one broken

They say never to go into a grocery store when you're hungry or into a mattress store when your back is aching. And maybe you shouldn't go to a cat shelter when your heart is still half-broken. Well, we did, and we never got to the place we were on the way to.

Instead, we came home with ... well, he's four months old. Very sweet, slightly playful, but not manic. Somewhat timid, and very handsome -- a grey tiger with solid grey paws and big ears and a long tail. We think his name is Theo. It's certainly not "Johnny," which was his temporary shelter name (Johnny cat? Isn't that a popular brand of kitty litter?)

Koa and he have sniffed and hissed, but not growled or swatted. We're keeping them separate for now unless they're well supervised. And of course, we're playing with Koa and petting her and telling her how much we love her and giving her treats.

I suspect we'll all be fine -- all four of us.

starting over

We had a social event one afternoon this week for the team at work. One of the women in the group, who seems particularly unhappy joined the conversation I was part of. One might say she has a tragic air about her, and I'm sure that being Russian, svelte, and chic don't hurt the image. She said "Wouldn't it be great to toss out your current life and start all over?"

There were just women in the room at that point, and we had a good discussion about it. One woman said "absolutely not. I'd make the same choices all over again." I wondered, at what point would you restart? Would you get to stay the same age? Or would you have to regress?

And then I realized that I've actually had the opportunity to change nearly everything in my life, although it hasn't been instantaneous. In the long distant past, getting out of constant physical and psychological pain has been a prerequisite. More recently, we created an addition on the house and did a makeover on the rest of it. As if that wasn't huge enough, Robert and I got married and moved in together. But wait, there was more! I left my job and spent a few months thinking about what to do next. It turned out that I liked my work, just not the environment that had developed around my job, so now I am doing the same thing in a different place.

How many times in our lives do we get these opportunities? How many times do we not even notice?

peaceful slumber

For weeks, I'd been sleeping poorly. So I was tired a lot. I wasn't waking up feeling refreshed. In fact, I was waking up feeling pretty darned sore.

I'm sure that my sleeplessness was helped along by very excited birds who joyously announce dawn starting about half an hour early. That puts us around 4 or 4:30 every morning. And that would be fine, except for one small cat who responds to nature's alarm clock. She'd be well-suited as a farmer, but within the confines of the house, it means that she wants affection and then wants to do battle with small foam balls. I was waking up later to find a slightly damp foam ball in the small of my back.) I was also having trouble going back to sleep, laying awake for an hour or so trying to get comfortable, or even gazing outside until it was time to finally get up.

Not feeling rested was starting to eat at me. I decided it was time for a new mattress and box spring. Actually, I was thinking about a firm piece of plywood between the box spring and mattress, but Robert convinced me that it would be highly inconvenient to transport one from the hardware store to the house.

So we went off to the mattress store. It turns out, at least according to the salesman we spoke to, that they don't even make box springs anymore. (When I looked at the date on my old box spring, I realized that the last time I'd bought one was 18 years ago. My mattress was somewhat newer, though.) Instead, they're making wooden grids, covered to look like part of a mattress set. And they're cheap, relatively speaking. So we bought one of those, and then bought a super-thick, firm mattress with a cushy "pillow top". The idea was to create the equivalent of a platform bed, which I figured would be more comfortable than what I've been sleeping on.

And, lucky day, we happened to stumble on a rather nice sale, with delivery and removal included in the price.

And then we thought about Koa. I thought that just before the delivery, perhaps I could lure her into the bathroom and shut the door for a while; she'd have food, litter box, a window, a nice comfy rug. But she was having none of that luring stuff; she sensed a trick.

So the day of the delivery arrived. We decided to take the mattress and box spring off the bed early so that we could clean the dust kittens out before the new bedding arrived. Suddenly, Koa had a skylight, where before she'd had a safe refuge. We worked with her all morning, playing with her, petting her, reassuring her. At one point, she was half hiding in the closet, watching us play with a toy, but not engaging. Perhaps she was somewhat comforted.

Just when we thought that everything would be ok, the delivery guys arrived. Koa headed deep into the closet. The new mattress was put into place; the old mattress was taken away. We made the bed. And then Koa didn't come out for hours. Perhaps she was getting her beauty rest. Perhaps she was terrified. At one point we called her, and she sleepily appeared, only to dive back into the closet for a while longer.

And then we worried about the smell of the new bedding. How bad would it be? How long would it take her to adjust?

She finally came out of hiding toward evening, and seemed a little shaken but not too bad. By the next morning, she was fine, wanting extra amounts of affection to make up for what she'd missed out on the day before. The new bedding is a little taller, but she seems fine with that.

And I? I'm definitely sleeping better -- waking up less sore and feeling more rested, getting back to sleep in a timely fashion when I do wake up. Koa is completely over the trauma. I occasionally wake up to find her wedged against my hip, which I find quite endearing. And this morning, I found not one, but three little foam balls next to me in bed.

tell me something ... interesting ... about you

I was at a party last week and bumped into someone I'd seen before and had been hoping to chat with. But my mind went blank when, after introductions, she said "so. Tell me something Interesting about you." I'm great at that question during a job interview, though it's usually phrased as "tell me a little about yourself". But in a social situation, I was totally unprepared.

It's popular in blogs to list 100 facts about oneself. I find that toward the end, those lists devolve into boredom, repetition, and usually both. So I promise to stop well before 100. And maybe I'll be better prepared for that question next time it's asked.

-- I became a vegetarian over the course of five years, starting when I was 7. I slowly cut things out of my diet until I was a total vegetarian. My mother was fairly supportive, but made me responsible for getting enough protein on nights when her offering contained meat. Later, on an extended sojourn in Spain, I started eating fish but not shellfish. (At the time, I felt like it was either the fish or me, so it was an easy decision.) These days, I suspect I'd survive just fine in Spain without fish. I now eat fish anywhere between a couple times a week to a couple times a month.

-- I moved out of my family's house when I was 16 and spent my senior year in high school living in a group house of responsible adults. I had my mother's moral and financial support, though I tried not to be a burden. So I ate very lightly that year. I did my own laundry, grocery shopping, and cooking, and went home once a week for dinner. I also calmed down a lot that year. By the time I got to college, I was fairly well grown up, and it was slightly amusing to watch my cohorts deal with their first taste of freedom.

-- I've always loved cats and have assumed that my leanings are as hard-wired as a person's sexuality. I like dogs fine, though I don't understand them well. My father's family always had cats and dogs; my mother's family just had dogs and hated cats. My very first cat wouldn't eat during one extended absence when I went to visit my maternal grandmother. So my mother made the supreme sacrifice of driving the cat to stay with me for the rest of my visit. My grandmother made the supreme sacrifice of coexisting with the cat for the remainder of my visit. The cat started eating again and lived. There was a long gap when I did not have a cat as a child, but the first thing I did when I left college and moved to Cambridge was get a cat. I've had at least one nearly continuously since then -- nearly 30 years.

-- I used to speak French and Spanish fluently. I now speak them haltingly but can understand both and can make myself understood, especially after a few days of immersion. My husband, who claims to have no facility with language, often understands conversations conducted in other languages. He can also often order food in languages that he doesn't speak, especially if he's had some exposure to the language.

-- Because I moved around a lot as a child, I have almost no childhood friends. My oldest friend dates back to high school. I met her on my first day of ninth grade. Many of my closest friends made in adulthood have died. I now no longer depend on a friendship being a long-term proposition, though I'm delighted when that happens. I can tell that I'm getting attached to someone when I start worrying that they're going to die. That fear does eventually pass for each person.

-- I'm now in my longest relationship ever (14 years and counting) and have lived longest in my current house than anywhere else (16 years and counting). My second longest relationship -- five years -- was with my first husband. My longest-held job was 11.5 years, although perhaps that doesn't count because I switched groups, bosses, and responsibilities many times while at that company.

-- I love to travel. My most recent exotic trip was to Egypt, and there was dancing involved. My most recent trip out of the country was to Costa Rica, but it was my third trip there and hardly seems like it counts.

-- I rarely see movies except on airplanes. I love documentaries and mockumentaries, though, and recently saw Prairie Home Companion, which I enjoyed -- the combination of Robert Altman, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin, and Garrison Keillor was irresistable, even to me. However, I see a lot of live performances every year, probably around 50, including music (classical and folk), dance (mostly modern), and theater. I enjoy theater at all levels, performed by people who don't have a day job and by people who do. I'm not fond of amateur classical musical performances, though. Somehow, the enthusiasm doesn't usually overcome instruments that are out of tune and performers who can't coordinate their timing with that of the conductor.

-- Our local travel often sees us traveling east to the seashore in the winter and west to the mountains in the summer.

-- I like nearly all food that's on my diet. I despise okra and try not to eat it. Occasionally I do eat it and very occasionally I actually like it.

-- Although I'm near my heaviest weight, I'm probably in the best physical shape I've been in for 25 years. At nearly 50, I swim two miles a week, contra dance, and go on long walks. I'm especially proud of this accomplishment because I'm shot through with arthritis and manage to keep it at bay most of the time. In fact, I once had a full body scan and the technician said "I'm not supposed to make any diagnoses, but it looks like you have arthritis all over." And then he proceeded to ask if certain areas of my body hurt all the time -- the areas where he saw the most buildup.

-- In my early 20s, I realized that I was in pain all the time. I had a professional massage one night and sat around for the rest of the evening feeling like something was dreadfully wrong. When I realized that I wasn't in pain, my boyfriend said "Oh, so you actually like me?" (well, duh, yes. I just couldn't be very nice -- the pain was too intense). It took me about ten years to work through enough of the physical and emotional issues to get out of constant pain.

-- I used to suffer from frequent migraines. They run in my family. Learning my way out of them also involved a long journey. In the beginning, I didn't know what they were because even though my mother suffered from them fairly frequently, and even though she had had them diagnosed, she had never named them to me.

-- Both my parents have changed careers multiple times. I have changed careers a few times, but the last time I thought I was going to end up doing something entirely different, my next job ended up being in the same field as my previous job.

-- I like cars. When I first left college, I took a car repair course and then worked on my own car at a self-service garage for a while afterwards. So I basically understand how they work. I used to have a boyfriend who didn't know the first thing about cars. I would ask a mechanic a question and he'd answer the boyfriend. It would get kind of irritating, but at least I'd get the answers I was looking for. I can often recognize cars when I can see just a tiny detail or from a long distance. I don't name my cars unless someone else insists that I do. I have named a few cars for other people, though.

-- Although my mother traveled to Europe a lot, she barely traveled in the United States when I was growing up. The first time I saw the Pacific Ocean, I was overcome with emotion. I was on a five-week trip around the country with my then boyfriend (the same one who thought I didn't like him). We traveled across the north edge of the country on US Route 2, then south along the pacific coast, and back through Arizona, New Mexico, and then drove as fast as we could to get back to the east coast. I now love traveling to the west coast, though I don't get there very often these days.

And I hope that's well under 100 items, and that I'm leaving off before either boredom or repetition strike.

maximus b.

On Saturday night, we visited the Cat Museum, aka the Cat Cottage (where Juliet used to board). They had a low vacancy rate, I was glad to see. Amongst their celebrity guests was MB, Maximus Bitus, a stunningly handsome deep and light orange tiger cat with a nasty disposition and a terrible temper. He had a privacy towel over half his cage and we were warned not to s-t-a-r-e at him. He apparently travels back and forth to his appointments in a clear file box; he can't be contained in a regular carrier, and given the severe crack on top of his box, the latest solution is barely doing the trick.

Fast forward to today at the pool. After my swim, I got into the shower. The adjacent showers were soon occupied by a little boy -- Max -- and his nanny. His pre-swim shower lasted ten to fifteen minutes (mine is usually about 15 seconds) because he wouldn't get out. He insisted that he was not going to the pool; he'd stay in the locker room while his nanny went to the pool. He started screeching when she went to turn the water off. He demanded that she take him for ice cream in the park right that minute, and that they not go swimming, then demanded that she go back to the car for his sandals.

During the whole interaction, the nanny was professional, firm, kind, patient. She got the kid out of the shower and moving toward the pool. And she won my undying admiration. However, this cute little kid now has a new name from me -- Maximus Brattimus. As I later said to a friend who was also finishing up her swim, you couldn't pay me to take care of a kid like that. Then again, some of us just aren't cut out to be parents. At least I know my limitations.

Like early vegetarians returning from the kill

Koa has been improving by leaps and bounds. We still haven't picked her up, though we're doing some preliminary work to that end. This means that we still haven't gotten her into her carrier, so she's not yet ready to go to the vet or to boarding. I have been hiding toys and catnip in her carrier, so she is beginning to see it as a part of the landscape, or perhaps I should say, toyscape.

[You can click on any of the pictures for a larger view.]


The "healing that goes in both directions" (with a tip o' the pin to KAH) continues, with some marvelous successes. Last week, I gave her an absurd toy -- a giant carrot with feathers sticking out of the top and a little pocket for catnip -- her weakness.


She still feels most secure around and under the bed. She loves the stairs we originally purchased for Juliet. She runs up and down them, hides behind them, pulls herself around them, and rubs on them.

Here she is, stalking,
chewing,

attacking,
and reigning victorious over the beast.

We've also been playing a lot with "interactive toys" -- toys on strings and sticks. She's a bundle of muscle as she winds up, plots her approach, and leaps, spins, and catches her toys.

The amazing thing is that all this play is providing the healing glue we've been trying to concoct. Koa is becoming ever more confident, allowing us to approach her more. She is becoming more courageous as she visits other parts of the house, even when we're in them. We're not all the way there yet, but the socialization therapy is working its magic.

Here's our pretty girl. What a far cry from the terrified mess we adopted three months ago.